#but then something broke in me and i wanted to go home to be where u are -> wanted to feel Jason’s arms around him

[4linos]

already gone.

kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: to the world, you’re the perfect couple: the rising athlete and the woman who stood by him. but behind closed doors, something is shattering. the MLB offer. the agent. the betrayal you never saw coming. now your home is no longer a refuge, but the battleground where truth and love fight for survival.

warnings: angst, heated arguments, infidelity accusations, implied cheating, emotional distress.

wc: 6335

The soft click of the clasp echoed faintly in the bedroom as you fastened the final earring into place. Your fingers were clumsy, tired, but determined. The room was dimly lit, the last orange traces of sunset bleeding through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the vanity where you sat. Behind you, Seungmin stood near the full-length mirror in his navy suit, carefully adjusting his cufflinks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just stay home?” he asked for what had to be the fifth time, his tone light, teasing, but underneath, you caught it, something uncertain. Something else.

You glanced at him through the mirror, watching as he checked his tie again, even though you had already fixed it just minutes ago. His posture was relaxed, the easy smile on his face was one you’d seen countless times before… but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not tonight.

“I already told you,” you replied, reaching for your lipstick. “I’m going. I want to be there.”

He exhaled with a slight chuckle, walking over to you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, and you paused applying your lipstick as he leaned in and kissed the top of your head. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispered.

You smiled, but your heart didn’t flutter the way it usually did. “You’re stalling,” you said plainly.

He grinned as if caught red-handed. “Can you blame me? You’re just… very pretty. Distracting.”

“You’re very bad at changing the subject,” you said, standing up and brushing invisible lint from your dress.

A soft fuss broke the moment, your daughter, Iseul. You instinctively moved toward the crib in the corner of the room where she lay in her tiny floral onesie, fists waving in complaint. Before you could reach her, Seungmin stepped in front of you.

“I got her,” he said gently, scooping her up into his arms with practiced ease. “Go on, finish. We’re already late.”

You hesitated, watching as your husband soothed your baby with a quiet hum. Even after years of marriage, and two children, it still made your heart twist to see how naturally fatherhood came to him.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Always,” he said, giving you a lopsided smile.

The distraction of getting ready, wrangling a toddler who had earlier decided to dump an entire box of cereal on the floor, and feeding the baby between curling your hair had left you frazzled. Seungmin’s teasing earlier had only barely been tolerable.

“Maybe it is taking longer because I’ve got two little humans to keep alive now,” you’d snapped at him earlier, glaring as he chuckled.

He’d raised both hands in mock surrender. “Not complaining. Just saying you’re not the fastest anymore.”

You’d muttered something under your breath, but Seungmin had leaned down, kissed your shoulder, and taken Iseul from your arms like it was second nature. “I’m serious though,” he had added gently. “You don’t have to come. You’ve done enough today. You always do.”

And for a moment, you had almost considered it. Almost.

But that look, the one that didn’t quite match his words had bothered you more than you admitted. You were tired, yes. But more than anything, you were curious.

Now, watching him with your daughter, that strange unease returned. You shook it off, slipped on your heels, and followed him downstairs.

Seungmin’s mother arrived just in time, letting herself in with the spare key. She was beaming, as always, excited to babysit her grandchildren for the evening. She ushered you both out of the house with warm reassurances.

“You both look wonderful,” she told you, bouncing Iseul with ease. “Have fun! Don’t worry, I’ve got everything handled.”

You kissed your children goodbye, lingering maybe a little longer than usual and followed Seungmin to the car.

The venue was already buzzing when you arrived. The end-of-season dinner was a yearly tradition, but this year felt different. Bigger. More elaborate. The private hall was beautifully decorated, navy accents for the Lotte Giants, chandeliers glimmering above round tables where players, coaches, managers, and their families were already seated, laughing, talking, raising glasses.

You were seated at one of the central tables with other wives and girlfriends, many of whom you’d grown close to over the years. There was an easiness to it familiar faces, shared exhaustion from parenting, the camaraderie of loving men whose careers were as demanding as they were exhilarating.

Seungmin settled in beside you, and his hand found yours beneath the table. His thumb brushed along your skin absentmindedly, comfortingly. You leaned in closer, murmuring, “See? Aren’t you glad we came?”

His smile was soft. “Yeah.”

And yet, there it was again. That shadow behind his eyes. That silence between sentences.

You didn’t press him. Not yet.

Dinner was a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and endless toasts. You chatted with other WAGs, one of whom was due with her third baby in a few months and shared tips about baby sleep regressions and toddler tantrums. Seungmin drifted in and out of the conversation, occasionally throwing a playful jab at his teammates, smiling when someone complimented your dress.

But the entire night, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was performing. Laughing at the right moments. Responding on cue. Holding you a little too tightly, like he was memorizing the weight of your hand.

Then the general manager stood up. The room fell quiet.

You turned toward the front, expecting the usual end-of-season wrap-up: congratulations, next season’s goals, and the usual pat-on-the-back speeches.

But this was different.

The GM’s voice echoed across the hall. “Before we close out this amazing season, I want to take a moment to acknowledge someone very special someone who’s been a cornerstone of this team for years. A player whose heart, discipline, and incredible right arm have led us through some of the toughest games of our careers.”

The room was still.

The GM continued, “Seungmin, you’ve given everything to this team and it shows. You’ve been more than a pitcher. You’ve been a leader. A brother. A Giant in every sense of the word.”

Seungmin squeezed your hand beneath the table.

“I know I speak for everyone here when I say: thank you. Thank you for the years, the grit, the wins and for making us proud. The MLB will be lucky to have you.”

Cheers erupted around the room. Glasses raised. Players clapped Seungmin on the back. WAGs smiled at you with congratulatory looks. There were whistles. Laughter. Applause.

But your body went cold.

The MLB?

The Major Leagues?

You turned to Seungmin slowly. He was smiling, ducking his head modestly, but when his eyes met yours, the truth was there. Quiet. Heavy.

You leaned closer. “What did he mean? The MLB?”

Seungmin’s smile faltered. “We’ll talk later.”

“Seungmin,” you whispered, but the room was too loud now. The moment had passed. Or maybe it had only just begun.

The car ride was so quiet it felt like the silence itself had weight.

Heavy, pressing. Like a fog that rolled in between you and Seungmin, blanketing the small, familiar space of the car in a silence that had never felt so foreign. This wasn’t the comfortable quiet that often passed between you, not the kind that came with years of knowing each other so well that words weren’t always needed.

No, this was something else.

This was the quiet of things left unsaid too long.

This was the sound of trust cracking.

Outside the windshield, the streets of Busan passed by in a blur of neon and night. Streetlights flickered over the hood of the car, casting fleeting stripes of light across Seungmin’s jaw, his hands on the wheel, the furrow of his brow. But you couldn’t look at him, not now. Not after the dinner.

Your arms were tightly crossed against your chest, like folding in on yourself could hold everything inside. Your disappointment. Your anger. Your fear. And your heartbreak most of all, that aching, low throb of heartbreak that kept pulsing under your ribs, like a bruise you didn’t see coming.

You felt him shift beside you.

Then his hand reached toward yours, the way it always did.

It was instinctive, familiar. Seungmin had always reached for you like this, even in silence. During fights. During your long hospital stay after giving birth to your daughter. During that sleepless month when your son wouldn’t stop crying and you were too exhausted to speak. His hand always found yours.

But not tonight.

You flinched.

Your arms tightened around yourself and you turned, just slightly, away from him.

Seungmin’s hand hovered in the air for a moment, then slowly fell back to the console. He didn’t speak right away.

And when he did, his voice was low. Regretful.

“I’m sorry.”

The words floated there, soft and tentative.

You stared out the window. You weren’t even looking at the streets anymore, just letting your eyes unfocus, mind reeling, thoughts scattered and tangled. You could hear the apology, sure, but it barely registered. It was buried under the roaring in your chest.

Because all you could think about, all you could see behind your tired, stinging eyes, were your babies.

Your son, Minjoon, who had refused to nap earlier today and had thrown a tantrum when you tried to get him into his formal little pants for dinner. Who’d needed three full readings of Goodnight Moon before he calmed down. Iseul, who had been fussy all evening, needing to be held, rocked, reassured. Her tiny body curling against your shoulder like you were the only thing keeping the world from swallowing her whole.

And the whole time, you’d powered through.

You’d put on the dress you’d been saving. Done your makeup. Smiled. Laughed.

For him.

Because it was supposed to be his night.

And the whole time, the whole time he’d known.

He’d known his future plans.

He’d known your life was about to be upended, and he hadn’t said a word.

A lump formed in your throat, thick and hot. You swallowed it down, but it didn’t go away.

Seungmin sighed again. This one sounded heavier.

“I didn’t want to ruin tonight for you,” he said, voice quiet. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have. I know I should’ve told you earlier. I just… couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t want to,” you said, eyes still fixed on the passing lights. “There’s a difference.”

That made him fall quiet.

You weren’t trying to be cruel. But you were tired, soul-deep tired and something in you had fractured when the general manager said “MLB.” The idea that your husband had been building a future, a whole new life across the ocean, and hadn’t included you, even in thought, had taken a sharp edge.

He shifted slightly in his seat.

“You don’t understand—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. “Don’t say I don’t understand. I understand too well. You’re scared, right? Scared of what it would mean to bring this up. Scared of how I’d react. So you just… kept it from me. Like it would somehow protect me. Like I couldn’t handle it.”

You finally looked at him then, and your voice cracked.

“I gave birth to two children. I’ve handled more than you know. And I thought we were in this together.”

Seungmin’s eyes flicked over to you, and the guilt in them nearly broke you. But not quite.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to risk you resenting me,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you uprooted your life, left your family, your friends. The kids… They’re so young. You already do everything for them. I thought maybe, if I just waited, if I figured it out first—I could make it easier. Cleaner. Safer.”

You shook your head, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Seungmin.”

He looked down at his hands on the wheel. “I know.”

A long silence stretched between you. The car rolled into your neighborhood quiet, peaceful. Your street, lined with hedges and low lights, your home waiting up ahead. You stared at the windows, lit from inside. A warm, quiet glow.

You could imagine your son asleep in his bed. His dinosaur pajamas. The way he sometimes rolled over in the middle of the night and called for you in his sleep. Your daughter probably cradled in her grandmother’s arms, small and peaceful, unaware of the storm brewing outside her home.

You exhaled shakily. “Did you ever stop to think how this would affect them?”

“Yes,” Seungmin said, his voice hoarse. “Every day. And that’s why I’ve been so torn.”

He turned off the ignition. The sudden silence made your ears ring.

“I want to do what’s best for us. I want to give them a future. I thought this opportunity—” He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “I thought maybe it would be worth it. A few hard years, and then we could have something more.”

You sat back in your seat, chest tight. “And you didn’t think what we already had was enough?”

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because that was the question that echoed through the car, through your mind, through your bones.

You were building something. Here. Now. You had a family. You had a rhythm, even if it was messy and chaotic and exhausting. You had love. Wasn’t that enough?

The betrayal wasn’t just about baseball. It was about being left out of the most important decision since you’d chosen each other. Since you’d become parents. Since you’d stood at that altar years ago, hands clasped, promising to never go forward without the other.

And tonight, he had gone forward. Without you.

“I’m so sorry,” Seungmin said again, voice cracking this time.

You reached for the door handle but hesitated. Your hand hovered there, your heart racing.

You looked at him one last time. “We’re not okay.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.”

You got out of the car, heels clicking softly on the ground. Seungmin followed a few steps behind, but he didn’t reach for you this time. Didn’t try to touch your hand. Didn’t speak.

Inside, your mother-in-law greeted you with a warm smile and gentle hushes, the kids were fast asleep. You thanked her. You smiled tightly. You said all the right things.

But inside, the ache lingered.

That night, you lay in bed beside Seungmin, your backs turned to each other for the first time in months. And though your body was still, your mind was not.

Because you weren’t thinking about MLB contracts.

You were thinking about a dimpled little boy who would one day ask why you moved. Why you left his playground, his cousins, his language. You were thinking about your baby girl who wouldn’t remember this home, her first room, the sound of the ocean just beyond the porch.

You were thinking about whether you were strong enough to make this leap and whether the man beside you would be the one holding your hand, or the one who had already let go.

The morning light seeped into the bedroom like a quiet intrusion soft, unwelcome. It threaded through the curtains and warmed the edge of the bed where you lay, still in your dress from the night before, now wrinkled and clinging to your tired body.

You hadn't changed. You hadn't even taken off your earrings.

Sleep had come in short, fractured waves stolen between the cries of your daughter needing to be fed at 2 a.m., and the restless tossing that followed after, your mind far too loud to silence. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the banquet hall, the raised glasses, the moment the general manager said "The MLB will be lucky to have him," and the proud, practiced smile on Seungmin’s face.

And then… the way he hadn’t looked at you when he said it.

He was still sleeping now, or pretending to be. His side of the bed was slightly turned away, shoulders curved inward, a breath that wasn’t quite steady. You didn’t care to check. You slid out of bed wordlessly, your movements quiet but brisk, careful not to wake the children or him.

You padded barefoot into the nursery and found your daughter still asleep in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath the soft pink blanket your mother had crocheted. You stared at her for a moment, absorbing the stillness, the simplicity of her peace. Your son was next, curled up in a tangle of dinosaur sheets, one small hand clutching his favorite plush tiger to his chest.

And just like that, the sharp edges of your anxiety dulled, briefly. Your children were safe. Still here. Still yours.

But the gnawing ache in your stomach hadn’t left.

You walked into the kitchen, made yourself a cup of lukewarm coffee, and settled at the table with your phone, screen lighting up with unread messages. Friends. WAGs. Notifications. Mentions. Group chats.

One name caught your eye.

A message from Yuna, one of the team wives, someone you had grown relatively close to. Always sharp-eyed and protective of the women around her. The message was short, clipped.

“Hey. Have you seen the article?”

You frowned.

Tapping the link she’d attached, you opened it and began to read.

“Inside Scoop: Lotte Giants Star Kim Seungmin’s Secret MLB Talks And the Woman Behind It All”

It was a gossip piece. The kind that pulled from ‘sources close to the player,’ spun half-truths into narratives, laced with just enough credibility to make it hard to dismiss.

You skimmed, your heart already racing. The opening paragraphs went over Seungmin’s impressive final season stats, a summary of his fan popularity, and then, the shift.

“Sources tell us that Kim has been in quiet communication with a high-profile American agent, who has reportedly been facilitating a deal behind the scenes for over a year. The two met during a prior sports event in California, where, according to insiders, the relationship between the pitcher and the agent extended beyond professional bounds.”

You stopped breathing.

No. No, no, no.

“While neither party has confirmed the rumors, those familiar with the situation say their connection appears personal and long-standing. One source adds: ‘She was more than just a rep. She was someone he trusted, someone close.’”

Your hands trembled as you scrolled.

“When asked for comment, Kim Seungmin’s representatives declined, saying the athlete is focused on finishing the season strong and spending time with his family. But the silence speaks volumes.”

You lowered the phone slowly, your heartbeat in your ears.

It felt like ice water had been poured into your veins.

A woman.

Someone he’d met in California.

Someone “close.”

Someone who had been “facilitating a deal for over a year.”

You thought back searching your memory, tracing timelines. Seungmin had gone to the U.S. for a week during the off-season last year. He said it was for a training camp and you’d believed him. Why wouldn’t you? He'd FaceTimed you with a smile, sent photos of his hotel room, texted you how much he missed you.

You remembered because you’d been pregnant then. You remembered how miserable that week had been swollen feet, morning sickness that lasted into the night, and a toddler with a fever. You’d managed it all. Alone. And when he came back, he’d brought you a sweatshirt that smelled like new cotton, a stuffed animal for your son, and a small pair of baby sneakers.

It was one of the rare times he seemed truly guilty about being away.

And now… this.

You stared at your coffee, untouched, hands tightening around the mug like it might anchor you.

The sounds of the morning were beginning to rise,

Seungmin came down not long after. Hair messy. Shirt wrinkled. Face unreadable.

But your eyes were sharp now. Searching. Watching.

He said good morning like nothing had changed. Like the night before hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t laid in the same bed wondering if the man beside you was no longer just your husband, but a liar.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, moving toward the fridge.

You said nothing.

He turned. “Babe?”

“Who is she?”

The words came out colder than you intended, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t afford to be gentle. Not now.

Seungmin froze.

He blinked slowly, confusion flickering in his features. “What?”

“The woman. The agent.” You pushed your phone across the table toward him, screen still lit with the article. “You’ve been talking to her for a year?”

His expression darkened as he read. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“This is bullshit,” he said, pushing the phone back. “You know how gossip sites work. They just—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He paused.

That pause was worse than a confession.

Your throat tightened. “Just tell me the truth.”

“There’s nothing going on,” he said, voice steady, but not reassuring. “She’s a sports agent. I met her once. She reached out after the winter games. She said there was interest. I didn’t think it was serious. It wasn’t personal.”

“You didn’t think it was serious?” you repeated, voice rising. “You’ve been talking to her for a year. Setting up your career without me. And now there’s an article saying it’s more than that, and I’m just supposed to believe it’s all nothing?”

“She wants me in the MLB,” he snapped, then immediately regretted it. His voice dropped. “That’s all. That’s all it is.”

You stood.

Something inside you, that tightly held center, broke.

“Do you know how humiliating this is?” you whispered. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be the last to know about your own husband’s life? To find out in a room full of strangers that he’s moving across the world? And then the next morning, read that he’s been seeing another woman behind my back, business or not — for a year?”

Seungmin was pale now. Quiet.

“I never touched her,” he said. “I never crossed that line, I never cheated on you.”

“But you hid her,” you said. “And that says enough.”

Your son peeked around the corner, clutching his plush tiger, wide-eyed.

You exhaled, fighting to calm the storm inside you. You bent down, kissed the top of his head, and guided him back toward his toys.

“I’m not doing this in front of the kids,” you said without turning around. “I’m not fighting with you where they can hear.”

Seungmin’s voice was barely audible. “Then when?”

You looked back at him, the man you’d loved for years, the man who had held your hand in delivery rooms, danced with you barefoot in the kitchen, written love letters on hotel stationery.

“I don’t know,” you said. “Because right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

And for the first time in your marriage, you walked away.

Not because you didn’t love him.

But because you had to protect something more fragile.

Yourself.

-

The silence that had stretched like taut wire through the early morning finally snapped by noon.

You’d tried to hold your tongue. Tried to focus on the children. On the daily motions that had once felt so automatic, making lunch, folding a forgotten pile of laundry, wiping jelly from your son’s cheeks. But even the gentlest parts of your life had turned sharp, heavy with unsaid words.

Seungmin paced behind you, trailing like a shadow, quiet but restless. You could feel his gaze at your back, like static.

He was waiting.

For you to explode.

Or for you to let it go.

And you could feel it crawling up your throat, that familiar heat. You had done this for too long. Swallowed things for the sake of peace. Told yourself it was just the job, just stress, just a phase. But today? There was no peace left to keep.

You turned toward him, jaw set.

“You’ve been hiding things from me for months.”

His eyes locked with yours instantly, tired, bloodshot. “I wasn’t hiding anything.”

“Don’t—” You barked a short, incredulous laugh. “Don’t say that. You didn’t tell me about the MLB deal. You didn’t tell me about this agent. And now, suddenly, the news breaks and everyone knows before I do?”

“I didn’t know it was going to come out like that,” he said, frustrated. “It was supposed to be private.”

“Private? We’re married, Seungmin!”

“I know that—”

“Do you?” Your voice cracked. “Because I didn’t feel married last night. I felt like someone tagging along at a dinner where my husband’s future got announced without me. And I didn’t feel married this morning, reading that some womanhas been guiding your entire next chapter, while I was here — pregnant, raising two kids — not knowing anything.”

He ran both hands through his hair, the tension in his shoulders visible. “It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” you snapped. “Explain it. Tell me, because right now the facts don’t add up. You said you didn’t cheat, but I never even said you did.”

That stopped him.

His eyes went wide like you’d pulled the ground out from under him.

You stared.

And he knew. You saw the flicker of realization in his face. That he had let something slip, a defense he shouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t guilty of more than what you knew.

“I didn’t cheat,” he said again, more measured now. “I just thought— when I saw the article, I thought—”

“You thought I’d accuse you,” you said flatly. “Because something did happen.”

“No!” He stepped forward, desperate. “No. Nothing happened. I swear to you.”

You crossed your arms. “Then why are you scrambling? Why is your story changing every ten seconds? First you barely knew her, then she reached out to you, now she’s been helping you for a year?”

He gritted his teeth. “She reached out after the winter games—”

“You already said that.”

“She brought up the offer before it was even real. I didn’t take it seriously at first—”

“And yet somehow, she’s close enough to you now that people think you’re involved,” you said bitterly. “Funny how fast that escalated.”

He groaned, turning his back briefly, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want it to turn into this. I just— I’ve been trying to secure something better for us. For the kids.”

You laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t you dare bring our kids into this. Don’t act like this was some noble sacrifice. You weren’t thinking about them. You weren’t thinking about me. You were thinking about you. Your career. Your next big move.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” you shot back, “is waking up next to a stranger. A man who made decisions without me. Who kept a woman secret from me for over a year. Who lied — or twisted the truth so carefully it felt the same.”

Seungmin stepped closer, voice rising now to match yours. “She’s a professional contact. I didn’t want to involve you until I knew it was real. Is that so hard to understand?”

You were yelling now. “What’s hard to understand is why I had to find out with the rest of the world. If you respected me, if you trusted me, if we were a team like you always said— you would’ve told me.”

He shouted over you, voice breaking with frustration. “I was scared, okay?! I didn’t want you to say no. I didn’t want you to hate me for dragging you and the kids overseas. I didn’t want to make this harder than it already is.”

You stared at him, truly stared.

And what broke you wasn’t the yelling.

It was the fear in his voice. Not of losing you, but of confronting the truth. Of facing the fallout of a decision he’d already made.

Your chest heaved. Your eyes burned.

“That’s the part you don’t get,” you said, quietly this time. “You already made it harder. Not by asking me to leave. Not by considering the offer. But by lying. By deciding I couldn’t handle the truth.”

He shook his head, voice thick. “It wasn’t about you.”

You scoffed. “Right. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You didn’t notice how loud you’d become until the silence that followed felt unnatural. And then, A piercing, frantic cry cut through the house.

Iseul.

Shrill, high-pitched, panicked.

You both turned at once.

Seungmin moved first, instinctively, like the father he still was bolting toward the nursery hallway. But your hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him cold.

He looked at you in confusion, breath shallow.

You stared at him with fire in your eyes.

“No.”

His brows furrowed. “What— she’s crying—”

“I’ll go,” you said, your voice raw. “Not you.”

“Why?” His voice cracked. “She’s our daughter.”

“No,” you whispered. “She’s my daughter right now. Because I’m the only one here.”

He blinked like you’d slapped him.

You let go of his wrist.

Then you turned and rushed.

Down the hall, through the open nursery door, into the soft lavender-painted room where your daughter wailed from her crib, little fists clenched, cheeks red and glistening.

You gathered her into your arms, heart pounding, holding her to your chest like a shield. Her tiny body shook against yours, but you whispered soothing words, rocking her gently.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And you meant it.

Not just for her.

For yourself.

Because right now, in this house filled with cracked trust and echoing pain, you were the only one still standing for her. For both of your children. You couldn’t protect them from everything, but you could be the one who stayed honest.

You rocked her until the cries softened, until her small breaths slowed against your collarbone.

And in the hallway behind you, you heard Seungmin sit down on the floor hard, like the weight of everything had finally caught up.

But you didn’t go to him.

Not this time.

The house was too quiet.

Hours had passed since the first argument, the one that left your daughter screaming in your arms and your husband sitting stunned in the hallway like the wind had been knocked from his chest. You thought maybe that would be the end of it. That silence would stretch long enough for one of you to finally make sense of what to say.

But you couldn’t stop thinking.

And Seungmin? He couldn’t stop moving.

He hadn’t left the house, but he’d stayed out of the nursery, out of the bedrooms, mostly pacing through the kitchen and hallway like a caged animal. When you walked past each other, it was stiff, shallow. He opened his mouth once, maybe twice, but the words fell away before they landed.

Until now.

It was dark out when it happened. The kids were finally asleep, your son curled in your bed, the baby passed out against your chest after her last bottle.

You passed her to her crib slowly, carefully, and left the nursery on bare feet, moving quietly through the hall.

Seungmin was waiting at the end of it arms crossed, leaned against the doorway to the living room like he was forcing himself to stay still.

You didn’t stop walking.

“Can we talk now?” he said, not looking at you.

You paused.

Turned.

“Yes,” you said. “But I’m not doing it with half-truths again.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You crossed your arms. “So start from the beginning. Not the version you’ve revised three times. The truth.”

He pushed off the wall and walked into the living room. You followed.

He didn’t sit. Neither did you.

“It started last winter,” he began, voice low. “There was this exhibition thing in L.A., and one of the scouts introduced us. Her name’s Madison.”

Madison.

It hurt, having a name to put to the ghost. Somehow it made it worse.

“She said she’d seen me pitch in Busan the year before,” he continued. “Said she thought I had MLB potential. I didn’t believe her at first.”

“And?”

“She gave me her card. Said if I ever wanted to explore the option, I could reach out. I didn’t. Not for months. But then— after I got that minor injury in spring training, I started thinking about my shelf life. How fast it could end. How the kids are growing, and we’ll need more— more security, more stability. So I called her.”

Your expression hardened. “You were injured, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t want me to know. That’s what you mean.”

He winced, but didn’t correct you.

“I wasn’t planning anything big at first,” he said quickly. “It was just supposed to be background talk. Feelers. I didn’t even sign anything.”

“But you were talking to her regularly,” you said. “Behind my back. Letting her shape your decisions. Tell me again how that’s not hiding something?”

“She had connections,” he said. “I needed her.”

“You needed me,” you said. “You needed us. But you didn’t think we could handle the truth?”

“I didn’t want to drag you into something that wasn’t certain.”

“Bullshit,” you said, your voice cracking. “You didn’t want to hear me say no.”

His lips parted. Shut again.

Your heart was pounding now. Hard.

“And now this article comes out,” you said. “And it says you’ve had a close relationship with her. Not just business. Not just professional. And you still expect me to believe it was nothing?”

He threw up his hands. “Because it was nothing!”

“You keep saying that,” you snapped. “But everything else you say changes! First you barely knew her. Then she was a connection. Then you were working together for months. Now she’s your lifeline to a better life?! Which version is the truth, Seungmin?”

He stepped toward you, voice raised. “You think I’m sleeping with her? You think I would cheat on you?! After everything—”

“I didn’t say that!” you shouted. “You did!”

His mouth opened again.

And again, he had nothing.

“Do you hear yourself?” you said, near tears now. “You keep trying to fix the story instead of just telling it. Every time you talk, I feel like I’m catching you in another lie.”

He turned away, paced across the room, grabbed at his hair.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said, almost to himself. “I wasn’t trying to— I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” you asked, voice softer now, but shaking. “Then why does it feel like every word you say is cutting deeper?”

He turned, frustrated. “I was trying to make the best of what I could! I thought if I got the deal solid first, you’d feel better knowing it wasn’t just a risk—”

“I don’t need you to protect me from risks,” you snapped. “I need you to be honest. I need you to respect me enough to let me choose the hard things with you.”

He stared at you, this woman who had stood by him through every game, every travel stretch, every missed birthday and late-night bus ride. And now, when he needed you most, he realized...

He’d gone too far without you.

And now he couldn’t pull you back.

Your hands dropped to your sides, empty. Exhausted.

“I don’t even know if I’m angry at you,” you whispered. “Or if I’m angry at myself for not seeing it sooner.”

He blinked, breathing uneven.

You moved past him, toward the hallway again.

“Where are you going?”

“I need air.”

He followed. “You can’t just walk out—”

You turned, eyes blazing.

“No,” you said. “You need to leave.”

His face twisted. “What?”

“I need space. The kids are asleep. I’m not doing this again while they’re in this house.”

He hesitated. “Where the hell am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t care,” you said. “You can go to a hotel, you can sleep in your car, you can call your manager. I just— I can’t look at you right now.”

He laughed, bitterly. “So that’s it?”

“No,” you said. “But it’s all I’ve got tonight.”

His eyes were wild now, mouth slightly open, chest heaving with things he couldn’t say fast enough.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine. You don’t want to hear it? You don’t want to listen to anything I have to say? Then I’ll go.”

“I’ve been listening,” you shouted. “It’s just that none of it makes sense.”

He shoved past you, storming into the bedroom. You heard drawers yanked open. A zipper. A bag hitting the floor.

You stood frozen in the hallway, watching the shadows move under the door.

Then, moments later, it opened. He walked past you, hoodie on, baseball cap low, duffel over his shoulder. His mouth pressed into a line.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

He walked down the stairs, opened the door, and stepped outside.

You watched him through the window, standing still in the dark. His car door opened.

But he didn’t get in.

He stood beside the car for a second, shoulders hunched like the weight had finally settled across them.

And then he looked back toward the house.

For a flicker.

A moment.

As if expecting you to follow.

You didn’t.

And then he got in.

And drove off.

You didn’t cry at first.

You stood there, gripping the edge of the banister like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Then, once the headlights vanished, once the silence roared back into your chest—

You broke.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

You just sank.

Onto the stairs. Onto your knees. And the sobs came in waves. Quiet, painful, relentless.

Because love wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Because the man you had once called home had chosen a path that no longer included you, not fully.

And you didn’t know if he would find his way back.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[itsnesss]

hi! how are you? i was thinking maybe max x reader where reader just needs a hug. like maybe someone has made her feel bad and she just can't help but crumble into his arms, sobbing in his chest. hurt-comfort kinda :)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you come home shattered after a rough day. max sees through your silence, holds you as you break down, and comforts you with quiet love

warnings | emotional distress, crying, hurt/comfort themes, mention of self-doubt/insecurity, soft fluff and vulnerability

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

The day had started like any other. You woke up to the sound of your alarm, answered a few messages, even dared to wear that sweater you love so much the one Max always says makes you look “ridiculously adorable.” But as the hours passed, something inside you began to crumble, as if the world was mocking your efforts to hold yourself together.

It started with an offhand comment, one of those disguised as a joke but aimed straight at the heart. It wasn’t the first time someone questioned your place, your decisions, your way of being. But today, it caught you off guard. The words cut deep, right into that corner of your chest where you keep all your insecurities, that place Max tries to fill with his affection, but that sometimes just opens up on its own.

You pretended to be fine. You smiled. You nodded. You even made a joke yourself, as if it didn’t matter.

But it did matter.

It mattered so much that the moment you walked into the apartment you share with Max, everything felt heavy. You dropped your keys on the entryway table, like always, but you didn’t take off your shoes. Or your jacket. You just stood there, back against the wall, feeling your eyes well up with tears without permission.

Max was in the living room, checking something on his tablet—maybe telemetry or a strategy for the next race. When he saw you, his expression changed instantly.

"Love?" he asked softly, setting the tablet aside. "Are you okay?"

You couldn’t answer. You just shook your head, trying to say yes, but your lips trembled and your eyes filled completely with tears.

Max reached you in two steps, quick but unrushed, with that way he has of respecting your space without staying too far.

"Hey… look at me," he whispered, his hands gently cupping your cheeks. "What happened?"

And that was it.

Your body trembled. Your lips broke into a muffled sob. You shut your eyes tight and threw yourself against his chest as if it were the only safe place on earth.

Max held you without another word. His arms wrapped around you with firmness, as if he could hold together all the shattered pieces you were trying so hard to keep intact. His chin rested on your head, and he began to sway you gently, while your tears soaked his shirt.

"You’re here now," he murmured into your hair. "I’m with you. You don’t have to say anything yet."

Your fingers clutched his back as if you were going to disappear, and he simply held you. Patiently. Calmly. Lovingly.

Because sometimes, understanding isn’t what matters. Just being there.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, in his arms, your face buried in his chest as your world melted into tears. The silence between you was warm, soft, as if Max knew exactly that you didn’t need solutions, just comfort.

When your crying slowly began to ease, you felt his hand stroking your back in slow circles, and his other hand interlaced with yours.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked quietly, no pressure, just leaving the door open for you to step through when you were ready.

You took a deep breath. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. He wasn’t in a rush he just looked at you with that tenderness that seemed reserved only for you. And then the words began to come, halting, with pauses and knots in your throat.

"It was something stupid…" you murmured, hating how vulnerable you felt. "Someone said something. Like a joke. But it hurt. It made me feel… like I don’t matter. Like everything I do is a joke."

Max frowned. Not in anger toward you, but toward whoever had made you feel that way.

"Who was it?"

You shook your head. You didn’t want to cause trouble. You just wanted the pain to go away.

"It doesn’t matter. It’s just that… I was already holding in so much. And that was like… the last drop."

Max brought your hands to his lips and kissed them slowly, never breaking eye contact.

"Of course it matters," he said, his tone firm but full of care. "Because if something hurts you, then it matters. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. You’re not a joke. You’re not less. And if someone made you feel that way, they clearly don’t know who you really are."

His words broke you a little more, but this time in a different way. As if each sentence was unraveling the knot of guilt you carried in your chest.

"Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in," you whispered. "Like I’m less than everyone else. Like I don’t have the right to be tired, or sad, or hurt."

Max shook his head, eyes locked on yours.

"You have the right to all of that and more. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me. I’m here to hold you up when you can’t anymore. Always."

And then he hugged you again, tighter this time, as if trying to rebuild you from scratch with nothing but his embrace.

"You fit with me," he added, whispering in your ear. "In my life, in my world. And if the world doesn’t see how lucky it is to have you, then the problem is with the world not you."

A silent tear rolled down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness.

It was relief.

After that hug, there wasn’t much left to say… but Max still wasn’t ready to let go of you completely.

He helped you take off your jacket, took your hand, and led you to the couch as if you were made of glass—not out of pity, but out of genuine care. He made sure you were comfortable, knelt in front of you, and studied your face for a moment in silence, as if checking for any shadows that still lingered.

"Don’t move, okay?" he asked with a half-smile.

"What are you going to do?"

"Trust me."

And you did.

A few minutes later, the sound of the coffee machine filled the quiet of the house, followed by the soft crinkle of a cookie bag. It wasn’t anything grand. It wasn’t an expensive gift or a surprise trip. But when Max returned to the living room with your favorite cookies, a mug of warm milk, and a blanket in the other hand, you understood something important.

It wasn’t the gesture itself. It was the way.

It was how he remembered what you liked when you were sad. How he knew exactly what to say without pushing. How he looked at you—as if even after seeing you fall apart, you were still his favorite person in the world.

He sat next to you and wrapped the blanket around you with a care that felt like pure love. Then he handed you the mug and settled beside you, pulling you against his chest while his fingers played with your hair.

"Did I tell you today how brave you are?" he murmured suddenly.

You shook your head with a shy smile.

"Well, you are. A lot. But even brave people need to rest. Cry. Feel bad. That doesn’t make them weak. It makes them real."

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling more at peace than you had all day.

"Thank you, Max."

"Always," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "This is your place. And no one—absolutely no one—has the right to make you feel otherwise."

He didn’t respond with more words. He didn’t need to. He just hugged you tighter, let the silence speak for you both, and for the first time all day… you felt like you could breathe again.

[rafesorchid]

Hii, just wondering if do a little blurb for a reader who cries when they're angry. Like Rafe and the reader are in an argument and maybe he's yelling or smth but after the reader says a few things she like breaks down sobbing while trying to argue but failing

★ don't cry, baby

wait i actually lov this

you weren’t even trying to argue, not really. not at first.

you’d just asked a question—maybe a little sharp, maybe too much tension curled in your tone—but it had been innocent in your head. a simple “where were you?” that somehow struck a nerve.

he looked at you like you’d said something cruel. like you’d accused him of something he didn’t do.

and maybe that’s where it all started.

“i told you i was with topper,” he snapped, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed, shoulders tight. “why do you keep asking me that?”

you blinked, trying to keep calm. “because you didn’t answer your phone all night.”

“my phone died,” he shot back. “what, you think i’m lying?”

you didn’t say anything, and maybe that’s what pissed him off the most.

rafe had always been like this—his fuse a little too short, his voice a little too loud when he felt cornered. you’d gotten used to it, most days. he never meant to yell. he never meant to make you feel small. but tonight, your skin already felt raw, and every word he threw sounded sharper than usual.

“jesus, y/n, what do you want from me?” he barked, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to pull the frustration out of his skull. “you want a fucking minute-by-minute breakdown of my night? is that it?”

you flinched, just a little, but enough that his face changed for a split second—like he noticed. like he regretted it.

but you were too far in now.

“no,” you said softly, voice trembling despite your best effort. “i just wanted to know why you didn’t come home.”

he scoffed, shaking his head. “i fell asleep, alright? topper’s couch. didn’t know i had to report back to you like i’m on parole.”

“you said you’d be back,” you whispered.

“and i didn’t realize that meant i was gonna get interrogated like this if i wasn’t. god, y/n, i can’t fucking breathe with you sometimes—”

“don’t say that,” you cut in, your voice cracking, and that was the beginning of the end.

your chest felt tight. your face hot. and even though you were still trying—still trying to argue back, to explain, to stand your ground—your eyes were already burning.

he didn’t notice at first. or maybe he did and ignored it.

“you always do this,” he muttered, pacing now. “always think the worst of me. always turn shit into a fight when i’m already f*cking trying.”

“i’m not trying to fight with you,” you said, louder than before, but your voice wobbled on the last word.

and that’s when it happened.

you opened your mouth to keep going—“i just wanted to feel like you cared, like you didn’t forget about me”—but all that came out was a strangled little sob. not cute. not quiet. not something you could play off.

you were crying. fully crying.

and rafe went still.

your hands came up to your face instinctively, wiping at the tears like you could stop them, like that would fix the way your voice broke every time you tried to speak. you shook your head, trying to get it together, trying to finish what you’d started.

“i’m not—” another sob cracked through your words. “i’m not trying to fight, i’m not—god, i’m so tired, i just—i don’t even know—”

rafe’s expression crumbled like wet paper.

“baby—” his voice dropped, suddenly soft, hesitant.

but you kept going. you were spiraling now, sobbing into your palms, barely able to form words between gasps for air.

“you’re always mad at me, and i’m always scared of saying the wrong thing, and i hate feeling like this, i hate crying, i hate this—”

“baby, no—shh, hey, come here, come here,” rafe was in front of you before you could move, hands on your arms, panicked. “fuck, i didn’t—i didn’t mean to make you cry.”

you hiccuped through another sob, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you.

“don’t,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest despite your protests. “don’t push me away. not right now. i’m here, i’m right here.”

you were shaking.

your tears soaked through his shirt. your hands clutched at his sides without meaning to, like your body needed the comfort more than your brain wanted it.

“‘m sorry,” you gasped, half-incoherent. “i don’t cry like this, i swear, i just—I get mad, and then i cry, and i can’t talk when i’m like this, and—”

“shh, baby, stop. don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

he held you tighter. rocked you a little. kissed your hair.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “this is my fault. i shouldn’t have yelled. i didn’t mean any of that shit, okay? you didn’t deserve that.”

you sniffled, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

he moved one hand to the back of your head, cradling it gently, and kept whispering.

“i just get so fucking stupid sometimes. when i think you’re upset with me, i get loud, and i get mean, and i hate that i do that. you’re the last person i ever wanna hurt.”

you didn’t answer, still catching your breath, tears still leaking from the corners of your eyes even as they slowed.

“you have every right to be mad,” he said softly. “i told you i’d come home and i didn’t. you were just worried, weren’t you?”

you nodded against his chest, miserably.

“and then i showed up and started yelling like a f*cking asshole. jesus, baby, i’m so sorry.”

you mumbled something unintelligible, and rafe leaned down, tipping your chin up gently so he could see your face.

“say that again?”

“i didn’t mean to cry,” you whispered. “i hate crying when i’m angry. i hate it.”

“hey,” he said, brushing your hair back. “look at me.”

you did, barely.

his expression was nothing but soft now, like all the anger had drained out of him the moment he saw your tears.

“you cry because you care,” he said, voice low. “and that’s not a bad thing.”

you swallowed thickly, lip trembling.

“it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s not,” he promised. “it’s not, baby. not to me.”

he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, lingering there for a second too long. like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving you upset.

“you’re so strong all the time,” he murmured. “sometimes you forget you’re allowed to break a little. you don’t have to hold it in with me.”

you leaned into his touch without meaning to, and he took that as a sign to guide you to the couch. he sat down first, pulling you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you warm enough?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you again. “want a blanket?”

you shook your head, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

he kissed the top of your head.

“i’ll be better,” he said quietly. “i promise.”

you didn’t say anything for a while. your tears dried slow, breath returning steady. you could feel your face aching from crying, throat raw, head pounding.

but rafe held you like he had nowhere else to be. like you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to let go of. he didn’t try to make it better with jokes or fake promises. he just stayed, quiet and steady.

and eventually, when your voice came back, you whispered:

“i just wanted you to come home.”

his arms tightened around you instantly.

“i know,” he said. “and i will. every time. i swear.”

you closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

“okay.”

he kissed your temple.

“don’t cry, baby,” he murmured again, softer now. “you got me. i’m here.”

[cielito--lindo]

to be loved mexicanly...

☁️sero notices that you've been feeling more and more homesick lately and one of your posts gives him an idea... ☁️ fem!reader x sero hanta, latina!reader x latino!sero, fluff, guerita used as a term of endearment

"remind me why the fuck i'm about to spend a fortune in overseas shipping for some fucking...toy?!" bakugou growled at his friend.

"well one because you love me and, most importantly, you want me to be with y/n...the love of my life, the keeper of my heart, the air in my lungs.." if he could have cartoon heart eyes, sero would be sporting them proudly "and you have the most money...i'm serious dude, she's miserable. she wasn't able to go back home during break and she's starting to watch old novelas again...i can only take so much el fuego en la sangre."

"don't get me wrong, bro. like this is all super manly as hell, but i'm a little confused...the way to fix her is by buying her plushies of a pharmacist?" kirishima peered over his friend's shoulder to peek at his computer screen. "several different versions of said pharmacist?"

sero couldn't help but let out a sigh of annoyance "look, dr. simi is a national treasure back home, dudes." sero remembers when he first encountered dr. simi, he was around 4-5 and was going through a nasty cold, his mom took him with her to pick up some cold medicine and out in the wild he encounter something he could only chalk up to be a fever dream. a dr. simi having a dance battle with someone from the ciel water company...he could still feel the vibrations from speaker blasting daddy yankee's rompe. "he's like the hello kitty of mexico!"

his friends all gave him various looks of confusion and wary.

sigh. "look she posted a video of this girl getting a serenata and has reposted all these tiktoks about being loved mexicanly! bro, it's my perfect chance!"

"what does being loved mexicanly even mean? and why does it feel like a slur when i say it?" denki asked, his face scrunched up.

sero paused for a moment, trying to best to word his thoughts "it depends??? like the internet thinks that being loved mexicanly is like giant grandiose gestures; giant buff bare chested men on horseback with a mariachi in the background, type shit. but realistically, it's quiet affection, never questioning your devotion for each other because actions speak louder than words, it's showing up for the good and the bad times" there was a fond smile on the tape hero's face as memories of watching his own parents show their love for him and for each other. he vowed to one day show someone that same respect.

"bro.." kirishima's voice broke through his reverie, sero looked over to find the redhead and denki clutching each other with tears in their eyes "that's so fucking manly."

"yeah whatever" bakugou scoffed, trying to hide the fact that his own eyes were red rimmed. "add another one of those shits in the cart, i think i saw an all-might one i can get for shitty deku"

"no se como vivir sin ti!"

your head was barely poking out of her comforter, scrolling through your cousins' instagrams as teresa played in the background, you've seen the novela so many times, you could practically recite it. photos of your family at the beach, your mom making her famous aguachiles, your uncle tying up a pinata for the kids in the vencidad during christmas. your various cousins with their signifcant others

you knew that choosing to go to UA was going to be a hard decision and one you've never regretted, but during these moments where the rest of your classmates were able to go home during the holidays and be with their families; you were calculating 15 hour time differences just to be able to have a phone call with them.

"todo va estar bien, mijita!" your mom's voice tried to soothe your tears during your last call "eres fuerte! este sacrificio es para que puedas alcanzar tus sueños. serás el héroe de méxico algún día, te lo prometo!"

your heart yearned for home - you could've survived not going back home for the holidays this year if you had someone to survive it with, but even then it just made your heart hurt more.

another round of tears started to flow down your cheeks as your buried yourself further into your blanket cave.

knock knock "y/n? you in there?"

"go away!"

the tell-tale sign of sero using your spare key to let himself in made you peek your head out of the blankets "remind me to destroy your copy" you grumbled

sero gave you a toothy grin "jokes on you, mi guerita, i got hella spares that you don't even know about."

you rolled your eyes at him, but couldn't help but feel a little better

"as much as i believe that sebastian rulli can cure us all, i got you a little something"

he got me something? you eyes narrowed in suspicion "...what do you want?"

"okay, fuckin wound me, why don't you?" sero faked indignant "can't a man simply buy something nice for his best friend??"

you eyed the box he held behind his back and sat up "you really didn't have to, i'm fine"

"guerita, believe me, i know you're fine as hell" he winked, doing an internal fist pump as he watched the blush bloom on your cheeks "i also have known you since we were little mocosos, i know how much you miss your family and as much as i wish i could afford to buy you a ticket back home, this is the best i could do."

sero placed the box in your lap, it was fairly large and your mind raced with what could be inside. he chewed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming in panic.

you gently popped off the tape from the sides and slowly opened the plain cardboard box

it felt like an eternity as you just stared into the box with an expression on your face that was making sero sweat. oh my fucking god she hates it, oh my god - what the fuck was i thinking??

a soft sob broke sero out of his panic, he looked over to see fat drops of tears slide down your face "ohnononononono" he muttered, rushing over to you and pulling you in his arms "i'm so sorry this was so stupid, i thought-i thought you'd like it, i-"

"i love it" you hiccuped, bright eyes shining with tears "you got me dr. simis!" a watery laugh left your lips "how did you know i was missing some??"

sero's eyes flicked over to the displays of plushies lining your walls "i-uh. had a hunch."

you pulled them out one by one, plopping them into his arms until he could barely contain them before snapping a picture. you let out a laugh before making it your wallpaper. that laugh made the pain of having to ask bakugou for a favor all worth it - he'd buy the entire chain of farmacias similares to hear that laugh for the rest of his life

"there's-um" he cleared his throat, you tried not to grin at the nervous hitch in his voice "there's something else in there"

you furrowed your brow as you turned your attention back to the box, pulling out a small note at the bottom.

"quieres ser mi novia?"

do you wanna be my girlfriend?

you turned to find sero standing at the foot of your bed with the largest bouquet of roses you've ever seen. where the fuck did he even get that?

"i've liked you the moment we met as kids - you stole my duvalin and my heart on the playground that day. i wanna be the man you recreate those stupid dramatic novela scenes with-"

he couldn't even finish the rest of his speech as you threw yourself onto him - he dropped the flowers to catch you, pulling you tight against him, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist

"pendejito, yes of course!" you squealed happily

"oh thank god" sero sighed "this was gonna get real awkward if you had said no"

"what? why??"

he carried you over to the window, opening the sliding door to the balcony. you let out a surprised gasp as you saw your friends and classmates outside "she said yes, guys!" sero called out

suddenly bright and loud music began to play, you watched as some of your classmates pulled out speakers and you could recognize the begining of "mi credo" by k-paz de la sierra "none of them spoke spanish, so this is the best we could come up with!" your boyfriend (ahhhh!) laughed.

you pulled his face in closer for a soft kiss "thank you for this, hanta. it's starting to feel like home with you here."

so this was clearly pure self indulgent and no i will not be taking criticisms 👼🏽 but latino!sero will forever have my heart

also being loved mexicanly was a weird trend bc yeah all that is true, but like also machismo and cheating and toxic relationships are also very prevalent, soooo 👀

and yes, i do have an extensive dr. simi collection - i mentioned them once to my dad and every time he goes back to mx he brings me once and it fuels my little tism urge to hoard things.

[witheredwritings]

Bitter Taste

Summary: In an AU where joel never met Ellie, he shows up one day to his brother’s town, unannounced, unwanted. Though he keeps to himself, you seem to have caught his attention.

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: Blood, gunviolence, stalking, creepy!joel, kidnapping, stalker!joel, AU!joel, age gap (reader is in her early 20s and joel in his late 50s)

A/N: I wanna write something darker this time. Let me know if you want part 2 to this oneshot!

You felt it run down your hands, thick and slow, red like the pulp of summer cherries.

The Jackson summer heat had gotten to your head and melted what little joy the cherry preserve on your biscuit had left. You let the sticky mess drip down your fingers, past your wrists, down to the elbow. A small red puddle formed on the old wooden picnic table. It looked like a heart. A mangled, beat-up one. Fitting.

Someone was playing an old record of Linda Ronstadt through the loudspeakers. The kind of music that stuck to your ribs like warm soup. The clinking of plates and the chatter of the crowd at the community kitchen blended into a comforting hum. Dina, never one to run out of things to say, was deep into her third story about a fight that broke out during patrol rotations.

“Whole damn thing started over a pair of boots,” she huffed.

It was the first week after final assessments for new recruits. Dina had insisted you celebrate at the mess hall’s picnic area. Jesse and Ellie had argued you should go out on a longer patrol near the lookout tower—make it a camping trip. But Dina wouldn’t budge.

“I didn’t survive clickers and math evaluations to eat jerky on a log,” she’d said.

You couldn’t even be mad. The shade was kind, the food was warm, and Dina’s ranting was familiar comfort.

“I heard the Tipsy Bison’s got live music tonight,” Ellie said, strumming lightly on a half-strung guitar. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle about tuning it for attention.

“Didn’t peg you for a bar kind of girl, Ellie.” Jesse raised a brow, teasing.

“She’s not,” Dina grinned. “But she heard about the new guy.”

That caught your attention.

“What new guy?” You asked

“You know Maria’s husband, Tommy?” Dina leaned forward like a coiled spring ready to explode gossip. “Apparently, Tommy's older brother showed up some time ago. Just wandered in from one of the outer settlements. Lookin’ to trade work for a roof. Tommy offered up his spare room behind the saloon.”

Joel had shown up three weeks ago, no fanfare, just a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a gaze that didn’t belong in a place like Jackson. It was too still, too unreadable. Like something terrible had settled in behind it and decided to stay.

"I've seen the guy around a few times, but I didn't know he was Tommy's brother." You whispered.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was low and deliberate. Like every word had been sifted through a meat grinder before coming out his mouth. And though he kept to himself mostly, helping Tommy with patrol schedules, tending bar, fixing up gear in the garage—his eyes always found you. Watching. Weighing.

"You know he was a contractor before all this?" Dina chimed in, biting into a melting popsicle that painted her lips the color of bruised plums. "A builder. Said he used to make homes for people. Now he tears 'em apart."

Jesse snorted. "What, he tell you that over dinner and a bottle of moonshine? He hasn’t said more than five words to any of us."

That wasn’t true. Not for you. Not after the next day.

It had started with a cut on your palm. A stupid slip of the knife while cleaning fish for the town kitchen. Blood welled up, hot and immediate, and someone called for Joel because he was closest. He didn’t say anything at first, just took your hand in his and wrapped it with that same blank expression he always wore. But something shifted in him when he touched you—like a wire pulled taut.

He’d looked at you, finally looked at you—not through you—and said, "You need to be more careful. There’s worse things out there than dull knives."

The way he said it chilled me. Like he knew those worse things personally. Like he was one of them.

Later, after dark, I was walking back from the library when I heard his voice behind me.

"You shouldn’t be out this late."

I turned and saw him half-lit under the amber glow of the watchtower light. He stepped out from the shadows like something conjured. There was no threat in his stance, not exactly. But I felt it anyway.

"You followin' me?" I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.

His greying hair reflected the moonlight as his eyes stayed dull. No sparkle, no light to be found there.

"Ain’t followin'," he said, that half-Texan drawl coating the words like molasses. "Just... keepin’ an eye out."

He walked me home that night, saying nothing else. But I didn’t sleep well. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his.

Tonight, the mess hall was alive with music and chatter. A small celebration for a supply run that had gone smoother than expected. You stayed close to your friends, tried to ignore the weight of his gaze across the room. But you felt it, like pressure on the back of your neck.

When you stepped outside to get some air, he was already there, sitting on the edge of the porch, cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

"Didn't know you smoke," you said.

He shrugged. "Helps me think."

"You do a lot of thinking?"

"Lately, yeah. Mostly about you."

His words should’ve scared you. Maybe they did. But there was something hypnotic about the way he said it—like it wasn’t a confession, but a fact.

"You ever get the feelin'," he continued, flicking ash into the dirt, "like you’re not supposed to be somewhere, but you’re there anyway? Like the world made a mistake lettin' you in?"

You swallowed hard, unsure how to answer.

He stood, and for the first time, came close. Close enough that you could see the scar above his brow, the faded bloodstain on his collar. He smelled like oil and metal and something older. Something buried.

"Let me show you somethin'."

He led you out past the gates. Said he knew a spot, real quiet, where you could see the stars better. The guards didn’t stop us. No one questioned Joel Miller.

We veered off the main path, into the wheat fields just past the edge of the safe zone. The moon overhead cast everything in silver. You followed him wordlessly, trusting my gut. The trail wound into the woods, the branches arching overhead like ribs. The moonlight barely touched the ground. You walked, surrounded by nothing but stars and the swaying hush of stalks brushing your arms. And when you stopped, it was in a clearing surrounded by trees that looked like they’d seen too much.

"Beautiful, ain’t it?" he asked, but his voice was distant.

He turned to face me, his eyes darker now, unreadable.

“The sky’s something else here,” you whispered.

Joel looked up. “Reminds me of the world before.”

His hand brushed my jaw. You didn’t flinch. Not until you caught a flicker of something behind those tired eyes.

You turned to him, lips parted to say something, when you felt it—a crack like thunder.

Your body jolted before your brain caught up. Heat bloomed in your abdomen, hot and furious. You looked down and saw it—the bloom of red, dark as plum wine, spreading across your shirt.

Joel stepped closer, gun lowered now, his eyes unreadable.

"You weren’t gonna leave, were you?" he asked softly. "Tell Tommy? Run?"

You staggered, breath hitching, fingers pressing to the wound. The blood slipped between them, coating my skin, sticky and red as fruit.

He reached for me—not cruelly, but with something that looked like care. Something twisted and wrong.

"Didn’t wanna do it like this," he muttered. "But you’re smart. Smarter than most. And you looked at me like I wasn’t just a shadow walkin’ around. Made it hard."

The trees swayed gently above you two, the stars watching in silence.

And as your vision dimmed, you realized he hadn’t come here to bury you.

He’d come to keep you.

Alive.

With him.

Somewhere no one would ever find you.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Don’t forget to check out my other work xx

PS: should i make a part two or not?

[sturniolo04]

i love your fics, ur literally my favourite writer on this app 💗 i was wondering if you could write a fic where madison is being bullied at school and she refuses to go in and chris and the others find out about what’s going on

A/n:  ofc! I put a little spin on it and made it into a little blurb! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

If there was one thing Madison knew after entering into highschool was that girls are mean. Kids are mean. but what she couldn't understand is why they were being mean to her, maybe it was because she went on one date with a guy and had a crush on another later on and now she was labelled as a slut.

Madison's image of herself completely changed she was now only disgusted with herself maybe the things they were saying about her were true those voices were so loud that she felt like she had no other choice to listen to them.

Madison aslo knew that she didnt even want to go back to school because listening to those voices in her head was one thing but when she had to hear them in real time from her classmates was not a great feeling especially when she didn't understand why It had to be her getting picked on and why she was the one getting the labelled on her personality.

"madison lets go time to get up for school"

chris exclaims entering her room to be met with her still tucked under her covers.

"i dont feel well today can i skip"

madison geuninely asks faking sick.

"are you sick sweetheart"

chris asks concerned madison nods her head letting out a fake cough to make it believable which did end up working. Chris let her stay home and not go to school because she was 'sick.' Madison knew she couldn't continue to be 'sick' she was eventually going to have to come clean about everything but how could she that's embarrassing to admit to anyone let alone her dad.

About a couple weeks go by and Madison had managed to stay at home those two weeks flying under the radar or so she thought.

"mads how are you doing princess"

chris asks coming into her room sitting next to her on the bed.

"im fine dad why do you ask"

she giggles out nervously.

"just wondering you havent been wanting to go to school lately didn't know if something was going on that you wanted to talk about"

chris states as he scan his daughters face for the very readable emotions. Madison was never good about hiding how she felt at least not from him. Madison broke down into tears catching chris off guard completely.

"mads whats going on talk to me"

chris coos out begining to lift up her chin to look at him and wipe her tears away as they cascaded down her cheeks.

"dad everyone is mean to me at school that's why I dont want to go"

madison sobs out honestly.

"what mads how are they mean to you sweetheart"

chris questions in pure shock at the very response.

"they call me slut because its apparently a fucking crime to like a boy and then kiss another one 3 months apart"

madison sobs out. Chris lets his jaw slightly clench. It wasn't just the name calling of course it was almost like her peers hated that she existed and she felt it everyday because they reminded her of it.

"i hate it there dad i dont want to go back please dont make me go back"

madison sobs out clearly effected by the enviroment.

"of course not sweetheart you dont have to go back c'mere"

chris coos bringing his daughter into his embrace threading his fingers through her hair comfortingly as she continued to sob into his chest.

Taglist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333 @stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris @tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @sturniolosymphony @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws

[alittlegiraffe]

craving a juicy chapter of angst/possessiveness

Title: “Still Mine”

You used to think the scariest moment in your marriage was the night you almost lost him. The overdose. The cold, sterile hospital room. The machines breathing for him while you sat frozen beside him, your hand gripping his like a lifeline.

But this—this quiet space between you now—hurts worse in its own way.

Three months into a six-month trial separation.

Three months of sleeping alone.

Three months of eating in silence.

Three months of watching your girls split time between their two homes—the main house and the damn guest house at the edge of the property where he stayed now, per the counselor’s suggestion.

She called it “space to rebuild individual identities.”

You called it bullshit.

But you’d agreed because he’d almost died, and if something was broken between you—something deep and hidden and co-dependent—then maybe you had to tear it all down before you could build it back stronger.

Still… you missed him. Not just his touch, not just the way he’d murmur “my girl” against your neck at night. You missed his breath in your ear when you laughed too hard. You missed how he always reached for your hand under the table, like he couldn’t not touch you.

So maybe this date tonight was partly about proving to yourself that you could be your own person. And partly about hoping he’d stop you.

You stood in front of your vanity in a soft, black wrap dress that clung to your waist just right. Classy. A little sexy. It felt strange to care how you looked again. Like you weren’t dressing for comfort or routine. Like you were wanted.

And yet… even as you added a final swipe of gloss, your stomach twisted with guilt. Or longing. You couldn’t tell which anymore.

There was a knock on the bedroom door—three short taps. You glanced at your phone. Right on time.

“Yeah, come in,” you called.

The door creaked open, and Marshall stepped inside, jeans slung low on his hips, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His eyes immediately found you in the mirror.

And stopped.

Dead.

Your heart jumped.

He blinked once. “You’re going somewhere.”

You turned slowly. “Yeah. Um. I asked if you could watch the girls. You said you didn’t mind.”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice quieter now, more careful. “Didn’t know you had plans.”

You smoothed your skirt, not meeting his eyes. “Just dinner.”

“With who?” His voice didn’t rise, but you heard the edge in it—just beneath the calm. Just beneath the control.

You hesitated, then forced yourself to meet his gaze. “His name’s Caleb. He works with Jenna.”

Marshall stared at you, his jaw ticking. His hands flexed at his sides, like he didn’t trust them. “You’re going on a date?”

You nodded slowly. “It’s part of what the counselor suggested. Trying things outside of… this.”

His eyes narrowed, and you saw it—the switch flip. That familiar, dangerous glint that always came out when he thought someone might take what was his.

“You don’t want him,” he said, not like a question, but a fact. A low, dark promise.

Your breath caught.

“Marshall—”

“Nah,” he said, stepping closer, head shaking, voice tight. “You don’t want him. You’re just pissed at me. You’re just trying to forget what we are. But you can’t.”

Your back hit the dresser as he stopped inches away. The scent of him—clean soap, warm skin, and something darker—wrapped around you.

“You could wear that for me,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your dress. “You have. That’s the dress you wore when we went to that benefit in L.A. You remember?”

You nodded, helplessly.

“I couldn’t keep my hands off you that night.”

You swallowed thickly. “You weren’t supposed to come here and make this harder.”

His jaw clenched. “You think this is easy for me?” His voice broke a little, and his hand rose before dropping again. “Every day in that fucking guest house, trying not to look back at this house. At you.”

Your eyes blurred.

“I didn’t agree to this separation because I wanted space,” he went on, lower now. “I did it because I thought maybe it’d help you breathe. Because I love you enough to let you go if that’s what you need. But this? Going out with some guy in my city, while I’m in the same fucking backyard—”

He broke off, breathing hard.

You closed the distance. “Then stop me.”

His eyes flashed.

You tilted your chin. “Tell me to stay. Tell me you still want this.”

He stepped forward, his hands finally landing on your hips like they belonged there. Like they’d never left.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice like gravel, low and broken and real. “You’ll always be mine.”

You exhaled, sinking into him like gravity.

“I didn’t want to go,” you whispered.

“Then don’t.” His forehead pressed to yours. “Don’t go.”

You nodded, barely. “Okay.”

He kissed you like he was starving. Like he was drowning and you were the only air left.

And for the first time in three months, you felt like home again.

“Cancel it.”

Marshall’s voice was a low, gravelled command against your lips. He barely pulled back—just enough to look you in the eyes, his grip tightening at your waist like he expected you to try and run.

You weren’t going anywhere.

You nodded, dizzy with the nearness of him, the heat rising off his skin, the sheer claiming in his eyes. Reaching for your phone with trembling fingers, you unlocked it and pulled up Caleb’s number.

He watched your screen like a predator, like if you hesitated for even a second, he’d take matters into his own hands.

You hovered your thumb over the “call” button.

And then his hands were back—rough and sure—sliding up your thighs beneath the wrap of your dress. His mouth caught your neck just as you hit dial, hot and possessive, dragging a sound from your lips that made your stomach flutter.

“M-Marshall—” you breathed, phone pressed to your ear.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t pause.

One hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you closer, lips claiming yours again—demanding, bruising, his.

“Call him,” he rasped against your lips. “Let him hear who you really belong to.”

Your whole body flushed.

You barely had time to draw a breath before Caleb’s voice answered on the line. “Hey! You on your way?”

“I—I’m not coming,” you managed, voice tight, breathless.

Marshall’s mouth was at your jaw now, moving lower, teeth grazing skin like a warning. His hand splayed across your lower back, pulling you tight against the hard line of his body.

“Everything okay?” Caleb’s voice on the other end was confused. Too chipper. Too bold.

You nodded instinctively before remembering he couldn’t see you. “Y-Yeah, I just… something came up.”

Marshall bit down lightly at the base of your neck, and you gasped, barely muffling the sound. He pulled back just enough to growl in your ear, “Say it.”

Your eyes fluttered. “I can’t make it. I’m sorry.”

A pause.

“Alright, uh… no problem. Rain check?”

Before you could answer, Marshall snatched the phone from your hand and pressed end. The screen went dark. The room did not.

He tossed it to the bed like it offended him, then grabbed your face in both hands, holding you like something fragile and sacred and his.

“There ain’t no fucking rain check,” he said, eyes blazing. “Ain’t no next time. He doesn’t get to try again. No one does.”

You could only stare, chest heaving, lips parted. “Marshall…”

“I’m not letting you go.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t flinch. “You hear me? I don’t care what the counselor says. I don’t care what phase we’re in. You are my wife. My girl. Mine.”

Your heart thundered against your ribs, and when you nodded—slow, aching, sure—his entire body seemed to shudder with it.

“I never wanted anyone else,” you whispered. “Even when I tried to… to move on, all I could think about was you.”

His forehead dropped to yours, breathing ragged. “Then I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us. Just… don’t ever make me watch you walk out that door like that again.”

You reached up and touched his jaw, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “I won’t.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed—it was slow and deep, reverent and wild. Like he needed to relearn you. Like he would.

Title: “Still Mine” – Part 3

Pairing: Marshall Mathers x Wife!Reader

Summary: Now that you’ve canceled the date, Marshall isn’t letting you out of his sight—or his hands. The months of space, of silence, of missing each other, all boil over as he reminds you exactly who you belong to.

Warnings: Heavy romantic and sexual tension, possessiveness, makeout scene, suggestive content (soft smut, no full NSFW).

His mouth was everywhere.

Your neck, your collarbone, the line of your jaw—like he needed to relearn every inch of you with his lips. Months of separation meant nothing now, burned away by the fire curling low in your stomach, stoked by the way he touched you like no time had passed.

One arm hooked under your thighs, lifting you onto the dresser with ease. A framed photo of the girls wobbled and clattered to the floor, but neither of you looked. His hands slid up your bare thighs under the wrap of your dress like he’d never stopped touching you, like he’d memorized the way your skin responded to him.

“You wore this for him?” Marshall rasped, dark and low, as he pulled the tie at your waist loose with one hard tug. “Nah, baby. This dress remembers me.”

You gasped when the fabric loosened and his hand splayed over your stomach, inching higher.

“You think he could’ve handled you?” His lips ghosted over your ear, and you shivered. “You think he would’ve known what to do when you make those pretty little sounds? When you fall apart in my hands?”

“Marshall—” His name was half warning, half plea.

His mouth crashed to yours again, bruising and hungry, tongue sliding deep like he wanted to own the taste of you again. His hand fisted in your hair, holding you there, keeping you still while his other hand traced slow, torturous patterns along the inside of your thigh.

“I was losing my fucking mind every night in that guest house,” he growled. “Hearing you laugh with the girls. Smelling you on my clothes. Waking up hard and alone, thinking about how soft you sleep against me.”

You whimpered against his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You want to go slow?” he asked, nipping your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp. “You want space?” He dragged his mouth down your throat, biting just above your pulse. “Then tell me now. Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Your fingers trembled as they tugged at the hem of his hoodie. “Take it off,” you whispered, breathless.

He smirked—that smirk, the one that always meant trouble—and pulled the hoodie over his head in one clean motion, revealing his lean, tattooed frame. Every line of him was familiar. Home. Yours.

“I need to feel you,” you murmured, voice shaking. “Please.”

And that was it.

Whatever leash he’d been holding himself on snapped.

He shoved the dress off your shoulders, kissing down your chest, hands working over every inch of bare skin like he had to make up for every second you’d spent apart. There was nothing soft in the way he touched you now—only desperation, possession, hunger.

His voice was ragged in your ear. “You don’t go on dates. You don’t dress up for anyone else. You don’t even look at another man. You understand me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, lost in him.

He cupped your face again, gentler now but no less intense. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, eyes searching, wild and aching all at once. “Forever?”

You nodded. “Forever.”

And when he kissed you this time, it was everything—dark and possessive, but reverent, too. Like he needed you just as much as he needed air. Like nothing in the world would ever come between you again.

He didn’t take you to the bed.

He didn’t want to give you time to change your mind. Didn’t want space or soft distance.

He wanted you now.

Right there on the dresser where you’d stood smoothing your dress and wondering if he still cared. Now you knew. He never stopped.

Marshall’s hands were rough and reverent all at once, palms skimming down your arms, your sides, spreading your thighs wider with a force that made you gasp. His voice was a breath against your mouth.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmured, fingers tracing up the inside of your thigh. “Can’t believe I let anyone even think they had a chance.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered, breath hitching as he slipped your panties down your legs. “They never did.”

His eyes burned as he knelt in front of you, dragging his mouth up your inner thigh, beard scraping gently, a contrast to the softness of his lips.

“You still taste like mine,” he muttered as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds, making you arch against the wall behind you.

One arm hooked under your leg, locking it over his shoulder. The other hand gripped your hip like an anchor, holding you still while his tongue circled your clit with maddening precision. You whined, one hand tangling in his hair, and his growl vibrated against you.

“That’s it, baby. Let him hear you. Let everyone hear who you come for.”

Your head hit the mirror as he sucked you into his mouth, tongue relentless, skilled, hungry. Your thighs trembled around his head, pleasure building too fast after months of nothing but wanting and missing and aching.

“I—I can’t,” you gasped.

“Yes, you can.” His voice was hoarse. “Give it to me. Come on my fuckin’ tongue. Right now.”

It hit like lightning. Your whole body seized, shuddering, as you cried out his name and came hard, soaking his mouth as he held you through every wave. He didn’t stop until you were twitching, breathless, pulling at his shoulders.

When he finally stood, his mouth was slick, his pupils blown wide with want. He grabbed your face and kissed you again—deep, filthy, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Then he turned you around, bending you over the dresser with both hands flat on the wood. Your dress hung open around you like an afterthought. He unbuckled his belt with one hand, the other dragging along the curve of your ass, squeezing, marking, owning.

“You ready?” he rasped, lining himself up.

“Please,” you begged. “I need you, Marshall. I need you.”

He pushed into you in one hard, perfect stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

You gasped—stretching, stinging, full—and he groaned, low and guttural.

“Fuck—so tight. Like you were made for me.”

He pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, both hands gripping your hips as he started a rhythm that was brutal, deep, and completely unrelenting.

Your palms slipped on the dresser, body jolting with every thrust, and he leaned over you, his chest against your back, voice filthy and sweet against your ear.

“This what you wanted?” he growled. “While you were gettin’ ready for that little date, did you think about this? About how no one fucks you like I do?”

“Yes—yes—only you—” You were babbling, crying out with each thrust as he pounded into you, breath ragged, hand sneaking between your legs to rub your clit again.

“You’re mine,” he bit out, voice shaking. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marshall,” you sobbed. “Only yours.”

You came again with a broken cry, body clenching around him so tight he cursed and buried himself one last time with a groan, spilling into you with a final, aching thrust.

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of your breathing—harsh and uneven.

Marshall leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder, soft and trembling. His arms wrapped around you from behind, holding you upright as your knees buckled.

“I’m never leaving that guest house again,” he murmured against your skin. “Fuck what the counselor says.”

You turned in his arms, still breathless, lips swollen, mascara smudged—but smiling.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I want my husband back.”

He kissed you again, slow this time, and pulled you into his chest like he was never letting go again.

And he wouldn’t.

He never would.

---

The next two weeks felt like a dream.

You never put the dress back on. You didn’t leave the house unless it was with him. The guest house sat dark and empty now—its temporary inhabitant back in your bed, in your shower, in your arms like he’d never left.

Mornings started with sleepy kisses and your daughters giggling between you, Marshall wrapped around all three of you like he could keep time from moving just by holding you tight enough.

Evenings were filled with long talks, quiet laughter, the warmth of family dinners. He made pancakes too thick, told stupid jokes that made the girls howl, and kissed you like he hadn’t tasted you just hours before.

He was gentler now, more present. You saw the change in him every time his hand found yours without thinking, every time he helped with the girls’ homework or looked at you like you were the only thing he saw.

It felt like a second honeymoon.

Until the counseling session.

You were curled together on the loveseat in Dr. Hale’s office, legs tangled, his thumb rubbing slow circles into your wrist. You didn’t want to be here. Neither of you did.

But you’d promised you would try.

“So,” Dr. Hale said, clipboard on her knee, eyes calm and kind but sharp as ever. “I heard you two have been... reconnecting.”

Marshall let out a low huff that was halfway to a laugh. “You could say that.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “It’s been… really good.”

“I can see that,” she said gently. “But I want to remind you what we talked about before. Physical intimacy is important—but it doesn’t fix the foundation.”

You felt Marshall tense just slightly beside you.

“You mean it doesn’t solve the co-dependency,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

Dr. Hale nodded. “Exactly. When a relationship gets tangled in trauma—like what you both went through after his overdose—it’s easy to mistake intensity for healing. But what happens when the high wears off?”

You swallowed hard, eyes drifting to the window. The sunlight looked different in here. Colder.

Marshall’s thumb paused on your wrist. You could feel him holding his breath.

And that was when it cracked.

The part you hadn’t let yourself say.

The thing you’d buried under all the sessions, all the rules, all the “healthy boundaries” you’d forced yourselves to build.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “What if I don’t care that it’s co-dependent?”

Dr. Hale blinked. “What do you mean?”

You looked up, eyes glassy, throat tight. “What if I just want my husband? What if I don’t want six feet of space and separate calendars and date nights with strangers just to prove we’re ‘healed’? What if I don’t care if it’s messy? Or unhealthy by someone else’s definition? What if I just want us, however that looks?”

Marshall’s hand wrapped around yours tight.

You didn’t look at him.

“I don’t need perfect,” you whispered. “I need him. I need my husband. And I’m tired of feeling like wanting him every day, needing him that much, is something I should be ashamed of.”

Silence blanketed the room.

Dr. Hale set her clipboard down.

“That’s honest,” she said softly. “And that’s a start.”

Marshall finally spoke—his voice rough and thick. “She’s right. I—I know I fucked up. I know we fell into bad habits. But loving her the way I do? I don’t know how to do that halfway. I don’t want to.”

You finally looked at him. His eyes were red-rimmed.

“I’d rather be wrong with her,” he said, “than right without her.”

And for once, Dr. Hale didn’t interrupt. She let the silence settle. Let the truth of it hang between you.

It wasn’t a cure.

But it was real.

And maybe that was enough—for now.

[dandylion240]

“Ryker” a small scared voice sniffed as a small boy crawled from a pile of old boxes “you ok?”

“I didn’t give the signal” he pushed himself upright.

“I’m sorry” the boy’s face puckered as tears rolled down his cheeks “you weren’t moving.”

Pulling his brother close he held him as he sobbed into his shirt. “He was a bad man” the boy sobbed over and over again.

“I know I’m sorry” Ryker kissed the top of his broter's stringy red hair.

“I’m scared” he sniffed clutching his shirt.

“I’ll protect you” he promised even as he shivered at the thought of that man putting his brother is a plastic bag. What if he hadn’t come back in time? Would he really have done it? Closing his eyes he tried to blot out the images this encounter had brought to mind. His mother’s screams. Telling them to run.

Gulping in a deep breath he moved to get up. He hadn’t been able to help then but he might be able to help now. “Ty go get teddy. We have to go” he told him.

Nodding the little boy scrambled to his feet and rummaged through the boxes. A few minutes later he came to stand beside his brother clutching a dirty teddy bear to his chest. Smiling down at him Ryker took his hand picking up the bag of food the girl from the shelter had given him they turned to leave the alley they had called home.

Once the tow truck drove away Jayden walked back to the shelter. He waved at Jonah who had come to take them home. “Where’s Evan” he asked wondering where he’d gone. No doubt he’d gone back to work while he waited for Jayden to take care of things.

“I thought he was with you” Jonah said looking around the crowded room.

Brow creasing Jayden walked over to Amanda who was helping serve the evening meal.

“Have you seen Evan” he asked her.

Nodding “he went with the kid from the alley. He said he’d be right back.”

“Damn it” Jayden snapped as fear clutched his insides squeezing his heart tight.

“What’s wrong” Jonah asked joining him.

“Nothing and everything” he mumbled stumbling for the door “where is he?”

“Mister” a familiar voice said as he walked down the sidewalk.

Whirling around Jayden’s eyes locked onto the kid from earlier. “You. You did this. Got him to follow you.” He took a step forward grunting when his brother stepped in front of him.

“He’s just a kid” Jonah reminded him “calm down.”

“I can’t calm down” he snapped “I know something awful has happened. I can feel it. Evan’s out there and he needs my help.”

“Tell me where he is” Jayden lunged toward the frightened kids. Eyes wide with growing apprehension as his feeling that something terrible had happened increased.

Stepping between the kids and and his twin, Jonah glared at him. “This isn’t the way. Calm down. If you can’t than keep quiet.” Squatting in front of the kids like he had all the time in the world, Jonah said, “that’s a nice bear” he ignored the impatient huff from Jayden “my son Eli has one like it. Won’t go anywhere without it.”

“Really” the youngest boy moved a little from his brother’s side “can I see it?”

Smiling a little even as his heart broke for the dirty thin little boy in front of him. “Maybe later. First we have to make sure your safe.”

“I take care of him” the older boy asserted putting a protective arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“I’m sure you do. Sometimes though we need a little help.” He heard Jayden grunt behind him clearly thinking this was a waste time and effort. “Can I tell you something” he asked conspiratorially “my brother tried to protect me too. He couldn’t no matter how much he wanted to.” Sighing he continued dredging up memories he knew he needed to get the streetwise boy to trust him. “Do you know about the no tell motel” he asked using the name everyone used who had ever spent much time on this side of the city.

Nodding Ryker looked him up and down “Nolan told me stories about it.”

Goose bumps rose on Jonah’s skin at the mention of the familiar name. Swallowing back the bile he continued “it’s a bad place.”

“You’ve been there” Ryker stated moving closer like they shared a bond.

“Um yeah” his voice quivered. He’d known Nolan. Shaking his head forcing his mind on the present “I had people who helped me get away.” Glancing up he tried to smile at Jayden “I’d like to help you and your brother the way I was helped.”

“What if it’s too late” he asked eyes skipping towards Jayden then back to Jonah. “I didn’t know what else to do. He was going to hurt my brother. I didn’t want anything to happen to that guy but…” He put a hand over his eyes “my brother’s all I’ve got.”

Jayden moaned as if someone was twisting knives in his side. “He’s got him. Set this all up to get him alone. Vulnerable.”

“Who” Jonah asked not quite grasping it.

“Jasper” he cried “Jasper has him. I should have known better. Should have known he hadn’t given up.”

Nodding his head vigorously Ryker confirmed Jayden’s worst nightmare. “That’s what your friend called him. Honest I didn’t know he was going to take him away. I just wanted to make some money so Ty and I could have some blankets and maybe some mittens.” Swiping a grubby hand across his face “that guy said if I didn’t do as he said he would…hurt my brother. I couldn’t let that happen. I just couldn’t.”

“It’s alright” Jonah assured him “no one is going to hurt you or Ty. You’re safe now.” Standing he turned to Jayden “you better call the police.”

“I should have been paying more attention” he mumbled lost in his own thoughts “if I had he wouldn’t have gone alone.”

“It’s not your fault” Jonah snapped getting him to look at him. “He needs you to pull yourself together. You need to focus and call the police.”

Evan’s head slid sideways bumping into the window. Moaning he lifted a hand rubbing the sore spot. “Where am I” he mumbled as his groggy mind tried to figure out what happened. His hand went to his stomach as if to reassure himself that the the baby was alright. “What did you give me” he demanded turning to glare at Jasper.

“A little something to calm you” he shrugged unconcerned. Reaching across the car he patted Evan’s knee laughing when he jerked away from his touch. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon be begging me to touch you. No one denies me for long.”

“I won’t” Evan shivered reaching for door handle, yanking on it sure that escape was preferable to whatever Jasper had in mind. He could only hope the thickening snow would offer some cushion to his fall. Jasper’s infuriating laugh at his feeble attempts to escape made his eyes mist with helpless rage. Throwing himself into the seat cushions, he demanded “why are you doing this?”

Turning, Jasper glanced at his captive. “Isn’t it obvious” he asked as if he expected Evan to know.

Snorting Evan shook his head “your crazy.” He pressed his face against the window hoping to see enough of the terrain to figure out where he was. He yelped in pain as Jasper yanked his head back by the hair.. The car swerved on the icy surface of the highway.

“Don’t ever call me that” Jasper hissed between clenched teeth.

Without thinking Evan made a grab for the steering wheel. The car swerved towards the edge of the road. Metal crunched as the vehicle made contact with one tree after another as it careened down the slope until they came to an abrupt stop with the sound of shattering glass. The engine made a final splutter before dying completely.

Everything hurt. Evan clawed his way to consciousness. His body ached where the seatbelt held him tight. Blood cooled on the side of his face where flying glass had shredded his skin. Moans had him looking towards Jasper who slumped over the steering wheel saving him from needing to check if his captor was alive. With stiff fingers he fumbled to release the seat restraints.

Crawling through the open window he leaned against the crumpled car, wondering what to do next. He stood in snow up to his knees and it was still coming down. He needed shelter. There had to be houses somewhere along this road. He looked up the hill knowing he could follow the cars path to the road. Jasper would know it too. He could cut through the trees not knowing where he was could mean becoming lost and freezing to death. Not to mention with the thickening snow Jasper could easily follow him.

His head swam as he pulled himself to his feet and began the hike towards the road hoping he could put enough distance between him and Jasper. Breathing heavily he leaned against a scarred tree, holding a hand to his aching side. He should have searched for Jasper's cell phone. At least he could have called for help. His feet hit the edge of the highway they had been on wondering which direction he should go. Back the way they had come or ahead. Which was closer to the help he needed?

Previous/Next

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Dog has a swollen lymph node. Just one for now. Which means her cancer is getting worse already. The longer this goes on, the more detached I feel from reality.

[depresseddepot]

okay. can someone reassure me that I will have other chances to see the northern lights because I am feeling very end of the world-y right now

[brinnybee]

And if I stay, oh, I don't know There'll be so much that I'll have to let go You're disappearing all the time But I still see you in the light For you, the shadows fight And it's beautiful but there's that tug inside I must stop time traveling You're always on my mind You're always on my mind You're always on my mind

any lokius babes wanna go insane to this song with me while we wait for the end, hand in unlovable hand

[astaricn]

Tags

[titansarmy]

Oh Twitter definitely is evil and crucified anyone who isn’t a s*langelo but I restrict my tweets to my 21 mutuals when I want to talk about Jasico! All the good stuffs in the private tweets since I’m a little too shy to share stuff and have people come at me unprompted.

I love love love a good Jason retrieval story like Nico can bring him back but it’s all dependent on Jason realizing and accepting that he’s worth bringing back he can want to keep living and be happy. Like, The Lost Hero opens with “Even before he got electrocuted, Jason was having a rotten day.”

I have one plotted about Nico petitioning his father and the other Olympians to go through a series of tasks to prove his seriousness in bringing Jason back and all of their friends help him in little ways throughout his ordeals so Jason gets to see that everyone misses him and are at least going to put up a fight. (It’s all kicked off by Nico realizing Jason’s kind of miserable in death and asking him if he’d come back given the chance.)

It’s such a good song… like we are truly accessing untapped Jasico potential at this point in the fandom.

(I also have Pat Benatar’s cover of Wuthering Heights in my Jasico playlist because “ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely on the other side of you / I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without you” and “too long I roam in the night / I’m coming back to his side to put it right” the entire song but… specifically thinking of ToA era.)

- 💀

AS YOU SHOULD !!! twitter is for the mutuals and the mutuals only.

no because jason for real never catches a break. :(. "Jason realizing and accepting that he’s worth bringing back" IJNFD the idea of him not thinking that he is, is so :(((( as if piper didn’t sob and pleaded for him to be brought back and if apollo himself didn’t pray for the gods to at least carry him to safety. jason </3 i’m taking him to therapy

OH OH THAT SOUNDS SO COOL. all of his friends banding together and showing him that they want him back? ohhhh i will cry. idk if jason is part of the quests or not but if he is and he can’t help in multiple points for a reason or another and at some he’s down about it and his friends are like “jason, we quite literally Dont Care. i/we can do it. you don’t have to do anything, all of this is for you”. actually this works even if he’s not part of the tasks because he’s literally just having to watch them doing shit for him.

OOOOH OH. that song. ok ok ok. i’ll offer my current jasico song which is wish that you were here by florence + the machine bc of that quote from ts*ts (actually multiple quotes from that book but this one in particular) “now, staring at that unnerving bust of diocletian, nico wished for nothing more than to feel jason grace’s protective arms around him. but jason wasn’t here.” !!! there’s so much from that song I’m actually. got i’m going to connect dots

[airenyah]

Hey, so I finished Summer Night some time ago and overall really enjoyed it. And thank you for answering my last ask too. I was pleasantly surprised by how well the various plotlines were picked up and solved towards the end. One of them being Jewel's figuring out his sexuality and thinking he had a crush on White- I thought that was supposed to be sort of a comedic scene, so I was surprised and impressed how Jewel brought it up in the conversation with White in the later episode, and White apparently noticed it too?! and how well it was handled. For some reason, this show tackled these sensitive topics that young people experience quite delicately and I was very happy with that. I also noticed that I very much prefer the shows where both heterosexual and gay/lesbian relationships exist within friend groups rather than the standard 2 gay relationships format. (It feels more realistic and I LOVE friendship dynamics, so there's that.)

You were also right about WhiteIvy!! They had such good dynamic, basically a bickering couple, one of my favorites! Usually I choose friendships over romanctic ones and end up liking friendships more (Like THK, my most fav relationship is KantStyle), so this was the exception! I have no idea why they kept teasing the audience with so many good scenes - I mean the chemistry was OVERFLOWING? HELLO? - with White and Ivy, only to give us nothing in the end.... But the last scene with two of them together, the way White didn't really confirm they will only remain friends gives me this hope (lol) that they will meet again a few years later after they graduated universities and started working, reconnect and end up dating when they're a bit older. Where can I order season 2 of Summer Night to GMMTV..?

I also ended up liking all main characters (except Nana but I don't think she's one of the main). Despite everyone having their own flaws and making mistakes, they were likable and easy to sympathize. I didn't think I would like Star in the beginning, but her relationship with her mother reminded of mine with my mom and I couldn't help but feel for her too. Also the actress killed the fight scene with Lune. That was very realistic acting on her part. She had really great chemistry with all characters too- actually let me scrap that and say all four - Star, White, Lune, and Ivy all had great chemistry with each other that I could've accepted any pairing with them (except LuneIvy, just not enough screentime together). Like half way through I was pretty vibing with LuneStar and then came the classroom scene where White was cheering up Star who was feeling left out and that scene made me want to watch these two together for at least a little while. And I heard before watching the series that people were shipping LuneWhite and I just thought that was BL fans talking as usual and a bit of a bait from GMMTV for that accidental kiss? , but then White and Lune had this quite some tension(!) during the fight that I could definitely see why people liked it.

I digress a bit but I lowkey (or highkey?) digged the fashion of the girls that I want to imitate their styles, especially Star and Sera's when summer arrives. I don't want to sound shallow, but they were all so attractive I was like let me take note on their styles every episode haha. Speaking of attractive, I got to say White was so good looking to the point his look was distracting sometimes lol. Style from THK was so good too, crop tops and his cocky attitude, he's THE icon but White was another different kind of attractive, much softer and grounded. I heard that Dunk was shooting these two series back to back actually and was surprised how much different impressions he can give. I'm excited for Dare You to Death that's slated for 2025 lineup, I know that he's going to give a totally different vibe with the new character.

P.S. I saw you reblogging Theory of Love many times. It's also my all-time fav BL series along with Not Me. <3

yaaaaay glad to hear you enjoyed the show!! i think a lot of bl/gl fans watch the shows only for the gay, but personally i don't mind het romances either. IF done well, but then again, the same counts for any QL too 😂

so true, so many things kept coming back. i watched the show with my mother back when it was airing live and i think this is actually something we discussed at the time?? i have vague memories of it

i LOVED that white noticed by himself and was so chill about his friend being queer!!!!!! i mean white would know a thing or two about questioning your sexuality huh 🤭🤭🤭

WHITEIVY!!!!! OH MY GOD I ADORE THE TWO OF THEM SOOOOO SO MUCH!!!!!!! whiteivyscenes are the superior scenes of the show i said what i said

i had a smiliar (ish) experience like you when it comes to whiteivy. from the trailer i was actually expecting ivy to be white's "spare" love interest for when lune and star get together, but then the show started and – SURPRISE!! – ivy is gay for star?????? and it's a plot that goes over multiple episodes???? and white and ivy supporting each other through their unrequited feelings for star???? when i saw that i actually went "oh my god please do NOT let them end up dating, i much prefer them as friends!!!! please can we just have a het-pair that is besties without any romance between them just bc one is a guy and one is a girl and they're 'left over' without a love interest 🙏"

in part that came also bc whiteivy's friendship dynamic reminded me a lot of my own irl. i grew up with a lot of guy friends (in a group i often tend to be friends with more guys than girls) and a lot of the time i have a bickering dynamic with them where you're playfully mean to each other (i do this bc i'm lowkey terrified guys will think i'm in love with them if i'm too nice haha) and so when i saw white and ivy's friendship in the early episodes i was like "OMG CAN I PLEASE HAVE SOME REPRESENTATION OF MY IRL M/F FRIENDSHIPS?? 🥺🥺🥺"

but then?? some development happened?? and dunk and lookjun had such fantastic chemistry with each other???? so i just couldn't help but begrudgingly ship whiteivy more and more????? (here's a relic from that time djkfkjdfg) to the point where i was suuuper supportive of them getting together by the end of the show???? AND THEN THEY JUST. DIDN'T!!!!!!! top 10 anime betrayal of 2024 tbh. here's a quick summary of my fall from grace, it's hilarious actually

THIS IS THE ONE MAJOR CRITICISM I HAVE WITH THE SHOW TBH, LIKE!! WHAT WAS THE POINT OF ALL THAT DEVELOPMENT IF YOU'RE NOT GONNA PULL THROUGH???? i would have totally been fine with whiteivy staying platonic till the end, but in that case the writing should have gone a little different tbh. something like that sandnick kiss scene in only friends would have totally worked here, you know what i mean? but the way the whityivy relationship ended just leaves you feeling very unfullfilled tbh. and it makes you feel like "oh why did i waste time investing and sitting through all of that when it didn't even go anywhere?" they could have easily left it strictly platonic and i absolutely would have LOVED the writers for that non-romance m/f besties representation. ah well

i also liked all the characters except for nana!! but tbh, the issue was less with the character and more with the actor's performance. i know that was her first role and tbh, imo that role was too difficult for her. she could have had a loooot of fun with this role, constantly jumping between being the sweetest girl and letting the bitch that she is shine through at very deliberately chosen moments to the point where you as a viewer are intrigued bc you can't tell what she's playing at and if she's good or bad. unfortunately, the actress only played "the obvious" as my camera acting teacher would always say, and that got pretty boring real fast. it was clear from the start that she was the bad guy, and that sort of performance also didn't fit with the way the characters reacted to her. bc everyone didn't seem to think much of nana, except white who was like "i have a bad feeling about her" which is something that would have been MUCH more interesting if nana had been super nice and charming towards him, you know what i mean? bc you could have gotten that tension between nana being "nice and sweet" and white's uneasy feeling. i hope i'm making sense 😅 i'm also doing this from memory, so i don't have any specific example rn bc all my brain space has been taken up by thk

YEAH ALL THE MAINS IN THIS SHOW ARE SO SHIPPABLE!!!!!!!! it's something i greatly enjoyed. i too would have been cool with any pairing between the four mains tbh

YEAH NO THE WHITELUNE WASN'T BASED ON NOTHING HAHAHAHA. it's not even the tension during the fight scene, but also, i mean, the way white was looking at lune during the entire first episode???? like pls dunk, you're bl actor is showing 🤭🤭🤭🤭 NOT TO MENTION WHITES WEIRD OBSESSION WITH BEING LUNE'S "FIRST"????? and that's just the first three episodes

also i love how they brought back white's obsession with kissing lune at the end of the show kdfjkjdfkjsgfsd. again, let me just state: white is a disaster bi who has a lowkey crush on lune and absolutely NOTHING can convince me otherwise, least of all the series itself

yeah, dunk was shooting these series back to back! in fact, dunk actually missed the first few days of thk shoot and only joined from Q5 onwards because he was still busy filming summer night (summer night finished shooting at the end of july, around the 28th of july iirc, and thk started shooting on july 18th). iirc he had a break of one day between the final shooting the of summer night and his first day of shooting thk (pretty sure he went to get a hair cut on that day 😂)

I'M SO FUCKING HYPED TO SEE HIS PERFORMANCE IN DYTD, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!!!!!!!!!!! i've been talking about wanting to see dunk in a serious role for a year now and gmmtv is actually giving it to me, i'm so blessed <33333 (it's episodes 9 and 11 of hidden agenda specifically that made me want to see dunk in a serious role for a full series)

regarding theory of love... idk how long you've been following me, but those who were around for all of 2021 will know i have a very special relationship with that show, esp the khaithird plot. i'll put that lore under a read more bc the ask is already long enough as it is jdfkjfdsjkgs

that series came to me in late 2020 at a time where i had just ended my friendship with my own personal irl-khai aka my best guy friend at the time who i'd been in love with for 1-2 years, a relationship that just got more and more unhealthy for me. i'm gonna spare you the details, but basically he kept treating me like a girlfriend but continuously insisted we were just friends (it was an accumulation of small things, that individually i'd be like "ok but friends can do [thing]", except alltogether it wasn't quite right). oh and there was also the infamous roadtrip with me, him, and two other friends, one of them being the girl that he had a crush on and i had specifically told him a few months before the roadtrip that i wasn't sure i could still go on that roadtrip if that girl came along bc i was in love with him and didn't want to watch him chase after her without a way to escape or get a break for three weeks straight and him insisting that he was totally over her, only for me to almost get a first row seat to their love story during that roadtrip anyway (i'm saying "almost" bc at first that's actually what happened, except funnily enough shortly after the roadtrip the girl my irl-khai had a crush on ended up dating the other guy aka the fourth person who'd come along. that guy is a close friend of mine and him and her hadn't known each other before the roadtrip, and once they started talking during the roadtrip they immediately hit it off and so while for the first half of the trip i was miserable in a front row seat for the irl-khai plus his crush show, during the second half of the show i actually got to watch my close friend plus my irl-khai's crush fall in love with each other, which was extremely hilarious. karma's a bitch, my dear irl-khai <3)

anyway, so yeah. that roadtrip happened end of summer 2019

then march 2020 i watched why r u. my mom insisted on watching it with me. my mom then ended up watching love by chance on viki bc she saw it had saint in it. my mom then watched multiple other thai bls (at that point my mom had actually watched more thai bl than i had kjfdksjkjdskjsg)

then, at the end of summer 2020 i broke up with my irl-khai the night before he went on an erasmus semester (it's kinda ironic that i had to break up with him when we weren't even dating in the first place....)

and then, about a month or two later my mom sat me down for a thai bl, with the words "you HAVE to watch this. it reminds me so much of your story with [irl-khai]"

and my mother was right. i could very much relate to third and it was soooo cathartic to watch khai suffer. i could let out all of my frustrations and anger with my irl-khai out on the fictional khai without making the drama in my real life worse

and in 2021 the khaithird plot became extremely important to me in my journey of getting over my irl-khai. i watched it at least 20x that year. in fact, in april of 2021 there was a time where i watched the khaithird plot ten (10!!) times in the span of only 14 days. i watched the khaithird over and over again every single night for two whole weeks. "fake protagonist" (the thai version) was my no.1 song on my spotify wrapped that year. to this day tol is my most rewatched thai bl at 27 rewatches (tho over the years bad buddy has become a close second at around 24 rewatches that i've counted on mydramalist and that makes me happy bc it means i really am well and truly over my irl-khai and i don't need tol anymore the way i used to 💪 jkkjfdks)

so yeah. theory of love and esp the khaithird plot is very dear to me. it really did help me a lot 😂😂 in fact, so i knew my irl-khai from my youth group, right? we went there together for years. and in summer 2022 i went on this retreat with a bunch of friends from said youth group, including my irl-khai. it must have been like the 3rd time i had faced him since our "break-up". and in mental preparation as well as a reminder to stay away from him, i actually rewatched tol right before i went on this retreat 😂

so that's my story with tol. it will forever have a very special place in my heart

[sullina]

I don't consider myself a very angry person.

But there are times where i think back on things that happened to me as a kid or teen. And i do get angry for my younger self.

Because honestly, the way, that some people acted towards me back then, was just so completely wrong and unfounded and legit unreasonable at times too.

[jackass-jones]

Had a very bad day Gotta eat gravel