#everything is okay and the world is beautiful

[satorus-princess]

oh, it was like life was playing the most twisted prank on you as revenge.

and you were hoping, pleading, praying to any and every deity, that it was all just a prank. eyes blurred with tears flitting to cold, chapped lips.

“i love you, baby. i'll see you later, ‘kay?” the words satoru always said to you before leaving for missions, paired with a gentle kiss to your lips and your forehead. and, similar words when he came back home to you: “i'm home, baby. i love you.” before he fell asleep on you.

and one day, you decided to play a cheeky prank on him, just to see what his reaction would be.

his usual routine of letting his lips linger tenderly on the skin of your forehead before drifting down to your lips. he smiled and you were able to feel the loving gleam in his eyes despite his blindfold.

“i love you sooo much. don't miss me too much, okay? i'll be back before you know it.”

“mhm, be safe, ‘toru.”

he was making his way out of the room, then paused at the doorway and tilted his head back towards you. “i will! i love you,” he emphasised the three words this time.

“okay, see you soon,” you smiled as if there was no slyness twinkling in your eyes.

his long legs brought him back to the bedside in a couple of seconds and he knelt beside the bed, where you sat. “baby,” he almost whined, thumbing his blindfold and tugging it down. he gave you a look that even puppies wouldn't be able to muster. “my sweetheart, the light of my life, the love of my life, my reason for everything... why are you torturing me?”

“whatever do you mean?” you couldn't help the giggle that slipped out.

“you know exactly what i mean. i can't go on a mission without hearing those sweet words from your even-sweeter lips.”

you giggled again. “fine, fine. i love you so much, ‘toru. i'm just playing with you. you know i love you more than anything.” you cupped his cheek, tilting his face up as you leaned down to kiss him gingerly, letting your lips melt against his.

“mmm, much better. now, i have my good luck with me,” he grinned.

after that, you made sure to always say it, even if you were half-asleep or on a mission of your own - you just called him and he would do the same for you.

except, not this time.

“say it back, please, just one more time.” salty drops fall onto his pale cheek as you kneel beside him, both of your trembling hands clutching one of his gelid, still ones.

you would do anything to hear him say those sweet little words one more time. or say anything at all, but now, his lips were left parted, not even a breath exiting. maybe even brush your tears away like he always would, but now, those lithe fingers which were always so reverent with you don't even twitch. or gaze at you with his beautiful, cerulean orbs like you were the most precious thing in the world to him, but now, those same eyes were lifeless.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” you repeated as if that would bring him back, as if it'd bring forth the same words from his lips instead.

oh, how cruel fate could be.

[a-casxandra]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊

Sylus x non-mc, no spoiler.

Part 1 and 2 | Sylus's version of third person to a two-person's home [zayne's fic]

Sypnosis : Sylus was a man who loved too deeply for his own good. He spent his life trying to hold everything together—a demanding mother who never approved of his choices, a wife he adored but often neglected, an unborn child he lost because he wasn’t there, and a sick daughter he never knew existed until it was too late. He tried to be everything to everyone, sacrificing pieces of himself until there was nothing left. In the end, his love—so heavy, so consuming—became the very thing that broke him.

𝗦𝘆𝗹𝘂𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄

From the very beginning, you were a light he never knew he needed.

Sylus met you at a corporate travel fair. You were just a university student then, volunteering at the tourism booth. Your smile was soft and awkward, your hair tied back messily with a black ribbon. You were nervous, fumbling your words when he asked about package deals for company trips.

He thought you were adorable.

Somehow, that chance meeting turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into dinners. Dinners turned into quiet nights in his apartment where you would fall asleep on his chest, your soft breathing anchoring him to reality.

He loved you. More than he ever thought he could love anyone.

That’s why he married you.

Your wedding was simple. You didn’t want anything grand, just the people you loved, vows whispered with trembling voices, and a promise to always stay by each other’s side.

When you found out you were pregnant, you cried in his arms for hours. He remembered thinking—I’ll do everything to protect you. To protect our family.

But life was never that kind.

Sylus knew his mother disliked you from the start.

She would comment on your posture, your manners, your education. She thought you were beneath him. That you weren’t strong enough to stand by his side in the world he navigated.

He tried. God, he tried so many times to make her like you. He’d invite her to dinner with you, only to watch her ignore your every attempt at conversation. He defended you, argued with her until his throat was raw. But each time you would tug his sleeve, shaking your head, silently begging him to stop fighting. Because it hurt you more to see him argue with his mother than to endure her silent hatred.

Then MC showed up.

His ex-girlfriend. His first love. The woman he thought he would marry someday, before everything fell apart between them.

She appeared at his office one morning, clutching the hand of a small child. A little girl with silver-white hair and crimson eyes.

His features.

His blood.

Lilith.

He remembered feeling like the air was sucked out of his lungs. Six years. Six years he never knew he had a daughter.

She was beautiful… but so frail. Sick. The doctors said she didn’t have long without continuous treatment.

That’s when everything began to crumble.

Sylus tried to be there for you, he really did. But Lilith needed him. MC needed help too. And slowly, his hours were spent more at the hospital than at home. He told himself it was temporary – that once Lilith stabilized, he could focus on you again. On your pregnancy. On the family he was building with you.

But he didn’t notice how distant he became. How lonely your eyes grew every time he left.

That day, you begged him not to leave.

“Sylus… can’t you just stay here tonight, please…?” you asked, tears trembling in your eyes, your hands clutching his coat sleeve.

“[y/n]… I can’t. Lilith needs me in the hospital.”

“B-but I need you too!” your voice broke, desperate and small. “I… I haven’t been feeling well since last night… I feel dizzy, and… and I…” You couldn’t finish your sentence. You were terrified, he could see it. But in his mind, Lilith was worse. Lilith was dying. You… you would be okay, wouldn’t you? You were strong. His strong girl.

“My mother is here. She’ll stay with you. I’ll be back,” Sylus said, prying your hands away from him, kissing your forehead before leaving without looking back.

That decision would haunt him forever.

When Sylus came home that night, he expected you to be asleep. But then he heard it—the muffled sobs from the bathroom.

He opened the door to find you curled on the floor, blood pooling around you. Your eyes were glazed with pain and tears, your hands trembling as you clutched your stomach.

“It hurts… Sylus… it hurts so much…”

He remembered screaming your name. Scooping you into his arms. Driving through the night like a madman. The red lights blurred past. All he could see was your blood-stained pajamas. All he could hear were your fading sobs.

At the hospital, they told him the words he would never forget.

“I’m sorry… your wife experienced a miscarriage. The baby… was already gone by the time you brought her here.”

Gone.

He sat outside your hospital room that night, his back against the wall, head buried in his hands as silent sobs tore through him.

It’s my fault.

It’s all my fault.

I killed our baby… I killed… everything…

When you were discharged, Sylus tried to hold you on the way home but you flinched away silently. Your eyes were empty, staring out the window as though you were already somewhere far away.

Not even a day later, MC called again. Lilith was unresponsive. The doctors needed him there immediately.

“If you leave now… don’t expect to have a wife you can come back to,” you said softly, staring at him with tearless eyes.

The words scared him. Truly scared him.

But Lilith needed him. After losing his unborn child with you, he couldn’t lose his daughter too.

“I’ll come back,” Sylus promised desperately, leaning down to kiss you, but you turned away. “Please… wait for me. I’ll come back. I promise.”

And then he left. Again.

When Sylus came back that evening, he was exhausted. Drained. But hopeful, somehow. Maybe you’d be angry. Maybe you’d shout at him. Maybe you’d cry and hit his chest with your small fists. He would take it all. He deserved it all.

But when he stepped into the house, it was silent.

Utterly silent.

He called your name once. Twice. No answer.

That’s when he saw them—the suitcases by the door.

He opened them with trembling hands. Only your things inside. Only yours.

His eyes scanned the room. Everything he ever gave you remained behind – the dresses he bought to impress his mother, the expensive accessories, the shoes, the bags. Even your wedding ring lay on the vanity table, glinting under the dying sunset light.

You left it all behind.

You didn’t even want to bring a single piece of him with you.

Sylus sat on the edge of the bed that night, staring at the empty spot where you used to sleep. The sheets still smelled like you. Like your shampoo. Like your warmth. Like everything he just lost.

He thought he could balance it all.

Be a husband.

Be a father.

Be a son.

He really, really tried his best.

But life demanded sacrifices. And to keep one, he had to lose another.

He could be a father to Lilith.

But a husband? No. Sylus would never be a husband again. Not after losing you. Because his love… his entire heart… it always belonged to you. It was only overshadowed by the guilt of wanting to make it up to Lilith, the daughter he never knew existed.

Now he had lost you both in different ways.

And Sylus… he couldn’t recover from that.

That night, after reading Lilith her bedtime story at the hospital, he kissed her forehead softly. Watched her chest rise and fall. Memorised the shape of her face, the sound of her breathing. He stroked her silver-white hair, the same as his.

“Be good for mommy, okay…?” Sylus whispered softly, voice breaking as tears fell onto her blanket. “Daddy loves you so much…” He walked out of the room, his footsteps silent down the dark hallway.

When Sylus got home, the emptiness of the house swallowed him whole. The rooms still smelled like you. The bathroom tiles still had faint stains of blood he didn’t clean properly, a permanent reminder of what he destroyed.

He sat on your side of the bed, staring at the blank wall. The moonlight illuminated his profile – the silver hair, the hollow crimson eyes, the way his chest barely moved as he breathed.

For the first time, his phone wasn’t ringing.

No one needed him.

No one was waiting for him.

“I’m sorry… I’m so… so sorry…” he whispered into the emptiness.

He thought he could fix it all.

He thought he could save everyone.

But he couldn’t even save the woman he loved most in this world.

Sylus reached into the drawer, pulled out his old handgun. He stared at it for a long time, feeling its weight in his trembling hands.

He thought about you.

Your smile.

Your laughter.

The way you said his name like it was the only word that mattered.

The way you whispered “I love you” against his chest at dawn.

𝗦𝘆𝗹𝘂𝘀 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀.

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁.

Author's note : it is, what it is. also sylus from the new multi-banner is so cute, like wdym he let mc ties his hair into tiny ponytails?? Anyways, i actually just woke up, did i just chose violence? yes. and now i'm going back to sleep lol

[stoop-fairy]

“sugar! honey! love!” — lh44

summary — lewis and you have been dating for years and fans are obsessed with you, but it seems you guys are obsessed with announcements.

fc & cw — kali uchis. this takes place in 2023 until the ferrari announcement and then the marriage announcements are in 2025! so imagine the pics are taken in said time and the baby was born in 2024 okay? okay. i think this is my best work yet im actually proud of it.. the summary is weird but wtv.

liked by bellahadid, sabrinacarpenter, lewishamilton and 1.2M others

yourinsta visualizer for ‘te mata’ is out now babies 👼🩷 have a couple more surprises for you so stay tuned, mwah mwah.

sincerely, yn.

see comments

lewishamilton you already know how i feel about this one 🖤 proud of you honey

yourinsta mwahhh

sabrinacarpenter coolest woman alive

yourinsta says you 😩

user17 i cannot handle more surprises 💔 every single thing you do is fucking amazing

user10 mother

bellahadid beautiful work baby 🩷

user18 she’s actually not real

user63 wdym more surprises???? please stop

liked by lewishamilton, gigihadid and 997,103 others

yourinsta aprovechando que my man is home for the whole week 😚

see comments

georgerussell63 man’s glowing. but not as much as he does with me 👀

yourinsta get tf out of here u won’t steal my man again

user17 the power you guys hold is actually unfair

user38 i want what they have 😭😭

user92 parents are baaaack 🫶

lewishamilton best place to be 🤍

yourinsta i miss u :((

lewishamilton i’m in the bathroom baby..

user20 miss seeing her in the paddock:((

user78 why do i feel like everything’s about to change and this is the calm before the storm..

yourinsta funny.. that’s exactly how it feels 👼

user78 wdym???? miss girl we need you to be specific.. ELABORATE???

user89 “funny” … girl don’t do this to me

user83 you look like you know something we don’t and it’s upsetting me personally

yourinsta maybe i do or maybe i don’t 🤷‍♀️

user69 sis you’re playing with us and i need u to stop RIGHT NOOOW

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux and 2.7M others

yourinsta happy to announce that my second album en español will be yours in just two weeks 🫶 can’t wait for u to hear it, thank you for growing with me through every layer. los amo 🩷

see comments

lewishamilton can’t wait for the world to hear and see what i’ve been lucky enough to witness every day 💐🖤

yourinsta couldn’t have done any of it without u 🤍

user70 growing with you has been the greatest soundtrack

user80 mother is SERVING vocals, visuals, growth, everything

user63 SO THIS WAS THE SURPRISE??? god i can’t wait

rosalia.vt mami 🐚🌞🌺

yourinsta timing is crazy huh 🤍

user27 HUH????

user81 sorry what?

carmenmmundt orgullosísima de ti 💐

yourinsta y yo de ti preciosa 🩶

alexandrasaintmleux can’t wait to hear and see you more ❤️

yourinsta you’re gonna be sick of me lmao ❤️

user15 i fear they’re confirming that lewis is going to ferrari 💔

user16 why is nb talking about the bald pic 😭

liked by yourinsta, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 2.6M others

lewishamilton my final year with Mercedes marks the end of an era, one i’ll forever be proud of. thank you to every single person who’s been part of this journey.

a new chapter begins with Ferrari, and with it… the most beautiful changes in my life. feeling nothing but gratitude and love for what’s ahead ❤️‍🔥

see comments

user17 this is the best day of my life..

user18 OH. oh my god she’s mother fr..

yourinsta forever proud of you ❤️‍🔥✨ can’t wait for what’s next

lewishamilton my love ❤️

georgerussell63 won’t be the same without you… but can’t wait to battle it out 😤

carmenmmundt so much love for you two 🤍

charles_leclerc welcome ♥️

roses_are_rosie an era ends, a new one begins. so happy for you 🖤

user75 FUCK IM CRYING SO HARD

alexandrasaintmleux felicidades a los dos, c’est un début magnifique 🕊️ — congrats to you both, it’s a beautiful beginning

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, gigihadid and 2.6M others

yourinsta i look good in red don’t i?

see comments

lewishamilton red’s never looked better ❤️‍🔥

yourinsta on you yes it has

bellahadid can confirm u do

sabrinacarpenter no one’s doing it like u mama 🫦

user63 you’re not just a hot mom.. you’re thee hot mom

rosalia.vt mami mía 😍

yourinsta 😚❤️

user82 this baby’s gonna have more style than me by the time they’re 3 days old..

liked by charles_leclerc, yourinsta, georgerussell63 and 2.9M others

lewishamilton first race weekend of a brand new chapter. grateful for every beginning on and off the track. now i’m more grounded, more focused, more in love than ever. to the new beginnings 🤍

see comments

georgerussell63 lewis hamilton, the myth, the legend, the father & the fiancé

user88 FIANCÉ?????

yourinsta forever 🤍

user33 oh my god. FINALLY

user43 it’s gonna be THEE wedding, i can feel it 🙂‍↕️

user55 mi corazón ya no puede con tanto amor 💔 — my heart can’t take so much love

charles_leclerc what a year already.. congrats mate 🖤

lewishamilton 🖤

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lewishamilton and 3M others

yourinsta my family 🙂‍↕️ baby pooks and i are missing dada so much but we’re so proud of him 🩷

can’t wait to have forever with these two boys.

see comments

lewishamilton love you more than words can express ❤️

carmenmmundt baby pooks is the luckiest already 🥹 sending all the love to you guys!

yourinsta te extrañamos muchísimo 🙁 — we miss you so much

scuderiaferrari the heart of the scuderia beats stronger with this family ❤️‍🔥🥹

georgerussell63 big love to the whole crew 🙌 can’t wait to see you all soon!

yourinsta see u soon crikey!

user16 this is what true love looks like 😭😭

alexandrasaintmleux proud to say that i’ve held baby pooks before, the cutest little guy

yourinsta he absolutely adores you and charles

[confessionsandcreampies]

h. chigiri relationship headcanons

has very few people he lets close, so when he picks you? it’s everything—at first, he’s polite, distant, pretty to look at, and impossible to reach. then you catch him smiling just for you and leaning his head on your shoulder, humming under his breath. and just like that, you’re his safe place.

lets you play with his hair but acts like he hates it—“mmph. you’re going to mess it up.” but then he tilts his head to give you better access. and closes his eyes. and sighs.

pulls you into workouts with him, but slows down to your pace—“you wanna train with me? cute. try to keep up.” (he ends up behind you. guiding your hips. “good girl. just like that.”)

has a sharp tongue for everyone else, but melts for you—the boys get told to shut up, but for you? “wait, are you cold? here. take my jacket.”

gets flustered when you call him beautiful—he scoffs and rolls his eyes. but you see the way his ears turn pink. “say it again and i’ll kiss you so hard you forget how to speak.”

beautiful, dominant, and precision-driven—he doesn’t rush. he studies your body like a map. finds what makes you twitch, whimper, gasp and then stays there. “i like this spot,” he purrs, fingers circling your clit. “you’re so responsive.”

licks his lips before going down on you and holds eye contact the entire time—kisses your thighs. laps at your folds slow and deliberate. then smirks when you moan. “already this loud? i’ve barely started.”

bondage but make it pretty—silk scarves. his practice bandages. your panties if he’s feeling cocky. he ties your wrists, kisses your stomach, and murmurs, “you look so much better when you’re restrained.”

praise kink with a hint of cockiness—“such a good girl for me.”—“no one else gets to see you like this.”—“tell me how perfect i make you feel.”

finishes inside, but slow and intimate. eyes on yours. forehead to forehead—you say his name like it’s the only thing left. and he moans back, “fuck, don’t stop saying it.”

aftercare like a ritual—carries you to bed. brushes your hair out of your face. traces soft circles on your back with steady fingers. “you okay?” he whispers. “you’re mine, you know that? only mine.”

chigiri is elegance, danger, and soft-spoken obsession—he’ll race through the world for victory, but stop everything if you say, “stay.”

[bbgsaja]

⳽ωɩtᥴᖾ ᥙρ (ᙖᥲᑲყ ᔑᥲʝᥲ x ᖴ!ᕼᥙᥒtᥱɾ!ᖇᥱᥲᑯᥱɾ) ρt 丂

summary - everything is right in the world again, and you're back on track to stopping Gwi-Ma warnings - none part one • part two • part three • part four

"Baby."

You breathed out his name so reverently that it made his breath hitch, and when he looked down at you he saw awe, admiration and love - not fear or disgust like his insecurities suggested.

"You're stunning."

Your hand came up to trace the patterns by his eye, then trailed down to the ones on his chin. Your lips parted, a sigh of contentment falling through. Your eyes followed your fingers down the patterns on his neck, making him shiver.

"I didn't want you to run away from me," he admitted quietly.

"Never," you whispered back, cupping his cheek in your hand.

He turned his head, pressing a gentle, affectionate kiss to your wrist, speaking urgently, "I love you."

"I love you too," you wrapped your arms around his neck. "And nothing is going to change that. Whatever insecurities you have, whatever is going on in that head of yours, just talk to me, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed softly.

He let you admire him, watching in awe as you practically worshipped his demon form. Pressing kisses to all the patterns he despised, running your hand along the rough skin he resented. Your touch was soft, gentle, fingers gliding over his skin like he was a treasure you were trying to cherish. Your gaze followed your hand, as if you were trying to commit his features to memory.

"You were wrong," you spoke, with a tenderness he wasn't yet used to. "I do like it. I love it, actually." Then you dropped your hands, but only to bring his clawed ones up to your lips. You pressed reverent kisses to each and every finger, and then each and every claw. Not once taking your eyes off him.

You let him take his time, watching his every reaction. His beautiful amber eyes studied your face as he brought his claws to your face. His breath hitched at the unwavering trust you had in him, not even flinching as he gently poked your skin. You just smiled at him, even as he dragged the tips down your cheeks, to your jawline.

You giggled, "That tickles, actually."

He was bewildered. Your reaction was far from anything he had expected. And even if he'd thought you would accept him, he could never have predicted the absolute love and devotion you looked at him with.

"You're insane," he finally breathed out, before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. Clawed hands gripped your waist, tugging your body against his as he kissed you with an urgency, a craving, that you hadn't felt before. "But I love you."

You didn't get a chance to respond, because after he kissed you he smushed you against his sweater again.

"Baby!" You protested, voice muffled. "Breathe!"

Later on, you were dragged into the living room by Baby, only to see the other girls being dragged in by the other Saja boys as well. They sat you girls down on the couch and crossed their arms.

"I can't believe that we're the voice of reason here," Baby started.

"But we think you need to work this out," Mystery finished.

You did a double take, looking at the next Saja boy who spoke before realising that Mystery spoke again, and your head snapped back to him. That took you off guard more than the rest of them trying to play mediator.

"Everything is at steak," Abby added, "Though I prefer chicken-"

"Stake, Abby!" Jinu groaned, face-palming.

Baby snickered.

Abby shoved his beret over his eyes.

You and Mira face-palmed.

"Anyway," Jinu sighed, "You girls can't be fighting like this when we're so close."

"That was my line!" Romance protested. "I could have said it better."

Jinu took a deep breath, his eyes flashing amber for a moment, "Just say what I was going to say then!"

"But it's so short!" When Jinu gave him a look, he quickly backtracked, "I-I mean, so, um, talk this out or, you know, hug it out!" He opened his arms, flashing you all a charming smile.

Jinu screamed into his hands.

This entire thing was more than enough for the four of you to burst out laughing, though.

"I'm afraid our idiots are right," Mira sighed, turning to the three of you. She looked uncomfortable, not used to initiating apologies.

"I'm sorry!" You all blurted simultaneously.

"I can't believe that worked," Baby commented.

Abby wrapped a thick arm around your boyfriend's neck, covering his mouth with his large hand, "Let them talk!"

"I should have told you guys," Rumi ignored them, looking at you all. "I know, it was a bad call. Celine forced me to keep it a secret, promising me they'd be gone when we turned the Honmoon gold." She took a deep breath. "But...I should have told you anyway. I trust you guys, I do, and I don't know why I kept it a secret..."

"It's okay," you told her.

"We get it," Mira agreed.

"You couldn't go against Celine's wishes," Zoey smiled softly. "Totally understandable."

"But you don't have to hide anything from us," you reached for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "We're here for you, and we'll support you - and each other - no matter what."

"Yeah, and if it helps," Zoey's eyes lit up, "Your patterns are gorgeous!"

Rumi smiled, really smiled, as her patterns glowed a different colour. Or different colours, like a chromatic rainbow had imbedded itself on her skin.

"Thanks, guys."

Then they turned to you.

"What did Gwi-Ma tell you?" Rumi asked, voice turning serious.

"What?" Your eyes widened. "How did you...?" Your eyes slowly drifted to Jinu, who was not looking at you. He was, in fact, making it very obvious that he was trying to avoid your gaze. He was looking at the table, studying it like it was a scientific marvel.

"That's not the point," Mira pulled your attention back to them. "We just want to know what he said to you."

You sighed, fiddling with your fingers, "He told me that no one trusted me. And that he could help me." You shook your head, "Guys, it's fine, I-"

They cut you off by hugging you, Zoey and Mira trying to smother you and Rumi in love and affection through their tight embrace.

"Once again, a flawlessly executed plan!" Jinu exclaimed, proud of himself.

"Uh, no," Baby disagreed, "Our first plan technically failed." Then he turned and smirked at you. "Though no one said that's a bad thing."

"Yeah, your first plan sucked," Mira agreed. "Come to think of it, why did you guys think those first pairs were going to work?"

They all looked at each other, but no one responded.

"Romance," Baby finally answered.

"WHAT?" The pink-haired boy cried. "It wasn't me!"

"Yes it was," Baby casually replied, "You bet you could get the "cute" one to go out with you. And then you encouraged him," he looked at Abby, "to get my girl to like his stupid abs. And Mystery...well, Mystery just went along with it."

"...I feel attacked," Abby pouted, looking at his abs.

"I didn't do that!" Romance protested.

"Actually," Jinu laughed nervously. "That was me. My bad."

"See!" Romance gestured to Jinu frantically.

"Nah," Baby shook his head. "When in doubt, blame Romance."

"..?!?"

"Yes."

Everyone looked at Mystery, who just shrugged as if he hadn't just agreed with Baby. Romance looked like he was short-circuiting.

"It's always Romance."

The pink-haired demon crashed out.

You pulled Baby away and took him to your room before he could make anyone else cry. Trying to hold back your own laughter.

He immediately lounged on your bed and smirked up at you, "I'm the funniest, aren't I?"

"The meanest, actually," you laughed.

He sat upright, raising an eyebrow, "Is that how it is?"

Your eyes widened when he crawled towards the end of the bed, "What are you doing?"

"Teaching my girlfriend who's the funniest."

Then he lunged forward, grabbed you, flipped you so he was on top, and started tickling you. Laughter bubbled out of you, but his hands didn't stop their assault.

"Baby stooooop!" You giggled.

He carried on.

He only stopped when you were breathless, panting, clutching your aching stomach. You wheezed, struggling to breathe as he chuckled next to you.

"See? Mean!" You gasped.

He just laughed and pulled you closer. Slipping into his true form easily, his arms wrapping around you. He was tired of keeping up the illusion, and you made it easy for him to be himself. Especially when you rested your head on his chest, listening intently for his heartbeat as your hand found his and held it.

And when you looked up at him like he was your whole world.

The next day, rehearsals went great.

No one argued. No bickering. Not even a sassy remark from Baby. Everyone locked in, focused and put all of your energy into practice-performing the song.

But just when you got the choreography right, Gwi-Ma sent another obstacle to replace his demon boy band.

tag list - @tenaciouskittenpuff @tiger-lilee-5 @seavnz @haru-reto @redkitsu03 @pearthesimp

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Red, White and Yours

The scent of smoke from the grill drifts across the yard, mixing with the smell of sunscreen and citronella candles. Your aunt is chopping watermelon on the deck. Your cousins are halfway into the lake, screaming every time someone pushes someone else off the dock. And Nika is sitting on a lawn chair in your mom’s oversized hoodie, sipping out of a red plastic cup and taking in everything.

She looks a little overwhelmed, and a lot beautiful.

You wander over with two sparklers in hand, crouching beside her. “You okay?”

She turns to you, smiling. “Yeah. Just… this is chaos. But, like… happy chaos.”

You laugh, handing her a sparkler. “You’re surviving your first Fourth of July.”

“I feel like I should be taking notes,” she says, lips quirking as she watches your brother flip burgers on the grill, your grandpa complain about the music being “too modern,” and your niece running around with paint on her face and no shoes.

“This is the good stuff,” you murmur, lighting her sparkler for her. The sparks dance in front of her face, catching the shine in her eyes.

She watches the flame like it’s magic. “We don’t have this in Croatia. Not like this. Our holidays are quieter. Fewer hamburgers.”

You sit on the grass in front of her and lean back against her legs, tilting your head up so you can see her face clearly. “Yeah, well… this one’s loud and full of sugar and flags. But it’s better this year. ’Cause you’re here.”

She puts her cup down, rests both hands on your shoulders, and smiles at you in that quietly affectionate way she always does when it’s just the two of you. “You’re sweet when you’re surrounded by your family.”

“I’m sweet all the time,” you argue.

She bends down and kisses your forehead. “You’re sweet and dramatic. A rare combination.”

Later, the sun dips low, painting the lake orange and pink. The grill cools down. Someone puts on an old playlist from your dad’s phone…Springsteen, Fleetwood Mac, a little bit of Shania Twain when your mom takes control. People are starting to settle into chairs with blankets.

You and Nika sneak away, walking barefoot down the dock with a mason jar of strawberries and two beers your stole from your uncle’s cooler.

She swings your intertwined hands gently as you walk, staring at the sky. “You can really see the stars out here.”

“Yeah. Light pollution’s basically nonexistent.”

She glances sideways. “You’re such a nerd.”

“And yet, you’re in love with me,” you shoot back.

She stops at the end of the dock and pulls you into her chest, resting her chin on top of your head. “Yeah. I am.”

Your heart stutters, just a little, even after all this time.

When the first firework cracks the sky open, you’re lying on a blanket in the grass with your head on her stomach. Your family cheers and whoops behind you, but you and Nika are still.

The sky flashes red, then gold, then green.

She runs her fingers through your hair.

“They’re so bright.” she says quietly.

“You like them?”

“I like the way you watch them.”

You turn to face her, half lidded with warmth. “You’re kinda cheesy.”

She shrugs. “It’s the American influence.”

Then she kisses you. Soft at first, then a little deeper as another firework goes off above you, lighting your faces in flashes. She tastes like beer and sugar, her fingers are cold from holding her drink, but her touch on your skin is steady.

When she pulls back, her voice is gentle. “Do I pass the family holiday test?”

You nudge her nose with yours. “Flying colors.”

“Even your grandma?”

“Especially my grandma. She said you have ‘good European posture.’ I think that was her way of saying you’re hot.”

Nika laughs into your neck, and you close your eyes, wrapped in her warmth, the distant pops of fireworks, and the smell of lake water and summer.

You’re not sure who kisses who again, but you know that when the final firework blooms in the sky, you’re in her arms, and everything feels still…even with the world bursting above you.

[bitchinbarzal]

You’re Glowing | M Kesselring

⸻

You weren’t trying to seduce him.

You really weren’t.

You were just hot.

Swollen. Tired. A little sore.

So you threw on one of his soft Henleys and curled up on the couch, remote in hand, feet up on the coffee table.

The bump rested under the thin cotton like a warm, round promise.

No bra. No pants. Just his shirt.

Just you.

And when Michael walked in, sweaty from the gym, towel slung over his shoulder the second he saw you like that, every thought in his brain died.

“You okay?” he asked, walking closer.

You nodded, lazy and slow.

“Mhm. Just tired. Baby’s been using my lungs as a trampoline again.”

He chuckled softly leaned down to kiss your forehead, then lower, until his lips brushed your belly.

“Hi, little bean,” he whispered to the bump.

“You giving Mama a hard time again?”

Your heart melted.

But then you caught the way his eyes lingered on your thighs. Your bare legs. The hem of his shirt stretched over your belly.

The way his breathing changed.

“Michael…”

“You’re glowing,” he said, voice low.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m sweaty and puffy and I’ve cried twice today because I couldn’t find my slippers.”

“And you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

His voice was raw. Honest.

His hand settled on your leg.

“You’re carrying our baby. In my shirt. And I want you so bad it hurts.”

You shifted thighs parting instinctively and he noticed.

“Yeah?” you asked, voice smaller, breath catching.

He didn’t say anything.

Just dropped to his knees on the floor in front of the couch.

Hands spreading over your thighs. Warm. Wide. Possessive.

“Let me show you.”

He pushed the hem of the shirt up slowly, eyes flicking to your face as he exposed your bump, your hips, your soft skin.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured.

“Look at you.”

You were already wet.

Hormones. Need. Him.

But the second he kissed the swell of your belly and then leaned lower You felt everything inside you tighten.

“Just relax,” he whispered.

“Let me love you.”

His tongue found your center like he’d been starving.

But his hands were Gentle. Secure. One anchored under your bump, thumb brushing soothing circles. The other cradling your thigh, grounding you.

“God,” he groaned, mouth never leaving your skin.

“You taste even sweeter like this.”

You whimpered.

He didn’t stop.

“So soft. So full. You’re gonna come for me like this, yeah?”

“Gonna let me make you feel good while you’re carrying our baby?”

You nodded, hips twitching, gasping at the way his tongue curled and licked, slow and steady, building you up like he had all the time in the world.

He moaned when you grabbed his hair practically growled into your cunt like he didn’t need air, just you.

“Mike—”

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

His thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit while his mouth dragged over your folds, tongue plunging, lips sealing around you.

You came with a sob.

Full body shaking, belly fluttering, thighs trembling around his head.

But he didn’t stop.

Not even when you whimpered.

Not even when your fingers tugged his hair in warning.

“One more,” he whispered, pressing his mouth right back to your clit.

“Come on, Mama. Just one more. You can do it.”

And you did.

It ripped through you with a wave of heat and tears overstimulated and loved and so full of him.

He climbed up slowly after, kissed the trail of tears on your cheeks, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“You okay?”

“Still with me?”

You nodded, dazed and soft.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”

He lifted you in his arms like you weighed nothing, carried you to bed with kisses on your cheeks and belly and thighs.

And as he slid in behind you, spooning close with one hand spread over the swell of your bump.

He whispered

“You were made for this.”

“For me. For our family.”

“I’ve never loved you more.”

[benevolenterrancy]

might be a lot to draw so feel free to write it down (or not answer, no pressure i just love your au and wanna know more) or whatever, but I'm curious what mbj's full transformed costume looks like (+ how it differs from his dad's), og lbh's costume, and lqg's now! We got 3/4 of the gang's magical girl looks and so many juicy hints! (Unless you already answered this and i just didn't see it bc i only checked the magical girl tag... Lol)

Okay!!! Let's go!! I'm going to use this as a springboard to focus on "mbj's full transformed costume looks like (+ how it differs from his dad's) [and] og lbh's costume" aspect. Take this all with a grain of salt, since it's just some rough concepts but I'll explain my thoughts below a cut!

So since this is a ˖.⟡˚꣑ৎ Magical Girl Au ꣑ৎ˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ obviously we need the Visibly Distinct Villains/Monsters that they can fight on a weekly basis: enter demons. Demon villains also have the potential to transform, but their transformations are much more physical, and they change into large kaiju-like monsters in a way that human constitution wouldn't be able to handle. Mobei-Jun-Senior's transformation accessory is what allows him to change into a giant Ice King Demon form, and it's what both Mobei-jun and Linguang-jun are attempting to get since it will give them the power to take over their clan and kill those pesky magical girls

This is why it is such a complete shock to Shang Qinghua when a younger Mobei-jun was able to transform with him, because all of a sudden this powerful demon has gotten a magical girl form instead??? what!!! SQH's very existence is currently breaking his story's lore and he's kicking-screaming-crying about it.

As for Luo Binghe, in the OG story it was clear that he had the potential to be a magical girl (i dunno, he radiated sparkles or something) but obviously Shen Qingqiu would NOT stand for that and did everything in his power to ensure he never, ever, ever managed to unlock that ability. It was through Meng Mo (who is either an accessory or a companion creature like sqh) that he was able to begin unlocking the demonic side of his heritage, and when he finds the nefarious demonic transformation accessory Xin Mo in the Abyss he's able to fully transform as a Blood Demon (hurt him and you'll get it back 100 fold when he uses his spilt blood to Fuck You Up). From there he gets his revenge on human society and magical girls in general for what he was denied, lays waste to Shen Qingqiu, begins wooing beauties, etc etc etc.

(Airplane wrote this to be a "satire" on the standard magical girl narrative and Cucumber was spitting blood about the lazy attempts at parody and his obvious disingenuous understanding of the genre -- he stuck around for the cool monsters, kickass transformations, and his love of LBH as a character (he deserves better!! Cucumber keeps waiting for narrative payoff!!) Now Airplane is the one in agony because his world is reasserting The Power Of Love And Friendship genre trope on his world against his will. You thought you could project write a solo protagonist with surface level relationships and no strong bonds in a MAGICAL GIRL STORY? Ha. Get loved and cherished, idiot.)

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

“Sunflowers.”

Synopsis: You thought she was just a pretty girl who liked flowers. But one visit to the hospital changes everything.

Word Count: 2,616

H2H Jiwoo X Male Reader

a/n: I have no actual storyline for this piece, just thought of “oh what if Y/N just can’t resist letting jiwoo pay the normal price and always gives her discounts?”but no! my brain keeps adding plot twists.

Your dad always said the flower business was a sacred thing.

It’s a language. A love letter in color. Don’t mess it up.

So naturally, you were messing it up.

Not intentionally — you just… weren’t built for it. You didn’t know the difference between tulips and peonies most days, and the only “language” you spoke fluently was sarcasm and mid-tier K-pop fancams.

The shop was warm, bright, and smelled like nostalgia and pollen. Sunlight streamed through the old windows, dust dancing in the beams. Somewhere, your dad’s ancient pricing chart was pinned to a corkboard — hand-laminated and triple underlined.

You were supposed to be memorizing it.

Instead, you were scrolling through edits.

Damn, you muttered, staring at a slow-mo of some idol doing that eyebrow lift thing. When can I get a girlfriend?

The universe, apparently, was listening.

Because that’s when the bell above the door jingled, and your whole world tilted.

She stepped in like a walking sonnet — sunlight caught in the lace of her hat, dress soft and fluttering like petals in spring. She had a basket looped at her forearm, and a smile that felt like it bloomed just for you.

Excuse me, sir?

Her voice was warm honey. Her eyes sparkled.

You forgot how to breathe.

Do you have roses by any chance?

You stared.

Not at the flowers.

Not at the basket.

Straight at her.

And then — THUMP — you fell backward off your chair.

Are you okay, sir? she asked, clearly trying not to laugh.

YEP! you blurted, popping up like an unhinged jack-in-the-box. ALL GOOD. ROSES, RIGHT? YEP. FLOWER STUFF. FOLLOW ME.

You shoved your phone in your pocket like it personally betrayed you, practically tripping over a bucket of baby’s breath on the way to the cooler.

She followed with a curious smile.

So… are you the owner?

Me? No. Well. Sort of. My dad is. I’m the uh—assistant-slash-prisoner. You know. Family business.

She giggled. Giggled.

You could write novels off that sound.

That’s cute.

You were going to lowball the hell out of these roses.

How many are you thinking? you asked, unlocking the cooler. We’ve got single stems, half dozens, full dozens, chaos bundles—

Just one, she said, voice soft. It’s for someone special.

Your stomach did a thing.

One rose it is, you said, grabbing the freshest one you could find. On the house.

Oh, no—how much?

You opened your mouth to say six dollars like the pricing board demanded.

Two-fifty, you said instead.

Your father groaned in the spiritual realm.

Are you sure? she asked, tilting her head.

Yup, you said too fast. Family business discount.

But I’m not family…

Not yet, you mumbled.

She blinked. You blinked. The air froze.

I mean—not like that! Just—like, customer loyalty! I say weird things when I’m around beauty. I mean… people. Around people.

She smiled like she was used to people falling over themselves for her.

And worse — like she enjoyed it.

Well, thank you, flower boy, she said, handing over a crisp bill. I’ll be back.

Cool, you said, even though you meant please come back tomorrow and every day after that until I die.

She left with the bell jingling gently behind her.

You stood there for a full minute.

Then.

…Shit.

You had no idea who she was.

But you were fully prepared to bankrupt the shop trying to impress her.

She came back.

Of course she did.

The next day, and the next, and the day after that — same basket, same soft smile, different dress each time like she was handpicked from a garden catalog. Always buying just one flower.

A daisy.

A tulip.

A gerbera.

And you?

You kept lowballing every single one like your dignity depended on it.

That’ll be… one dollar.

Two-for-one special today. Even though you’re only buying one. Weird, right? Haha. Take it. Please.

Every flower she chose left you wondering: Who is he?

The rose — classic love.

The daisy — innocent affection.

The blue hyacinth — sorrow and forgiveness?! Who hurt her?! Do I have to fight someone?!

You started Googling flower meanings at night like a madman, scrolling through articles titled “What Does It Mean If She Buys ONE Flower A Day??” like they held the answers to life.

She always paid in cash.

Always smiled.

Always thanked you.

He’s lucky, you wanted to say.

But instead:

Here, I wrapped it a little extra today. Hope he likes it.

Who?

You blinked.

She asked it so casually, tucking the bloom into her basket.

You always say ‘he.’

Your heart practically choked itself.

Oh—just—figured. With the one flower thing. Thought maybe you were giving it to… y’know. A boyfriend. Or something.

You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling about as smooth as a cactus.

She tilted her head, curious.

You think I’m buying these for someone else?

You froze.

You’re not…?

She shrugged. Maybe. Maybe not. You never asked.

Your brain flatlined.

She turned toward the door again, humming softly.

See you tomorrow, flower boy.

And just as the bell jingled—

Wait!

She stopped.

You swallowed.

I never asked… what’s your name?

She smiled.

Jiwoo.

It bloomed in your chest like a wild thing.

I’m Y/N.

I know, she said with a grin, walking backward through the door. You keep writing it on my receipts.

She left.

You stared at the empty doorway for a good five minutes, hand still half-raised like you’d forgotten how time worked.

Jiwoo.

Jiwoo.

You said it once.

Twice.

Then sighed, picking up your phone.

No edits today.

You had flowers to learn

You didn’t mean to care this much.

But there you were — behind the shop counter at 9:17 a.m., typing “flower meanings for hopeless romantics” into a search bar like it was going to save you.

Lilacs for first love.

Sunflowers for admiration.

Baby’s breath for innocence.

You even made a chart.

You never made charts.

Not for school. Not for taxes. Not even for your dad’s pricing board (which, by the way, you hadn’t looked at in two weeks because Jiwoo kept getting the “love interest” discount).

You told yourself it wasn’t a crush. You were just… curious.

Curious why she kept choosing one stem at a time.

Curious why she lingered by the counter.

Curious why she laughed at all your dumb comments and tilted her head when she looked at you like she was trying to memorize something.

It’s just routine, you told yourself.

She’s just a customer. A very… pretty one. With nice hands. And a really good smile. And great fashion taste. And—

You were spiraling.

So you started prepping for her visits.

Just a little.

Arranged the front cooler more neatly. Swept the floor before she arrived. Read up on flowers so you could casually say things like, Did you know bluebells mean gratitude? and act like it wasn’t something you’d learned at 1 a.m. while lying awake thinking about her voice.

And every day — right around 10:43 a.m. — she showed up.

Like clockwork.

A new flower.

A new smile.

Sometimes a soft hum.

Sometimes a compliment.

Sometimes she asked how your day was going, and you answered too fast, because her asking made it good.

It became your favorite part of the day.

Until it didn’t happen.

The door didn’t jingle.

No floral dress.

No basket.

No Jiwoo.

You checked the clock.

Then the street.

Then the cooler — like maybe she was hiding behind the lilies, waiting to jump out and say Surprise! Just kidding. I’d never miss a day, flower boy.

But she didn’t.

You waited until lunch.

Then dinner.

Then closing.

You even made an extra stem bouquet — just in case she showed up late.

She didn’t.

The shop felt colder somehow.

Smaller.

The silence pressed in like a heavy coat, and even the scent of the flowers couldn’t shake the ache blooming in your chest.

You weren’t sure what you missed more.

Her voice.

Her smile.

Or the fact that, for the first time in a long time, you’d been looking forward to something without realizing it.

You closed the shop that night slower than usual.

One light at a time.

Lingering.

Hoping.

But the bell never rang.

And for the first time since she walked in…

…you really, really hated flowers.

Seven days.

That’s how long it had been.

Seven mornings of checking the time.

Seven almosts.

Seven times you rearranged the daffodils just in case today was the day.

You hated how much it affected you.

Worse, you hated the dream you had two nights ago — Jiwoo, smiling at some faceless guy who picked her up in a silver car, handing her a bouquet you didn’t wrap. He kissed her cheek and she giggled and said, “I don’t need to go to that flower shop anymore. I’ve got what I need.”

You woke up pissed.

At the guy. At yourself. At your brain for giving you an imagination that could invent heartache.

By day seven, you’d accepted it:

She was gone.

You were just a stop on her map.

A blip.

A dumb flower boy who gave discounts for daydreams.

So when the bell above the shop rang at 10:42 a.m., you didn’t even look up.

Not until you heard her voice.

Hey, flower boy.

You froze.

She stood in the doorway, same basket, new dress. Same spark in her eyes. But this time — her shoulders looked a little tired.

Jiwoo.

It came out too fast. Too relieved. Too much.

She tilted her head.

You look like you saw a ghost.

You disappeared.

She blinked. You blinked. You hadn’t meant to sound so… jealous? desperate? boyfriend-y? You didn’t even know.

I— you rubbed your neck. I was just… wondering. You always come by. And then you didn’t. For like a week. I thought maybe…

You trailed off. Couldn’t finish that thought.

She looked at you for a moment.

And then walked toward the counter, eyes soft.

I didn’t mean to worry you.

You said nothing.

She set the basket down and reached into it, pulling out a small pin — a silver brooch in the shape of a lily.

I work as a nurse. At Seongwon Hospital.

She smiled, a little sheepishly.

I host this little thing every day with patients who’ve received… hard news. Prognostic stuff. Things they’re scared to talk about. So I bring them a flower and we do a small ‘Show & Tell.’ They get to hold something beautiful while the world feels like it’s falling apart.

You stared at her.

That ache in your chest shifted — softened, bloomed into something warmer.

The flower’s not for a boy dummy~, she added. It’s for whoever needs it that day. Just one stem. Just enough to remind them there’s still softness in the world.

You swallowed.

And last week…?

We moved hospitals.

She sighed, resting her arms on the counter.

There’s a flower shop closer to the new location, but—

She glanced at you, smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I like it here.

Your breath caught.

You came all this way… just for a flower?

Not just the flower.

Silence.

You didn’t know what to say.

So she reached into her basket again, pulled out a small bento box, and handed it to you.

You looked like you haven’t ate breakfast yet.

You took it. Warm. Heavy in your hand.

Like her showing up.

Like your chest, still reeling from that explanation.

You’re really something, Jiwoo.

She grinned.

Took you long enough to figure that

Days pasts, frequent visits happen and so is your heartrate frequency going ballistic.

It started with a joke.

Need help delivering one of those?

you asked, casual but hopeful.

You meant the flower.

She meant everything else when she said:

Actually… yeah. Come with me.

You didn’t expect to walk the pale hallways of Seongwon Hospital and feel the air change when Jiwoo entered a room — how it shifted from clinical to calm, from sterile to safe.

You didn’t expect how quiet everything went when she spoke.

“Good morning, my loves.”

That’s what she called them — the patients.

There were four in the room: two teens, a child, and an older woman seated furthest from the door. IV poles and machines surrounded them, beeping softly. No one smiled at first.

But Jiwoo did.

Not in a performative, cheer-up kind of way — but something gentler. Worn-in. Like she’d practiced this warmth until it felt real again, even when it cracked at the edges.

She pulled one flower from the bouquet you brought: a sunflower, petals wide like open arms.

She knelt next to the child first — a little girl who clutched a lion plush to her chest like it was armor.

This one’s called a sunflower. Do you know why?

She didn’t wait for the answer.

“Because no matter where it grows, it turns its face toward the sun. It looks for light. Even in hard places.”

The girl blinked up at her, wide-eyed. Jiwoo handed her the bloom like it was a wish. The girl held it like it was the first good thing she’d touched in days.

The boy beside her — tall, pale, trying not to look scared — got a gerbera.

“You said red was your favorite, right?”

He nodded, biting his lip.

Then, Jiwoo picked out a lily.

And you watched her walk toward the farthest bed.

The woman sitting there looked older than her years, hair graying, a silk scarf tied around her head.

She didn’t smile.

But her eyes — they flickered when Jiwoo approached.

Jiwoo knelt again, slower this time. Almost reverently.

“Hi, Mom.”

You froze.

You didn’t breathe.

Jiwoo said it like a prayer. Like it ached to say out loud.

The woman tilted her head. Weakly brushed Jiwoo’s hair from her face.

“You’re late,” she rasped.

Jiwoo smiled — not her usual kind. Smaller. Sadder.

“I stopped at the flower shop as usual.”

Her mother chuckled, barely. But her hand trembled as it reached for the lily.

“What does this one mean again?”

“Purity. Renewal. And… a reminder.”

She didn’t finish the sentence. But her mother nodded, as if she heard it anyway.

You had to look away.

The hallway spun for a moment.

Not because it was loud — but because it wasn’t. Because Jiwoo said so much with so little. Because the girl who lit up your flower shop every day was lighting up this place instead — one stem, one patient, one smile at a time.

Because she didn’t just buy flowers to be soft or romantic or whimsical.

She bought them to hold the weight of people’s worst days.

To remind them something still bloomed, even now.

And that woman — that tired, beautiful woman in the bed — that was her reason.

Her beginning and her end.

When Jiwoo returned, her eyes were glassy, but she smiled like she always did. Soft. Brave.

“Sorry you had to see all that.”

You shook your head.

“No. I’m glad I did.”

She looked at you — really looked — and for a moment, she wasn’t the girl who wandered into your life asking for roses.

She was the reason you wanted to keep every flower alive in the shop.

You reached into your coat pocket.

Pulled out the single sunflower you’d wrapped earlier. Just in case.

“This one’s for you,” you said. “So you don’t forget where to look.”

She didn’t answer.

She just took it carefully, like it was something sacred.

And you watched — quietly, achingly — as she held it close

[egelantier]

boldness is all!

so murderbot 1.9 was just personally tailored emotional porn for yours truly, 10/10, no notes, those people are amazing and i hope they get to adapt all the books. i want to see what they do with art like burning.

the thing about the show overall i really loved is how deft, economic and intentional they're with their adaptation choices. ASR is a deceptively hard book to adapt, i think, given that it's delivered in a very detached narrative from a deeply unreliable narrator, and everything the show team chose to do with it was just - well-thought out in a deeply satisfying way.

giving gurathin his woobie corporate spy backstory? elevates him from the straight man description in the book (the humans in the books are deliberately sanded down and smushed together - it's murderbot's narration and it doesn't want to care too much and it doesn't want to pay attention; but we as independent viewers have to care, otherwise there's no show), gives him this beautiful kismesis rapport/understanding/tension with murderbot, and quickly and efficiently hammers in the 'under this form of predatory capitalism everybody is abused and exploited, but also there are levels to that' that takes the books some time to unfold. who knows if they get a second season? and it's already all here.

leebeebee? quick corprim entry point of view, nice thematic foil for both gurathin and murderbot, the quick demonstration of how presaux' way of communicating with corporation rim is both good and dangerous for them, and a sideside demonstration that yes, sometimes people will participate in their own exploitation and will choose the promise of being the boot over the freedom from the boot, and there's that.

sanctuary moon? aside from how much fun it is, it provides us with quick and dirty insight into murderbot feelings - something that it most definitely has in abundance AND something that it staunchly refuses to admit or embody all the way until, like, fifth or sixth book in the series - and also a beautiful demonstration of how a person will learn empathy from anywhere, even second-grade soap opera, because personhood is made of connections, and the urge to connect is just that strong. it IS a mediocre show, that is; this mediocre show allowed murderbot to invent and try out concepts completely integral to its sense of being and perceiving the world way ahead of time. (also makes me think of how the most enduring Ye Fandoms of Olde were slightly mediocre, long shows that had to be read very closely and sometimes against the text to read all the richness and joy into them.)

(and also for the horrendous, startling vulnerability and generosity of murderbot sharing its comfort episode with mensah AFTER she called it a mediocre show. i would never, i swear to god.)

the throuple? a) hilarious b) a quick and dirty crash course on how presaux navigates sex, relationships, sticky ethical situations, cringe and changes - by treating each other with maximum respect possible and knowing that they can talk about shit even when shit is deeply embarrassing for all parties involved.

it's not maybe the only correct way to do things - in some other universe it could've been done completely differently, and it's okay - but in our sad little world where adaptations usually go either with slapping a title on any tangentially related standard save the cat story, or with slavishly following word for word without understanding what those words do, i was incredibly surprised and pleased.

[hatsbuckets]

Took a little break from editing a fic and ended up with this blurb based on this ghostprice post

He could feel it. That quiet thrill beneath the ribs. Not fear but something sharp and bright, edged with adrenaline. A pulse of awareness that said this is a man who could end me. And yet, here Simon was. Blade in hand, steady as anything, his breath quiet.

He let his eyes fall closed and let the world narrow to the press of fingers at his jaw, the warm drag of a palm tipping his chin just so. A set of strong legs standing between his, cold counter top beneath his thighs. The soft scrape of the straight razor gliding over skin made slick with warm water and cream.

Simon’s hands had killed men like this: thumb under the chin, blade to the throat. And still here was Price, exposed and safe.

There was something sacred in that. In how Simon moved now, slow and precise, gentle in a way that still held the bones of violence but refused to bare its teeth.

John opened his eyes, just for a moment. He wanted to see.

Simon’s eyes were lowered in concentration. The set of his brows was calm. His scars caught the morning light in pale relief. Beautiful, in that ruin-soft way. A map of everything he’d survived. A roadmap of pain, and yet John’s chest ached with something warm.

He reached up, fingers brushing Simon’s wrist, a soft, slow touch.

Simon froze. The razor hovered, his breath hitched, and his eyes flicked up with sudden tension. Like he thought he’d gone too fast. Pressed too hard. Hurt him.

John only held his wrist a beat longer. Then pulled gently, enough to bring Simon closer, until his face was right there, hovering.

And then John kissed him. Soft. Barely a moment. Just enough to say: you’re okay. I trust you. I love you, you daft, careful thing.

When he pulled back, Simon stayed close, hand still steady, blade still in his grip, but softer now, if that was even possible.

John settled again, head tilted, ready for the next pass.

And Simon resumed with that quiet, aching reverence.

[doomgurlficss]

SOMEBODY

©doomgurlfics .ೃ࿐

Synopsis: After graduation, you treat yourself to a solo getaway in Hawaii. Just you, the ocean breeze, and zero drama. That is, until a flight seatmate from hell, Taehyung, somehow ends up being your next-door neighbor at the luxury resort. Thanks to a reservation mix-up, your private suite dreams crash and burn, leaving you and Taehyung in separate rooms… with a shared connecting door.

What starts as petty arguments and awkward run-ins quickly escalates into teasing, tension, and heat you can’t ignore. And when the line between enemies and something much more finally snaps? Let’s just say, paradise gets a whole lot hotter.

Pairing: Non Idol Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 5,160

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A/n: Hi beautiful people!🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Part 3 is here and I am so excited to share it with you all! Remember when I said this fic will only have three parts… well, I lied. It’s definitely having a fourth part!! But I’m hoping that is the final because I really want to get started on my Jungkook fic. This chapter will contain smut, but only in last section so you have be warned!! This is also a reminder that if you are minor PLEASE DO NOT read or interact with my content!! Alrighty, happy reading everyone!!

PART THREE

You wake to the feeling of heat against your skin.

Not the soft warmth of a sunbeam through your hotel window, but the heavy kind. Humid, pressing, and gritty.

Your ears ring faintly, the world muffled and distant, like you’re underwater… or dreaming.

You try to shift, but your limbs feel like they’re made of sandbags.

Your lashes flutter open.

Bright light stabs at your vision, forcing you to squint. The sky above is impossibly blue. The kind of perfect blue that feels cruel now, considering how disoriented you are.

Then comes the sound. Waves crashing nearby, seagulls calling out overhead, and voices.

Panicked ones.

“Hey—hey, she’s waking up,” someone says.

You blink again, slower this time, and realize you’re lying on the shore, sand clinging to your scuba suit, the taste of salt drying on your lips.

Taehyung’s face comes into focus above you. His brows are furrowed, lips parted, eyes wild with something that looks an awful lot like worry.

“You passed out in the water,” he says, crouched beside you, one hand hovering over your shoulder like he’s not sure whether to touch you again. “Do you know where you are?”

You nod—barely.

But even that small movement makes your head spin.

And just like that, it all comes rushing back: the water, the faulty gear, the breath that wouldn’t come.

And the terrifying blackness that followed.

A medic team rushes over, kneeling beside you with practiced urgency. One of them slips an oxygen mask gently over your face, and the cool air is a relief after what felt like drowning on dry land.

“Just breathe normally,” one of them says calmly. “You’re okay now.”

Another starts hitting you with questions. Name, age, any pre-existing conditions, medications, allergies, his voice soft but insistent, tugging you back into the present.

Your throat feels raw when you finally manage to answer, “I have… mild asthma. It’s usually controlled.”

That’s when it clicks. The shallow breathing. The shortness of breath you brushed off before it spiraled.

Taehyung stays close, crouched nearby like he’s ready to jump in again if anything so much as twitches. His brows are still drawn tight, eyes scanning your face like he’s checking for signs you’ll pass out again.

Behind him, a small crowd has gathered of vacationers with their phones out, some whispering, others just… staring.

He glances over his shoulder and scowls. “Can y’all not?” he snaps. “She’s not a show.”

That shuts a few people up.

You want to say something, to thank him, maybe, but your voice is too shaky, and your head still feels like it’s full of fog.

So instead, you just look at him, and he looks right back, like he can hear everything you’re not saying.

And for once, neither of you has anything smart to say.

You’re cleared after fifteen minutes. Lungs stable, pulse normal, though you’re advised to take it easy for the rest of the day. No more water activities.

“And don’t forget your inhaler tonight, the medic reminds you gently,” like you’re a kid who needs to be told twice.

You nod along, the oxygen mask now off, your breathing back to normal. But your chest still feels tight, not from asthma, but from embarrassment.

From where you sit on the sand, knees tucked to your chest and a towel wrapped around your shoulders, you watch as Taehyung speaks with the medic team a few feet away.

His expression is serious. Focused. Arms crossed over his chest, hair damp and tousled from the ocean. Whatever he’s saying, they nod along like he’s asking all the right questions.

You can’t hear them. You don’t really want to.

Your stomach churns at the thought that you just passed out in the ocean… in front of him. In front of everyone.

You should feel grateful. And you do.

But mostly, you feel… exposed.

And maybe a little foolish for thinking this trip would go smoothly from here on out.

He walks back toward you just as you shift your gaze to the water, pretending you hadn’t been watching.

“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now, a little softer.

You nod, not trusting yourself to say much else.

A beat passes before he glances over and says, “So what happened to you having A1 lung capacity, hmm?”

The teasing lilt in his voice pulls a small laugh from you, one that quickly dissolves into a wet cough.

You roll your eyes, still catching your breath. “Don’t start.”

He lifts both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying. One minute you’re Ariel, next minute you’re Flounder gasping at a seafood buffet.”

You let out a real laugh this time, quieter but less shaky. “Glad my near-death experience is entertaining for you.”

He smiles, but it fades a little as his eyes flick over your face, thoughtful now. “Nah… wasn’t entertaining. Kinda scared the hell out of me, actually.”

That catches you off guard.

You look at him, really look, and there’s no punchline in sight.

Just sincerity, plain and disarming.

You swallow hard and glance back at the waves. “Thanks for pulling me out.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice softer now. “Anytime.”

And for a few seconds, the only sound is the ocean.

Suddenly, Taehyung stands, brushing sand from his hands. “Welp, let’s get going. I don’t know about you, but saving lives has made me famished.”

You laugh again, rising to your feet and grabbing your towel. “Where exactly are we going? Hopefully somewhere I can change. I’m scared this swim cap didn’t survive the blowout.”

“Aww, I was hoping you’d keep the suit on. It was giving… sexy mannequin,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You scoff, swatting his arm as he grins. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “What can I say? I have range.”

You arch a brow. “So, where’s this surprise?”

“You’ll see,” he says, already walking ahead. “Try to keep up, Flounder.”

You roll your eyes but follow his lead, just a few steps behind. He glances back a few times to check on you, which annoyingly, you find kind of cute.

The two of you part ways to change in the restrooms, and that’s when you make a tragic discovery: the swim cap did not, in fact, protect your blowout. Curly strands are already poking through your straight extensions like weeds through sidewalk cracks.

Yeah, those tracks are coming out the second you get back to your room. Good thing you came prepared with hair products.

Five minutes later, your hair’s up in a messy bun, and you’re back on the strip, freshly changed and slightly humbled.

Taehyung’s waiting for you, goofy grin in place like nothing ever phases him. It’s weird to think how just a few days ago, you could hardly stand the sight of him. Now… well, now what?

You like him?

Not like like him. Please. This is vacation. Nobody catches real feelings on vacation. This is light. Flirty. Temporary. Besides, you don’t even know him like that.

“You alright?” Taehyung asks, reaching for your bag without warning.

You immediately pull it back. “I’m good, thanks. And it’s nice to know chivalry’s still alive, Taehyung, but I can hold my own stuff.”

“Y/N,” he says, voice suddenly serious, “give me the bag.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

He steps closer, tilting his head slightly. “Because you nearly drowned twenty minutes ago and I don’t need you passing out mid-stride while carrying a tote full of coconut oil and trauma.”

You bite back a laugh, trying to glare, but your lips twitch instead. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says with mock patience, slinging the bag over his shoulder like a proud pack mule. “See? We can compromise.”

“I’m pretty sure I gave in,” you mutter, tugging your sunglasses down to shield your eyes from the sun, “but okay—we’ll go with that.”

The two of you start walking down the strip, Taehyung confidently taking the lead while you trail just a step behind, clueless as to where you’re headed.

Normally, you’d never let a near-stranger lead you anywhere, especially in an unfamiliar place. But considering he literally saved your life this morning, you figure he’s earned a little bit of credit.

You walk for a good ten minutes, passing little boutiques, food carts, and a family of tourists wearing matching shirts that say, ‘ALOHA’.

Finally, Taehyung stops in front of a modest-looking K-BBQ restaurant tucked between a surf shop and a shaved ice stand.

The second the smell hits your nose, smoky, savory, mouthwatering, your stomach growls in betrayal. Loudly.

He turns to you with a smug grin. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to look too impressed. “It’s fine. I guess I won’t hold the breakdancing at 3 a.m. against you forever.”

“Yes!” He exclaims dramatically. He holds the door for you, as the two of you walk inside.

The restaurant interior is homey, giving the vibe that’s its very family oriented. Framed family photos line the walls, giving the space a lived-in, personal feel. It’s cozy without being cramped, clearly a place where locals come often and are known by name.

A cute waiter greets you with a smile, then leads you to your table, pulling out your chair for you.

You thank him brightly, and when you glance at Taehyung he has this weird look on his face.

“What?” You ask, clearly amused. I know you’re not jealous.”

“Actually, I am.” He replies bluntly. “It took me two days to get you to smile like that. It only took him one,” he says plopping down in his chair.

You glance at the waiter awkwardly, to which he bows before scurrying away.

You raise a brow, fighting back a smile. “Wow, so now you’re keeping a scoreboard?”

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, unfolding his napkin with exaggerated focus. “The man pulled out your chair. That’s high-stakes competition.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension dissolving into something warmer.

The two of you take a moment to browse the menu, Taehyung entering in what you want on the tablet.

Within five minutes, a spread of side dishes arrives, carried out by an older woman with a bright smile. She instantly coos at Taehyung, ruffling his hair as she speaks to him animatedly in Korean.

You watch, charmed by the sight, it’s clear they know each other well. Your brows rise in curiosity.

“She said we looked cute and wants a picture for the restaurant wall,” he explains with a shrug, though there’s a telltale pink in his ears as he glances away.

An older man follows behind, likely her husband, bearing generous portions of meat. Taehyung stands immediately, bowing respectfully as the man sets the dishes down. The three share a few friendly words in Korean, and you sit back, entertained, not missing how Taehyung’s native tongue makes your stomach flutter a little.

Before they leave, the woman quickly snaps a photo of the two of you, shouting something about a beautiful couple before scurrying away around the corner.

You laugh fondly. “What was all that about?”

“Ah—those are the owners. I was stationed in the military with their son. We used to come here on holiday,” he says, already tending to the grill with practiced skill.

The two of you spend the next few minutes eating in content silence, savoring each bite. Everything tastes fresh and perfectly seasoned—simple, but so satisfying.

Suddenly, something green clouds your vision. You glance up to see Taehyung holding out a lettuce wrap, stacked just right with meat, rice, and sauce.

You reach for it, but he pulls back slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I got it,” he says, gesturing for you to lean in.

You narrow your eyes at him but ultimately give in, again, and let him feed you.

The moment the wrap hits your tongue, you let out a soft, involuntary moan. Of course his tastes way better than yours.

“So, Y/n what’s your plans for tomorrow?” He says, voice sounding oddly casual.

“I have a massage scheduled in the morning, followed by a meditation session at noon, then I’m free the rest of the day,” you reply, suspicion laced in your tone.

He nods, I see, trying to get your inner zen on.”

Your eyes narrow slightly. “Why do you ask?”

He scratches the back of his neck, pretending to focus on the grill. “And after you’ve reached enlightenment, how about drinks? The rooftop bar has a crazy view. I figured you’d appreciate the aesthetic.”

There it is. He’s trying to ask you out.

You bite back a laugh as you smirk, “Taehyung, I know you aren’t being shy. You’ve been flirty with me since we met, and all of a sudden you want to get all coy like you’re asking me to prom,” you tease.

“He scoffs, no one’s being shy. There isn’t a thing shy about me and you know that. I just had to check your temperature because you’re always running hot and cold on me.”

You roll your eyes playfully as you sit back in the booth. True.

“Well, maybe I’m feeling cold right now, so I guess we’ll have to see,” you reply, sipping your drink with a smirk.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Eight p.m. tomorrow it is.”

The next day goes just as planned. You’re officially halfway through your trip, and honestly, you feel a little sad.

Your morning massage melted every knot out of your body, the meditation session that followed left your mind deliciously blank, and after a lazy lunch, you returned to your room for some well-earned downtime.

You called your family, caught up with your sister’s drama and your dad’s attempt at a “dad joke of the day,” then laid down for what was supposed to be a quick nap.

Big mistake.

You blink awake groggily, eyes landing on the bedside clock—and instantly shoot up.

“Shit.”

You’re fifteen minutes late.

To your date.

With Taehyung.

Panic bubbles in your chest as you scramble out of bed, sheets tangling around your legs. You didn’t even set an alarm. Rookie mistake. Now you have maybe ten minutes to pull yourself together before you’re officially that girl who flaked.

Luckily, your curls are still intact—thank God you handled them last night. You rummage through the dresser, pulling out the sexiest going-out dress you packed.

No time for a full face. If you sit down with a beauty blender now, you’ll be over an hour late.

Instead, you drown yourself in perfume, brush your teeth, line your lips, apply some blush, oil your skin until you’re gleaming, and bolt out the door at exactly 8:45.

Damn. You ain’t shit.

You hope Taehyung is still at the bar by the time you make it up, though you wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t.

If the roles were reversed, you’d give a man ten minutes, fifteen if he was fine. But forty-five? You’re pushing your luck.

The elevator crawls like it has nowhere to be, stopping on nearly every floor before finally, mercifully, opening on the fifteenth.

You step out quickly, scanning the rooftop in search of him. Relief floods your chest when you spot him at the bar.

But that relief dies just as fast.

He’s not alone. The same brunette from the shuttle sits beside him, damn near in his lap, laughing at something on his phone.

You freeze. Not hurt exactly, but something close. Caught somewhere between embarrassed, irritated, and disappointed.

You feel… conflicted. Should you approach him? Or turn around?

But it seems Taehyung makes that decision for you.

Sensing your presence he turns in your direction, eyes widening slightly when he takes in your appearance. His position shifts slightly in the chair.

You approach him slowly, trying not to read too much into his reaction, but you don’t miss the way his posture straightens, or how the smile on his face softens into something quieter. Something more…intentional.

The brunette beside him notices too. She glances at you, then back at him, confusion flickering across her features.

Taehyung doesn’t even glance her way.

“Hey,” he says simply, his voice low. His eyes rake over you once before locking back on your face. “You look…”

“Late?” you offer, sliding onto the stool beside him with as much poise as you can manage.

He huffs a small laugh. “I was gonna say beautiful. But yeah… also that.”

An awkward pause passes by as the brunette stares at you both.

“Oh, this is, uh, Madison, we met at the bar on my first night here,” he says. I was just showing her the clips I took from us break dancing.”

He pivots his phone to you and you’re surprised to see that they in fact were break dancing, or at least attempting to.

Taehyung does a funky spin on his back before trying to jump up, failing terribly. You laugh, wanting to watch again, Madison cuts in.

“Actually, it’s Madilyn,” she corrects, her smile tight as she turns to face you fully. “And you are?”

You meet her gaze calmly, refusing to be rattled. “Y/N.”

You don’t offer more than that. If she wants to know who you are to Taehyung, she can keep guessing.

Taehyung shifts slightly in his seat, clearing his throat. “Thanks for keeping me company, Madilyn,” he says, polite but firm. “But this was the date I mentioned earlier.”

Madilyn’s brows lift, clearly caught off guard. “Oh…” she glances at you, then back at him. “Right. Got it.”

She forces a tight smile, grabbing her drink. “Well, have fun you two.” Then, with a flick of her hair and a final glance at Taehyung, she walks off into the crowd.

You blink, surprised by how direct he was.

“Date huh?” You question playfully. “Dang and I was just beginning to think you were about to officially recruit me into your break dance group.” You shake your head dramatically. “A girl can dream.”

Taehyung laughs, the sound light and genuine as he takes a sip of his drink. “What can I say? You’ve got star quality,” he teases, tapping his fingers against the bar. “But I figured I’d try my luck asking you out before your agent scoops you up.”

You laugh full heartedly, appreciating how easy it is for him to carry a joke.

He smiles, watching you fondly, “Let me buy you a drink,”

You grin. “Sure, but no tequila. I’m still recovering from graduation night.”

He flags down the bartender. “One lychee martini,” he says confidently, then glances at you for confirmation.

You nod, unfamiliar with the drink, but down to try something new.

Moments later, the bartender slides the drink your way with a small napkin. You thank him, taking a sip—and it’s perfect.

The two of you watch the night sky, the ocean waves crashing gently in the distance.

you sneak a glance at Taehyung, studying the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth. For someone who started out as your least favorite neighbor, he’s grown on you more than you care to admit.

“Okay, now you’re definitely checking me out,” he says.

You quickly look away, caught red-handed. “What? No, I was just… zoning out.”

Taehyung grins, turning towards you and leaning in a little closer, clearly enjoying himself. “Zoning out directly at my face?”

You try to play it cool, taking a long sip of your drink. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just a nice face to zone out to.”

He places a hand over his chest, dramatically. “Wow. The highest honor. I’ve officially become background scenery.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling, your cheeks warming despite the breeze. “Careful, I might start charging for appearances.”

Taehyung tilts his head. “Deal. But only if I get a backstage pass.”

You nearly choke on your drink at that one. “Okay, relax. This isn’t a meet-and-greet.”

He lifts his glass toward yours. “Could’ve fooled me. I feel like I’ve been trying to win VIP access all week.”

His innuendo sends a shock wave to your core, causing you to blush as you cheers. You’ve never met a man as quick-witted as you were.

“Alright,” you say, taking another sip of your martini. “You’ve got jokes, I’ll give you that. But let’s switch it up before your head gets too big.”

He smirks. “Fine. I’ll allow it. What do you want to know? Shoe size? Blood type?”

You laugh. “Let’s start with something simple. What do you actually do when you’re not terrorizing innocent resort guests?”

Taehyung chuckles, resting his arm on the back of your chair. “Architect.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

“What? You thought I was a professional vagabond or something?”

“Honestly? A little,” you admit with a grin. “You give off major free spirit energy. Architect just sounds… very blueprint and briefcase.”

“See, that’s the thing,” he says, leaning in slightly. “I work for a firm that specializes in sustainable design, eco-builds, urban renewal projects, low-impact homes. We get to be creative, but it’s also about giving back. Helping communities breathe a little easier.”

You nod slowly, impressed. “That actually sounds… amazing.”

“It is,” he says, shrugging. “Still a grind sometimes, but when you see something you helped design go from sketch to skyline, it’s worth it.”

“Okay, I see you,” you say with a teasing smile. “Environmentally conscious and humble.”

He winks. “Don’t let it get around. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

He takes a sip of his drink, eyes twinkling. “So now that you know I’m not just a wandering beach bum with good rhythm, what about you? What’s your day job when you’re not judging strangers at breakfast or getting rescued from the ocean?”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. I just graduated actually, marketing major, minor in advertising.”

“Ah, so you’re one of the creative ones too,” he nods, clearly interested. “What kind of stuff do you want to do with that?”

“Well, I just landed a job with Sephora,” you say, trying to sound casual but still proud. “I’ll be working as a brand strategist. Basically helping smaller beauty brands break into the corporate space. Guiding campaigns, positioning products, that kind of thing.”

Taehyung raises his brows, impressed. “That actually sounds dope. Like you’re helping indie brands glow up.”

“Exactly,” you grin. “It’s a big step, but I’m excited. This trip is kind of my last hurrah before the real world starts.”

He clinks his glass against yours again. “Then I guess I should feel honored to be part of your pre-corporate farewell tour.”

You laugh. “You should. Not everyone makes the cut.”

“Just graduated. So I guess that makes you a baby huh,” he says teasing.

You scuff. “I’m twenty-four, one year away from my frontal lobe developing. You don’t seem that old yourself to be calling me a baby.”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

You drum your fingers on the stem of your glass, pretending to weigh that number. “So my elder by a whopping three years. Should I start calling you Oppa now or wait until you need reading glasses?”

He barks a laugh. “Bold of you to assume I don’t already own a pair for blue-light filtering.”

“Oh, that’s practically geriatric,” you tease, then tilt your head.

You didn’t realize how close the two of you had gotten. His body heat practically radiating off him, warm and steady like the ocean breeze that drifted over the rooftop.

You’d been nursing that martini for a while now, never one to drink much. It didn’t take a lot to get you buzzed, and the low burn in your cheeks told you the alcohol was already kicking in. Or maybe that was him.

“I think that drink’s hit you,” Taehyung says, voice low and slightly amused as he nudges your knee with his.

You shake your head. “Please. I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah?” he grins. “Then why are your cheeks the same color as that flower in your hair?”

You roll your eyes but reach up self-consciously, adjusting the small blossom you tucked behind your ear earlier. “Actually, im wearing blush, so that doesn’t prove anything.”

He laughs, leaning back on his stool. “Right,” he stretches out clearly not buying it.

The music shifts to something sultry and slow, a beat that practically begs for dancing.

“Wanna dance?” he asks, tilting his head toward the tiny rooftop floor where a few other couples sway under the string lights.

You hesitate, heart skipping. “Now?”

“There’s no better time.”

He stands and offers his hand.

And this time, you don’t even pretend to resist.

You slip your hand into his, the warmth of his palm closing around yours like second nature. He leads you gently toward the small dance floor, the two of you weaving between tables and half-swaying bodies until you’re surrounded by soft lights and softer music.

Taehyung pulls you close, one hand resting lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours. It’s not too tight, not too loose, just enough to make you feel steady. Safe.

“I didn’t peg you as a dancer,” you murmur, looking up at him.

“That’s because you only met Party Me,” he replies, smirking. “This is Rooftop Me. He’s much smoother.”

You laugh, resting your free hand on his shoulder as you begin to move together. It’s not choreographed, not polished, but it works.

“So,” he says after a beat, “is this the part where you admit you’re having a good time?”

You glance up at him, lips twitching. “I plead the fifth.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into your fingertips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The wind picks up slightly, brushing your hair against your face. He gently tucks a loose strand behind your ear.

The rest of the rooftop fades away. The music hums, the stars blink lazily above, and all you can feel is the beat of your heart, the faint buzz of the martini, and the press of his hand against your back.

Yeah. You’re definitely in trouble.

He spins you around, pulling you flush against his front. And you gasp slightly.

From this position, you can clearly feel just how close the two of you are, chests pressed, his breath ghosting the top of your forehead, the steady rhythm of his heart matching the beat of the music.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything right away. He just looks down at you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. It’s not a look you expected. Mischievous, maybe. Flirty, sure. But this? This is different. This is quiet. Intentional.

His hand brushes up and down your back, slow and featherlight, and suddenly the rooftop feels too warm. Or maybe it’s just him. The way he’s looking at you like he’s memorizing the moment.

“You good?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

You nod, voice caught somewhere between your chest and throat. “Yeah.”

He smirks gently, but doesn’t tease. “Good.”

And then you’re moving again, swaying to the music, your bodies locked in step. You don’t know how long you dance, but by the time he returns you to your room, you can feel an ache in your heels.

He smiles at you. “Will I see you tomorrow?” He hands in his pockets.

“I’m sure you will, we’re neighbors after all,” you giggle.

He chuckles, head tilting slightly as he watches you. “Right… neighbors.”

But the way he says it, soft, almost fond, makes the word feel like it means something more now.

You lean against your door, fiddling with the keycard in your hand. The buzz from the martini has faded some, but the warmth in your chest? That lingers. Still, you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol… or him.

“Well,” you say, straightening up. “Goodnight, Taehyung.”

“Night, Y/n.”

You swipe your keycard, the green light flashing. Just as you step inside, his voice follows behind you.

“And hey… I’m glad you were late.”

You pause in the doorway, glancing back.

“Otherwise,” he says, smiling crookedly, “tonight wouldn’t have happened.”

You bite your lip, heart thudding a little faster. “Goodnight, Taehyung,” you repeat, this time quieter.

Then you shut the door gently behind you, smiling like a fool.

It’s well into the night, and for some reason, you can’t sleep. Your body’s still wound up from earlier—Taehyung’s hands on your waist, the warmth of his breath against your ear, the quiet way he looked at you like there was no one else in the world under those string lights.

You lie in bed, acutely aware of the way the sheets cling to your skin, how your nipples press achingly against your shirt, how a familiar heat pools low between your legs. Your panties grow damp just thinking about him.

Tossing and turning, you finally give in. Sliding out from under the covers, you dig through your drawer for your trusted companion. Stripping off your tangled underwear, you settle back onto the bed.

Silencing your vibrator with practiced ease, you let it brush lightly against your skin before slowly bringing it to your clit.

Your breath hitches at the sensation, hips pivoting as you attempt to get the perfect position. Increasing, intensity, you whine softly, hole fluttering around nothing.

You imagine Taehyung being here, helping you, touching you. Squeezing your nipple you gaps slightly, feeling a shock wave go straight to your core.

Unaware of how loud you’re getting, your toes curl as your orgasm builds, tight, urgent, and impossibly close.

You notch the vibrator up one level, the pulse stronger now, and your eyes roll back as the pleasure crests and crashes over you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, the word torn from your throat as your back arches and your body shudders through release.

It takes a moment for you to come down from your high, chest still rising and falling as you catch your breath. Your fingers tremble slightly as you turn the vibrator off, setting it aside on the sheets like it’s evidence of something illicit.

Then—

A sound.

Faint, but definitely real.

A soft thud… followed by the unmistakable creak of movement.

From Taehyung’s side of the wall.

Your heart lurches.

Did he hear you?

You bite your lip, staring at the ceiling, heat creeping up your neck.

You weren’t that loud… were you?

Another sound. A muffled voice.

You can’t make out the words, but you know that cadence. It’s his.

Suddenly the air feels too thick, your skin too hot all over again, not from your orgasm, but from the possibility that the man you were just fantasizing about was close enough to hear every breathless moan you let out.

You quickly clean up. Sanitizing your vibrator, taking a brief shower, and slipping into something fresh, before settling back into bed. The sheets feel cooler now, softer against your skin, like they’re finally inviting you to rest.

It doesn’t take long for sleep to find you this time.

——

Read Part 4 Here

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading part 3!! I’m really enjoying how this story is progressing and I hope you are too!! Fell free to share your thoughts!!

[jburrgf]

summer forever, cooper flagg.

pairing: !nba draft¡cooper flagg x !girlfriend¡ reader

summary: first love, fame vs. intimacy, chosen before the spotlight.

description: on the night Cooper is drafted #1 overall to the NBA, the world sees a rising star, but behind the cameras, it’s just him and you, wrapped in the kind of love that feels like summer: golden, fleeting, unforgettable.

He was pacing again.

From the mirror to the window. From the window to the closet. Back to the mirror. And I’d swear he muttered something about sweating through his undershirt at least three different times.

I sat on the edge of the hotel bed in a silky robe, curling the last strand of hair around my finger. Watching him.

He looked like a dream.

Sharp suit. Fresh haircut. That slow-burn energy radiating off him like the second before a summer storm.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet,” I teased, setting the curler down.

He turned. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“The draft?”

“Everything. What if I trip? What if I forget how to talk? What if they call the wrong name?”

I stood up and crossed the room toward him, bare feet on the plush carpet, the hem of my robe brushing against my legs. I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind and rested my cheek against his back. He felt his heart going off like a drum.

“Cooper,” I whispered, “they’re not calling the wrong name. You know that.”

He didn’t answer right away.

I turned him toward me gently and tilted my head back to look up at him.

He looked beautiful. Nervous. A little flushed. The most human version of the boy I’d fallen for.

“Do you know what I see?” I asked him.

“What?”

I traced the lapel of his jacket, fingers gliding over the stitching.

“I see the kid who used to shoot hoops at midnight until his hands were raw. I see the boy who learned how to fold my laundry better than me. I see the man who knows how to hold me like he means it.”

He swallowed.

“I see someone who already made it,” I said. “The cameras, the lights, the stage? That’s just the world catching up.”

He looked at me like I’d just handed him oxygen.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You keep saying that like it’s not my line.”

He smiled — the real one, not the press-ready one. The one that only came out when it was just the two of us.

Then he stepped back to look at me. Really, look at me.

“You’re not even dressed yet,” he said.

I smirked. “Waiting on my glam team, duh.”

His hands found my waist. “Can I be your glam team?”

“Depends. Do you know how to zip a gown?”

He leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth. “I know how to unzip one.”

“Okay, relax, Mr. First Pick.”

He laughed, and the sound warmed the whole room.

[…]

We'd music playing softly from my phone — a playlist I’d made for fun one night, labeled 'vibey but hot' — and the light outside was gold, bleeding slowly into the skyline. It felt like the universe was holding its breath with us.

I slipped into the bathroom to put on my dress, and for a few minutes, the room was silent—just me, the mirror, and a thousand thoughts swirling in my chest.

Not just about him. About us.

Because when someone’s whole life is about to change, you start to wonder if yours will, too. If there’s room for the girl he held through finals and flu seasons. If he’ll still kiss me the same when he’s on the cover of magazines.

I stared at my reflection, suddenly feeling the weight of it all.

But then I heard his voice through the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

I turned as he stepped inside.

His eyes went wide. He didn’t speak. The silence stretched for a heartbeat, then two.

“You look like something I’d only see in a dream,” he finally said.

“Are you nervous?” I asked.

He stepped closer, taking my hand in his.

“I was,” he said. “But then you walked out, and now all I feel is ready.”

And just like that, I knew: He wasn’t going to forget this night. Not because of the cameras. Not even because of the draft.

But because of this moment right here — just us, standing in a quiet room, hearts in our throats, holding hands before he took his first step into forever.

When we got there, I remember thinking I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many cameras go off at once.

The second they called his name — Cooper’s name — everything blurred. Like when fireworks explode too close to your face, and all you can do is blink against the light, try to remember what your heart sounded like before it started pounding so hard.

Cooper Flagg. First overall pick.

His name echoed across the Barclays Center like thunder, and my chest went warm. My boyfriend, Cooper Flagg, just got drafted first in the NBA. But that wasn’t what hit me first. It was the look on his face.

He turned to me before he even hugged his mom.

Like instinct.

His eyes found mine as if saying we did it without needing to open his mouth. And even though the noise, the lights, the agents, executives, and family members were crowding him, I swore it felt like we were alone for a second. Like it was just us, barefoot on some street somewhere in the middle of July. Like every fear I’d ever had just slipped out the window.

I clapped until my hands stung. I don’t even remember standing up, but I was. I was crying a little, I think. Laughing too. He looked at me with that same sleepy grin he always gives me when I say something dumb, like Do you think they have iced matcha in space?

And then he was gone, pulled into the tide of cameras and suits and reporters.

The boy I fell in love with was now the man the world wanted to know.

[...]

The gala was a blur. Velvet chairs. Crystal glasses. Too many forks. It didn’t matter.

I wore a soft blue gown that dipped in the back — he’d picked it out weeks ago, pointing at the screen and mumbling something like, “That one’s unfair. I’d be staring at you all night.”

He hadn’t lied.

Even across the room, talking to ESPN execs or shaking hands with the commissioner, he kept glancing over at me. I swear he mouthed you’re unreal at least twice.

And when he finally broke away—when he finally made it back to me—he didn’t even say hi.

He just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in so tight I thought my spine would melt.

His whisper was hot in my ear. “You’re still the only thing that makes sense tonight.”

We stayed like that for a long time, just swaying a little. His chin on my shoulder, my hand pressed against the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, tracing the embroidered initials he never told anyone were mine.

“I can’t breathe in this dress,” I told him once we snuck outside.

“You look like a fever dream,” he replied.

We were standing under a private archway behind the hotel, just past the gala lights. You could still hear the music, but it was muffled by the ivy-covered walls. It smelled like summer — concrete still warm from the sun, perfume, something citrusy in the air. I slipped off my heels and stood barefoot in the grass.

“You gonna take your shoes off too?” I asked.

He shrugged off his jacket instead, loosened his tie. “Baby, I just got drafted. I can do whatever I want.”

I laughed, throwing my head back. “Cocky much?”

“Absolutely.”

He stepped closer, and I could see it in his eyes again — that fire that lit him up whenever he looked at me. That quiet disbelief, like how did I end up with her?

The truth was, I felt the same way.

“I can’t believe it’s real,” I whispered.

“What?” His hand brushed mine.

“You. This. All of it.” I looked up. “It feels like summer forever.”

He didn’t say anything at first. It just pulled me in again, slower this time. Like he didn’t want to wake up either.

His mouth found mine.

And that kiss — God, that kiss — it tasted like every promise we never made out loud.

[...]

Cooper’s hotel suite was bigger than my first apartment. Marble floors. A view of the skyline so sharp it looked fake. Champagne is already chilling in a silver bucket. A team of congratulatory gifts lined up along the table—designer sneakers, watches, gear from his new team, a note from LeBron that I swear made his hands shake for half a second.

But it was quiet. Just us.

And when the door clicked shut behind us, the noise of the night stayed outside.

I stepped out of my heels again — my feet had had enough — and walked straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city looked like it was holding its breath, lights flickering like camera flashes, like they were still watching us from down there. But up here, it felt like the world had finally gone still.

Cooper came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pressing his mouth to the side of my neck.

“I’ve been dreaming about this night since I was ten,” he murmured. “But it didn’t feel real until you looked at me like that.”

“Like what?” I asked, already melting into him.

“Like you were proud. Like I was already enough.”

My chest ached in the best way.

“I am proud,” I whispered. “And you’ve always been enough.”

He turned me around slowly, still holding me like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go. His eyes had that soft, glassy look — like they weren’t done being overwhelmed yet.

“You looked like magic out there,” I told him, brushing a hand through the nape of his neck, feeling the fresh cut on the tip of my fingers. “Like a star pretending to be human.”

He smiled. “You make it sound like I’m not.”

“Maybe you’re not.”

“Then what does that make you?”

“The idiot who fell for you.”

He kissed me before I could finish laughing.

It was slower this time. The kind of kiss you hold onto for the rest of your life. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just… true. I felt his hand slide down my back, tracing the curve of my dress, then flattening over my spine, pulling me in until I could feel his heartbeat.

“I love you so bad,” he whispered against my lips.

My breath caught.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “I didn’t want to say it before the draft. I didn't want it to be part of the moment. I needed it to be just between us.”

I blinked.

“I love you so bad,” he repeated, slower this time, like a vow. “I don’t care that we are too young, I don't care if it’s crazy fast. I know what I feel.”

Everything inside me flipped.

All the fears I hadn’t admitted out loud — the ones about what would happen now, about the spotlight, the distance, the headlines, the girls, the schedules — they fell right out the window.

Because at that moment, it didn’t feel scary anymore.

It felt like summer forever.

“I love you too,” I whispered. “So bad.”

He grinned like he’d just won something bigger than the draft.

Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he kissed me again. And again. And again. His hands warm on my skin, his body grounding me, every kiss tasting like champagne and disbelief and something deeper than both.

We didn’t rush anything. We just laid there, side by side, fingers tracing invisible lines across bare arms, eyes locked like we were trying to memorize each other all over again.

“Do you think it’ll change?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“This. Us. When the season starts. When everything gets crazy.”

Cooper looked up at the ceiling for a second, then back at me. “Maybe. But not the way you’re afraid of.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” he said, reaching for my hand. “But I know you. And I know me. And I know that tonight, I’m holding the one thing that matters more than a jersey, or a paycheck, or any camera flash.”

I swallowed.

“I don’t need a forever promise,” I told him. “I just need tonight to be real.”

“It’s real,” he said. “It’s so real I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

I closed my eyes and leaned in until our foreheads touched. The world kept spinning, but it didn’t matter. All I could feel was the rhythm of his breathing and the way his thumb stroked the inside of my wrist like it was a song only he knew.

My 11:11. That’s what he’d become.

And tonight, I got to keep him a little longer.

Even if the morning meant letting go.

[...]

The first thing I felt when I woke up was warmth.

Not sunlight — that came second, streaming through the hotel windows in soft, gold streaks. But him.

Cooper.

His arm draped heavy around my waist, face buried in the crook of my neck, curls messily crushed into the pillow. His breath was steady, and when I shifted just slightly, he stirred — murmuring something incoherent and pulling me closer like muscle memory.

“Mm. Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick and lazy.

I turned in his arms. “You drooled on my collarbone.”

He cracked an eye open, smirking. “Lucky collarbone.”

I rolled my eyes and kissed the top of his head. “We should get up.”

“Or we could never get up. Live in this bed forever. Let the league come find me.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Real strong rookie move. First pick refuses to leave bed because girlfriend’s skin is ‘too soft.’”

He didn’t even deny it. Just let out a groggy sigh and nuzzled into me again. “You’re the softest damn person I’ve ever met. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. It's dangerous.”

“Are you trying to get me to cry before breakfast?”

“If you do, I’ll wipe your tears with the corner of my draft suit.”

I laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

He looked up then — eyes bright and boyish. “Wanna get out of here?”

My brows lifted. “Like... breakfast?”

“Yeah. Like, a real one. Just you and me. Somewhere with too much butter and terrible coffee.”

I paused. “You’re aware you’re not invisible anymore, right? You can’t just walk around New York like you didn’t go #1 overall twelve hours ago.”

“I’m still me,” he said, sliding out of bed and stretching. “And this morning, ‘me’ wants pancakes.”

We ended up at a café in the West Village. One of those places with chalkboard menus, loud jazz playing from a vintage speaker, and two elderly women debating the ending of The Sopranos at the next table.

It was perfect.

Except for the part where, halfway through his second plate of banana pancakes, a teenage boy in a Knicks jersey stopped mid-step on the sidewalk, jaw fully unhinged.

“Yo—yo, is that Cooper Flagg?”

I saw Cooper freeze for a microsecond. Like it still didn’t register. Like he wasn’t used to being that guy yet.

The kid pressed his face to the glass, whispering urgently to someone on his phone. Thirty seconds later, two more showed up. Then five.

Cooper looked at me.

I gave him a soft nod. “Go. It’s okay.”

He kissed my cheek and stood.

I watched from the window as he stepped outside and the small crowd swelled. They weren’t loud or pushy. Just in awe. Like they couldn’t believe he was really there — hoodie half up, laughing as he signed sneakers, hats, even a dollar bill.

The way he smiled at them… God, it made my chest ache. He was built for this. Not just the game. The being seen. The way people looked at him like he was something electric.

And yet, every few minutes, his eyes would drift back through the window. Back to me.

Like I was his anchor.

When he came back in, cheeks flushed from the chill, I handed him his now-cold pancakes.

“Are they still watching?”

I glanced over his shoulder. “No. They’re posting it to TikTok now.”

He groaned. “I looked like a walking hangover.”

“You looked like someone people believe in.”

He sat back down, reaching for my hand. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I didn’t sign up for banana pancakes either but here we are.”

He smiled.

“Coop,” I said gently, “this is your life now.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just squeezed my fingers in his.

“I just don’t want to lose this in the process,” he admitted. “You. Mornings like this. The parts where I still feel human.”

I leaned forward, brushing my thumb against his knuckles. “Then don’t let go.”

He looked at me for a long time. The world outside moved, blurred, shifted.

But he didn’t blink.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not even if they give me the world.”

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 19

Summary: Nobody messes with Andy's family.

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings:  language, intense topics, childhood anxiety, showering together, Ransom, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 7.7K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Andy’s thumb calmly moves over your hand. He hasn’t left your side, and he hasn’t dropped your hand. He just sits beside you, staring out into space or at your beautiful face. When he got the call from Ransom with an address, he couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t even think. His body moved on his own accord, and the only thing running through his mind is he needed to get to you and Audrey.

He closes his eyes, and a few tears drift down his cheeks. The heart monitor a constant reminder of what he could have lost. And all because some insecure little bitch of a man could not accept the reality he had made of his life. Andy would not have recovered if anything happened to the two of you. Four of you.

He’s beyond exhausted. It had been a long day in court, but everything faded into the background with one call. The world stopped moving when he saw you leaned up against Scott’s wrecked car. Your physical pain is evident in the way you were standing. Clinging onto Audrey, your entire body trembling as a steady flow of blood and fluid ran down your legs. Audrey was okay, your body was in so much agony, but the adrenaline was keeping you from feeling it. Until you knew he had her.

He didn’t know if Ryden and Everly were okay, he just felt hopeless. He’d always heard about a mother’s love, but he never felt it from his own mom. He’d never seen it until earlier today. You were almost inhuman holding onto her. Women’s bodies are amazing, and there is no greater testament to that than him watching you be unaware of what was happening because Audrey was safe.

Andy leans his head back, on the uncomfortable chair. A chair that he will deal with because you saved his daughter while your body was going through preterm labor. He’ll suffer whatever he has to because nothing can be as bad as what you endured. Or the pain he felt thinking something had happened to any of you.

Ransom stands in the doorway of your room. His eyes moving between you, Andy, and the little girl that is draped across his chest like a koala. Trying to get Audrey to go home with your mom was excruciating. She kicked, screamed, and cried to Andy to just stay with you. Upset herself so much she couldn’t even breathe. Andy picked her up, held her against his chest, and he’s not let go since.

The only thing not holding onto her is the hand in your own. Ransom had been wandering around the hospital. Looking for someone. And then he saw Scott, hooked up to an IV, with oxygen, and his hand cuffed to the bed, and all he could think about was putting air pockets in his IVs.

“How’s she doing?” Andy lifts his head up long enough to peep at Ransom before laying his head back on the chair. “Doe, I mean.”

He swallows deeply, “They were able to halt labor. She’s going to be on complete bed rest for at least two weeks. Both babies are okay,” Andy’s face contorts as he tries to hold in his tears, “I almost lost them.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I won’t lose her again,” he sniffles. He lifts his hand off Audrey’s back to wipe away his tears, “I know what it’s like to live without her, and I won’t do it again. And now,” Andy gulps, and holds onto Audrey even tighter, “Now I’ve got so much more to lose.”

Ransom stands in the doorway a few moments before softly walking into the room. He brings a chair to Andy’s side, and holds out his hands. “I’ll hold her for a little bit.”

“I’m good,” Andy whispers. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Ransom, but he needs Audrey as much as she needs him.

“I don’t care to share this responsibility,” Andy looks over to Ransom, and shakes his head.

“I said I’m good,” leaning forward, Andy kisses the top of Audrey’s head. She’s so still if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of her back, Ransom would think she was just a doll.

“Tatum wasn’t there. This isn’t her fault.”

“I know. We’re still pulling them from the center. They’ll be fine at home. We’re looking into homeschooling if we need to. Even if we were okay with them going back,” his voice goes hollow as he looks down at the little girl, “I don’t think she’ll leave her mom’s side. She already was having some anxiety with her father. Ran, she was so scared. And then she saw her mom. The one person who has always been there for her, bleeding, and she thinks it’s her fault. She apologized because she thought she hurt the babies. My daughter thinks her mom’s distress was her fault.”

Andy’s voice stops. He’s run the day’s events over in his head too many times and they always make him more upset. “She’s not even trying to make excuses for Scott, but still she thinks — he wrecked on purpose. The drugs in his system or his inability to be a fucking man made him have a psychotic break. She wasn’t - wasn’t properly strapped in, and by some divine miracle, she’s just got a few bruises.”

“He’s here,” Ransom’s voice is so raw as he stares at his partner and friend. Andy’s face never changes, just his body.

“I fucking know,” Andy spits out. His grip on your hand tightens, and Ransom stares at your face. No reaction. “She’s sedated. Audrey had a melatonin gummy because she just wouldn’t rest. Neither have any idea what’s going on right now.”

“Let me take care of him,” Andy shakes his head no. “Let me do this for you.”

“No,” Andy lifts his head, and glares at Ransom. “Don’t ask me again, because I will fold under pressure. We are — you know our responsibilities.”

“Those people have never tried to kill your daughter. This beautiful angelic five year old child, he knew what he was doing. She — Andy, she could have…”

“I know!” Andy raises his voice. “And still she is in my arms, sleeping. I’m begging you to not ask me that. He will be disbarred. He has drug charges, he has child endangerment, and kidnapping charges, and so many other charges. I would rather a disgusting lawyer go to prison and suffer with his consequences than give him a quick and easy out, and then have that on our conscience. Have I made myself clear?”

Ransom nods his head as he settles back into his chair. “Two weeks, huh? Would they have been okay if…?”

“Yeah, they’d been in the NICU, but they’d have been okay. The longer they’re growing inside of her the better. Multiples are usually born early anyways. Ryden is almost the same size as Everly now,” it’s the first time Andy has smiled since being here. “The doctors said he is a big healthy boy, and she’s a dainty little thing. They’re okay.”

“You guys still going to family therapy?” Andy nods his head. “How’s Suede?”

“He wants to know when his mama and sissy are coming home. He cried a little bit earlier, and said he wanted his mama. She thinks he’s all about me, but when it counts, Doe is all he wants. Rosie though — she’s stressed. Charlene said she’s following Suede around like a shadow, or just wandering around in Audrey’s room.”

Ransom understands Andy’s decision. But his hands-on approach just wants to hurt Scott. “I’m going to take some time off,” Ransom nods. “I’ll need you to step up to oversee my duties. I want to get everything in order to adopt Audrey.”

“Yeah,” Ransom mutters as he goes to stand. “I figured as much. Your family needs you. Um, when Tatum isn’t sick, can we…?”

“I don’t blame Tatum, Ran. She wasn’t there. Had she’d been there I know my daughter wouldn’t have left with Scott. But I can’t forgive the center for this negligence. You know who informed the director?” Ransom shakes his head no. “Suede’s teacher. She said that Suede was crying and upset because his sister left with a scooter. My son is the reason that there was a fast response in getting in touch with Doe. They were all aware that Scott wasn’t allowed to pick her up. It was a trickle of perfect events for Scott. But Tatum would not have allowed him to take her. She’s still welcome in our home.”

Ransom nods again before he walks over to Audrey, kissing her head, and then to you. “Don’t push your luck,” Andy playfully tells him before Ransom walks out the door.

He’s aware that he might be a little too hot headed to have the position that he does. He knows that Andy is the practical one. The one with common sense and the one who always abides by the law. But that’s not Ransom. He reacts without thinking.

Walking down the long corridor, he takes a detour. Straight to Scott’s room. This time he’s awake, and staring at nothing. Eyes glazed over, and he reacts to Ransom’s tall shadow lingering in his doorway, “Came to gloat?” Ransom shakes his head no. “What do you want?”

“To tell you that you’re a piece of shit that should already have a body that’s starting to decompose itself.”

“Andy doesn’t deserve that life,” Ransom cocks up an eyebrow. “I don’t think my wife ever loved me. She always loved that prick. The prick that struts around, and acts like he’s so fucking untouchable.”

“Is that what your problem is? Andy?”

“Have you ever researched his life?”

“Parents don’t define us, Scottie. His father never raised him. In fact, if you want to be technical, I would say that his wife’s parents raised him,” Scott scowls up at Ransom. “Why did you do it?”

“I swerved to miss a pedestrian.”

“No, you didn’t. I’ve already personally oversaw the footage from a dash cam and Ring cameras. Try again.”

“She’s my daughter,” Ransom’s eyebrows lift. “I created her. Not Andy. He wants her the most, but if I can’t have her, no one can.”

“I’m going to ignore your dumbass comment because you know that Andy loves both those children. His love started with their mom, and went straight to them, and if you were any type of man, you would know how that works. You don’t even realize what special children you have. You don’t deserve them. So here’s what you’re going to do.”

Scott rolls his eyes before closing them, “You’re going to go to prison, and to make a situation easier, you’re going to give away your rights to Audrey. You’re going to rot with criminals that you couldn’t get out of trouble. You’re going to let that little girl have Barber’s last name. She’s going to be comfortable, and feel like she belongs with her family. And you’re going to leave them alone for the rest of their lives.”

“Why’s that? Why does he get what he wants?”

“Because you didn’t actually ever want them. You didn’t want children, she did. You didn’t want marriage, your mom did. You didn’t want to be a lawyer, your dad did,” Scott opens his eyes to scowl at Ransom, “Yeah, I’ve been doing some research on you, Scottie. If you didn’t grow up to be a complete dickhead, I’d feel sorry for you. But you got what you wanted. Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Ransom feigns boredom, and looks at his fingernails. He actually just despises looking at Scott’s face.

“And if I don’t walk away easily?” Ransom smirks as he backs out the door, “Is that a threat?”

“I didn’t say anything, Scoot.”

Andy leans back in the hard chair as he checks his watch. He shouldn’t exactly blame Scott this time. He’s not on his own time. He looks behind him at the officer, but she only shrugs. Scott has been wasting his time for too long.

The clock is annoying, ticking at an annoyingly perfect rate. It’s because Andy would rather be at home with you and the kids. You’re thankfully resting, but Audrey struggles to leave your side. Every groan you make, her eyes go wide, and you see anxiety vibrating off her. Suede is the comedic relief in the house.

He did not like that you, Audrey, and Andy were not at home for a night. Even cried in your arms when you returned. Even though he knows something is wrong, and knows Audrey should be at school, he doesn’t get the root of the issue exactly. Knowing that Scott took his sister, and it upset him to the point of not being consoled. But the feelings didn’t linger like they do with Audrey.

Andy sits up straighter as the door on the other side of the panel of glass opens. He doesn’t change his features even though when he sees his smug face he wants to rip every vein out of his body slowly. This is the man that almost changed his entire life.

Scott sits in front of him, but just stares through Andy. Doesn’t move for the receiver even when Andy picks his end up. Andy points to the phone before Scott ever places it against his ear. “What could you possibly want?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. “You got what you wanted. You got the wife, got the son, and,” Scott sighs as he wipes his hand hard down his face, “And you made sure I won’t be seeing my daughter for a long time.”

“I did that?”

“I never liked you. Didn’t realize you were the one that she replaced with me,” Andy snarls as he leans forward in his chair. “You don’t like me saying that out loud? Look at the similarities.”

“Law degree. That’s it.”

“So what exactly do you fucking want? I’m wrongly in jail.”

Reaching into his pocket, Andy pulls out a piece of paper, “Attempted kidnapping, simple kidnapping, driving while intoxicated, reckless driving, child endangerment…”

“That’s enough,” Scott says angrily. Andy slowly lifts his eyes from the paper, ready to read the remaining charges should Scott continue to accept responsibility.

“There’s several more charges if you’d like me to continue, seeing how you’re wrongly in here.”

“I keep asking you what you want, and you keep being a prick,” if Andy was a lesser man, he’d be rolling his eyes. Scott wants a reaction from him. Andy truly holds the upper hand, but everything that he says is being recorded, so choosing his words well matters.

“I want you to actually think about Audrey for once,” Scott’s eyes move downward, avoiding Andy’s gaze that never falters. A gaze that makes the hair on his neck stand up, and his insides squirm. “I want you to really think about all she’s been through in the past six months. I want you to remember how intelligent she is, and how emotionally mature she is. She knows where you are. She watched you be led down the hospital hallway in cuffs.”

Scott swallows deeply, closing his eyes. He doesn’t know if he wants to block Andy out, or torture himself with what he’s saying. “Audrey doesn’t deserve everything that’s happened in her short life. She deserves to start to heal.”

“And I suppose you’re the one that’s going to make her heal?” Andy sees for once in Scott’s pathetic life a reaction. His eyes rimmed in red, and not because of the drugs in his system. For the first time Andy could almost believe Scott has emotions. “You took everything from me.”

“You threw everything away before I ever entered the picture. You were well on your way with the divorce before she ever stepped foot in Ransom’s office. You did that. You pushed, and pushed, and you did the one thing that you knew would make her file for divorce, and that’s have an affair. And she filed. You know, I think you actually care for Audrey.”

“I love my daughter,” Scott whispers, looking back down. Shame. It’s the most pathetic excuse of love and care, but it almost is there. It’s warped, but still a twinkle of care for Audrey is there.

“I think things weren’t going your way. I think you thought she would take you back, and maybe you could get a handle on Suede. But she was done. Did you love her?” Scott doesn’t say a word, and that is confirmation enough for Andy. Two people that got married because they thought they should. Not because love was involved. A contract of people that were going to build a life together, and be the perfect spouse.

“I want you to think about Audrey during this.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Scott looks up at Andy with his face ashen and blank. “What exactly do you want me to do? I do think about my daughter.”

“I want you to do right by Audrey,” Andy never calls Audrey ‘Scott’s daughter’. She has not been his daughter for quite some time.

“Meaning what?”

“If you’re convicted what does her future look like? You’re looking at some major time here. She already feels out of place at her home. She knows there’s this looming thought that she has to leave, while her siblings stay at home,” Scott sits stoic and unspeaking. Andy hopes that he understands what he’s asking of him without asking.

He hopes that Scott does the one good thing in Audrey’s life, and let Andy adopt her. Let Andy give her security that she is begging for. Andy could sink the knife in deeper and let him know that Audrey cried herself to sleep on his chest whispering for her not to see Scott again. Whether she realized it or not, that’s the day that she stopped calling him daddy.

She saw how low he had sunk, and just how cruel he could be. Purposefully wrecking his car, while you had to listen to it. It’s was a despicable kind torture. He tried to hurt you and Audrey in the worst way. It’s something Andy will never forgive Scott for. The only reason he’s standing now is because you, Audrey, Ryden, and Everly are okay. There will be healing, but there will be joy with the birth of the twins.

“You want her?” Andy’s brow perks up as he stares solidly at Scott. “My daughter? You want her?”

“I want Audrey to have some security. You never know what the next few months could bring. I want — no, Audrey is in a bit of a shock from the traumatic event of taking her from a school that she adored with her friends, putting her in a car without her booster seat, and driving at unsafe speeds until you drove off a bank, and into a tree. She got lucky. She does have a bruise from her seatbelt on her chest and her neck. Do you know why?” Scott glares at Andy, “Because she is too small to be in a car without a booster seat.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to do the right thing. Ransom and myself will not be working on the case for obvious reasons. I’ve taken some much needed vacation days to be with my family. Just do the right thing, Scott,” Andy removes the phone from his ear, and hangs it back up before scooting back his chair, and leaving Scott to stare after him.

He couldn’t exactly tell Scott to sign over his rights, and give Andy the ability to adopt Audrey. That just wouldn’t look good. He had to choose his words carefully, and now he hopes that Scott is smarter than he looks.

“Audrey,” Andy says calmly, and you die a little more inside. Your daughter clings to your stomach, but you have nothing in you to fight her. She experienced too much, and if she doesn’t want to be separated from you then she shouldn’t have to be. “It won’t take long, princess.”

“Can’t I just be in there with mommy?” Her fingers tighten on your stomach while so many emotions flood your mind. She hadn’t been the same since the wreck, and you can’t blame her. Scott made it very clear what he wanted to accomplish. It sickens you to even think about it.

“She needs a shower,” Andy says softly.

“But…”

“And I’m going to help her,” finally a laugh tickles your throat as Audrey sits up straighter, snarling at him. “Mommy can’t wash her toes anymore.”

“So you’re just going to do what? See her naked?” Andy nods. His mouth turns up into a smile. You’re glad that he can be a rock for you during this time because your emotions go from exhaustion to anxiety with a mix of tears to so happy and warm that everyone is at home every day.

“What are you wearing? If you wear that won’t your clothes get wet?”

“Princess, I’m not going to discuss how I’m going to get mommy showered. What I am going to do is help her shower because she has to be careful,” Audrey’s face falls and she glares at Andy before laying her head on your swollen belly, “Doe, don’t.”

Andy knows that you would give yourself a sponge bath in order for her to not feel like you’re abandoning her. “Nini and Suede will be out here with you. We’re just going to be in the bathroom.”

“I don’t want mommy to be away from me,” she pouts. Her little fingers start pulsing on your body. “I want her to stay right with me.”

“Baby,” you softly speak as you start to get up. Andy’s not wrong. As much as you would love to sit with her and hold her, you fear that this is not helping matters. “Give me and daddy twenty minutes. You will be able to see if we leave. But we’re not going to go anywhere.”

“What about the alarm?” Her brows furrow, and without a second thought, Andy walks over to the front door, and turns on the alarm. “Twenty minutes is a long time. Can it be five?”

“No. I can’t wash my body that quickly, I’m afraid.”

Her grip on you loosens only a little bit, “Can I wait outside the door?”

Andy takes a deep breath as he holds out his hands for you to get up. “I want you to give me and mommy ten minutes,” you don’t know why he’s asking for ten minutes, but it's enough for her to drop her arms from around your belly, “Nini can set an alarm, and after ten minutes.”

“I can come in the bathroom?” Andy shakes his no, and Audrey’s frown deepens. “Then what?”

“You can sit outside of the bathroom,” she growls, crossing her arms over her chest, and Andy gives you the final pull to lift you up off the couch. “You’re acting like your dramatic brother.”

“Me no dwama. Save at fow o mama!” Suede says. He hadn’t even paid much attention to the conversation, just kept playing with his LEGO set. “Oo is fuww of dwama. Audi dwama queen!” Throwing his head back he laughs a bit. Nothing over the top.

“Audi, let me get mommy in the shower, and I will yell for you to start the timer, okay?”

“I don’t like it,” she gives one head nod to emphasize the point. “So can I pick out your pajamas?”

“Only if they match yours,” you softly say as you start to head towards your bedroom. Audrey just sits on the couch, crossly looking at Andy following you. You sigh as you cross the doorframe of your bedroom. You hate bed rest. If you had it your way, you’d keep doing what you’d been doing. Living your life until the twins made their debut.

Instead you wait on your mom, your husband, and your children to do small things for you. Put your shoes on so you don’t lean forward. Bring you food, so you’re not walking around too much. She gets to do the best part of the laundry, and you’re stuck with folding. Your mom or Andy even prepare food for you. Check the mail. It is exhausting how you’re not doing your things.

You barely step foot into the bathroom before Andy closes the door behind you, locking it. Going to the shower, he turns on the water, and then he’s slowly peeling off your clothes. There is nothing sexual about this. It’s so gentle and smooth the way he pulls each article of clothing off you. He holds out a hand and he guides you into the shower.

With a bit more speed, he starts stripping his own clothes off, and he follows in behind you. You collapse in his arms. The hot water, and his warm embrace causes your resolve to melt, and you sob on his shoulder. Your body is situated to the side. If it was safe for the twins, you’d want them out, so you could truly melt into Andy’s body.

“I know, baby,” he coos on your head as he peppers kisses over your body. You didn’t realize how much you had been holding in. Making sure that you are strong for Audrey when in reality you just want to be held, and told that it is okay. “I’m so sorry.”

“H-h-he took my baby. Was he trying to kill her?”

“I don’t know, honey,” clinging to his arms, your voice cracks as a guttural weep overtakes your body. Scott pretty much confirmed to Andy that’s exactly what he was trying to do. If he can’t have her, nobody can, “She’s with us now. And he won’t ever see her again.”

“You said…”

“I know what I said, but kidnapping and attempted murder,” a whine tears through your body, and Andy pulls you in even tighter. You aren’t crazy. Andy said a charge that he had no intentions of telling you about. You trusted him, and knew that he would do whatever he could within his power to make sure that Scott paid the ultimate price for that day. “We will make sure that Audrey stays with us.”

“Andy, she was so scared, and I felt hopeless. I knew what was happening to my body, but I needed my baby. She is mine. I birthed that child, and have raised her, and loved her. She is my heart outside of my body, just like Suede. And I couldn’t think about anything past getting to her.”

“And you did. You are the most amazing and bravest woman I have ever met. Your body was going through preterm labor, and you got to our daughter.”

“When will our kids stop suffering because of him?” There’s a lot of things Andy could say. He could say that Ransom offered to make sure that Scott never saw another day in his life. He could say that Scott will be spending the rest of his life in jail, even though it’s not true. He could tell you that Audrey may never remember this, and that’s a lie. Instead he lets you feel the comfort from his arm.

“She can’t heal as long as he’s coming in and out of her life,” Andy has no idea what Scott’s plans are concerning his rights with Audrey. He can only hope that a shallow pathetic excuse for a man does one decent thing in his daughter’s life, and lets her go to someone that loves her, and will take care of her. “My baby is not herself.”

You gulp as Andy pulls away from you. Your husband grabs a washcloth and puts shower gel on it. Sudding the cloth up before he starts scrubbing your arms. That same care he took undressing you, he shows now. Washing off the past few days.

That’s what you try to envision anyways. That the suds swirling down the drain are those memories. That it’s the worry and nightmares you have of your daughter crying for you. Your daughter kicking and screaming at Andy, Ransom, and your mom as she begged to stay at the hospital with you and the babies. You want to erase every bit of that day.

You wish that you had picked her up earlier. That was your plan that day. But that monster got to her first. You gaze down at Andy as he sinks to his knees. He kisses over your belly before he brings the cloth to your skin. Dipping even lower he washes your legs.

You replace every horrific memory of Scott for the perfect ones with Andy. Remember the way that he looks as he fixes Audrey’s hair. Remember the way that Suede piggybacks on him through the house. Focus on moments of him laying on his belly on the floor while the three of them color in a giant coloring book. The times of the four of you running in the front yard playing tag, and how Andy ran much slower than he actually does just to listen to the three of you giggle.

Watching from the front porch one morning as Andy hangs up a board swing from the most perfect tree branch. And all because it looked like the one at your parents’ house. When he was completed with the task, he asked you to try it out for him. When you sat in it, he was already behind you, pushing you. Reminding you of how your first kiss was on that swing with Andy sitting right beside you.

“Remember how you mentioned how red my cheeks got?” He reminded you. You remember everything from that day. The fuzzy feeling in your stomach when Andy pulled apart from you with a smile. The way he quickly looked in front of him, and his traitorous cheeks flared red. You love when his cheeks give him away. Now he’s so much more confident.

“What are you thinking about, Doe?” Andy asks from his knees. “You’re smiling,” it’s the first true smile he’s seen from you since that day. He’s been worried that Scott had finally broken you. Of all the things he’s done to you, you learned to cope. But involving a kidnapping and endangering Audrey on purpose was the final straw.

“I was thinking about our first kiss.”

“What about it?” He smirks up at you, his lips start kissing over your belly again. You start running your fingers through his hair. Normally this position has you keening wtih pleasure, but now it's making you feel more love than you have ever felt from anyone.

“Not just the one on the swing.”

“Which kiss? That was the first,” yes, the first kiss. It was merely a peck.

“Maybe the first one with tongue,” his cheeks turn the tiniest tinge of pink. “Do you remember it?”

“We were in the tree house,” he says, clearly trying to minimize kids turning into teenagers and realizing things happen to their body.

“And I asked you to kiss me with your tongue,” Andy either was seriously that naive, or you were just that fast, and ready to experiment with him.

“And I didn’t understand.”

“And I reminded you about a movie where you see his tongue go into her mouth, and you got all squirmy. And then,” oh his cheeks now are the prettiest shade of red. You love when his calm veneer starts to fall, and his old geeky self pokes through.

“I asked you to sit on my lap like they did in the movies. Pretty sure that’s the first time I have ever had a hard on,” he may be a bit bashful right now, but he isn’t shying away from the conversation. You knew you felt him.

“Did you think about me when you went home?”

“I was always thinking about you, Doe. I’ve always been crazy about you. From the first moment you sat beside me on that bus, and you were cursing my bullies. You had me wrapped around your little pinky immediately. But I suppose you’re wondering if I thought of you sexually?” You nod as he starts to stand up.

He kisses over your sensitive neck, and you lean to the side to give him all the access he could need, “You’re the only one that has ever been in my spank bank. We’re aware that we’ve been with other people. But every woman I ever had after you, I would keep my eyes closed, and pretend it was you. They never were.”

Standing up straight he pushes his forehead against your own. Hands on your hips as he pulls you as close to him as the twins allow, “They never smelled like you. Their hips never felt the same when I gripped them. They never sounded as pretty as you. I never got over you, Doe, and I never will. I will always desire you, and I will always be there to protect you and our kids.”

Talking about the other women Andy have been with should bother you, and somehow it doesn’t. “So every woman you slept with, you just pretended they were me?”

“I tried to pretend they were you. It was the most meaningless sex life. There was no fulfillment.”

“I — you weren’t the only one who did that,” your voice is barely audible. Your eyes drift close, and you open them again to gaze at the beautiful kaleidoscope of blues and greens that make up his eyes as he stares at you.

“I know,” he says with the cockiest grin. “And I will never talk about our past ever again. And if it doesn’t pertain to the case,” he leans into you, kissing right behind your ear with such a gentle peck. He moves to the shell of your ear, “We’ll never talk about Scott ever again. Promise?”

“Give me two good reasons.”

“Audrey,” he kisses your neck, “And Suede,” he gives you another kiss. This isn’t about separating them from his biological children. This is him reminding you that not talking about Scott is not important because they are.

“Andy, I feel I’ve loved you my entire life, and I just love you more everyday. Thank you for us.”

“Mommy? Daddy? It’s been twenty minutes,” you choke out a laugh, placing your forehead on Andy’s shoulder as you sniffle. “Can I come in?”

“I have to get mommy dry,” Andy chuckles. He peeks outside of the shower, and looks back at you teary eyes, “Her hand is under the door,” he awes before sighing. You needed these twenty minutes, so he would do it all over again. And even though she wants to be with you so much that she’s trying to get to you, it’s still adorable.

“Then you should wash up, and we should get out, and get jammies on,” her voice muffles. She had to have pushed her face up against the door to get that sound.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers against your body before reaching around you for the soap, “And thank you for being the best part of my life,” you bite on your lip as you watch Andy start to scrub his body. Eyeing the suds dripping down his shapely tits before creating rivers down his body. “Stop checking me out.”

“Stop being sexy.”

“You stop being sexy,” he giggles, swiping his hand down over his chest, and you roll your eyes, “What?”

“I am not sexy right now.”

“Excuse me,” finishing up with his rinsing, he turns off the water, glaring at you. But it is the silliest glare. “This,” Andy’s thick hands grab onto your stomach, “Is mine, and it is sexy. Do you know how hot it makes me when you and the kids come by the office, and you look like this. People not only know that we fuck, but they know that I was coming in your pretty little pussy until you were blooming and growing with me. Yeah, everyone knows I fuck you. That’s sexy. Muah,” he kisses you hard on the mouth before stepping out of the shower, and holding out a hand for you.

“Don’t ever say you’re not sexy again, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you coo. He gives you a lingering kiss as he wraps a towel around you.

“Daddy! I hear you kissing! Let me in!”

“Princess, mommy has to get dry first.”

“Well, don’t look at her boobies!” He covers his mouth to keep from laughing, “And hurry up. I am in my jammies, and I’ve got mommy’s picked out.”

“Daddy, you heard the princess. We should hurry up,” if you could hold onto this moment, you would. You love your family moments, but there is something so precious about moments just with Andy. One of these days your children will grow up, and they’ll leave you. And twenty years from now, it’ll be just you and Andy. Your foundation as a couple is the most important thing.

It’s the best advice your mom ever gave you. A loving mom and dad is the best thing for your family.

“Mama, out der?” Suede points out the front door, begging to go outside in the yard. “Pease? Audi, oo, too?” Audrey snuggles in tighter to your belly, and you groan as you shift positions.

“Are the babies okay?”

“Yes, princess. Mommy is just moving, so we can go outside with bubba.”

“I don’t want to,” you look up at Andy who walks into the living room. “Can’t we just stay in here?”

“Suede is right,” Andy says with both hands on his hips. “Mommy needs some sun, and so do you. Come on,” he walks over to your side, and grabs your hand. Assisting you to get up before he looks at a pouting Audrey. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“She’s not even in the bed,” her voice gets a bit louder while she points at you. “The doctor said bed rest. Not couch rest, and not rest outside. Bed rest!”

“That’s not what he literally meant. Mommy still has to potty, and bathe, and…”

“Is that why you help her shower?” Your mom cocks up an eyebrow as she watches Andy. This conversation happened regularly. Audrey did not like being made to be away from you, and all because he was bathing you. “Naked?”

“Yes. It is hard for mommy to get her pretty little toes clean,” Suede fakes vomiting as he walks towards the door. “Audi, do you think I would do anything to hurt your mom or the babies?” Even though her brows are furrowed, she shakes her head no. “I want you to run around with your brother and Rosie for at least ten minutes.”

“No,” she pouts, tears already coming to her eyes as she grabs your hand.

”Mommy and I are going to sit on the porch. I will not leave her side.”

“Do I have to?” you are struggling with this just as much as she is. But you don’t want to be the reason that she isn’t healing. Just having to shower has been a struggle. There is a conversation every night about how long you’re going to be and if she can be in there with you.

“Yes, you have to wait for at least ten minutes.”

“Can it be five minutes?”

“No,” he says calmly. Never once losing his cool while you’re screaming on the inside. You’re thankful he is the strong one, “At least ten minutes.”

“You promise you won’t leave her?”

“I promise, princess. Alright, honey. Up,” he pulls you up using his own strength more than you exerting yourself. Bed rest is torture. You don’t know what you would do without both Andy and your mom at home. He sometimes goes into his study and does some work, but that’s usually during quiet time. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” there is still some soreness. You’re dilated. You have to take each day slow. You’re not allowed to feel extreme stress. There’s so many rules, all the while your three year old is becoming bored to tears, and your five your old gets anxious just when you sneeze. And she hates family therapy sessions because they bring up Scott.

‘Scott daddy’ has been completely dropped. If she acknowledges him, it’s by his name. And that’s even more than he deserves. Audrey turns back around to grab a stuffed bunny that Ransom and Tatum brought her the day before, holding onto your hand and she walks outside to Suede who is already climbing up the slide.

“Set a timer,” she tells Andy before she clicks her tongue to call Rosie, and runs to the playset. Another gift from Ransom, but it was Tatum's idea. They needed a place to play in case you decided not to enroll them back in a center.

“She okay?” Your mom asks Andy, nodding her head in your direction.

“Mom!” You shout as you sit down onto the outdoor furniture with Andy right beside you. “I am right here. You don’t have to ask Andy, ask me. And I am fine,” his hand moves over to your belly. He rubs along the giant swell of the twins, and you watch your timid little girl trying to figure out what she wants to do. Does she want to swing, go in the playhouse, climb the rock wall, or go down the slide?

“She’ll get it,” Andy assures you. You want to believe him, but she just seems so broken. He broke your daughter. You can only hope that together as a family you can put her back together. “I spoke with one of the ADAs.”

That piques your interest, and you look over at him. Too often now you feel you’re just observing the life around you instead of just living. “Scott isn’t taking the plea bargain.”

”Didn’t think he would,” you assumed he would try to fight it. He’s so full of himself he probably doesn’t think he did anything wrong.

“He’s pleading no contest,” Andy lifts your chin to look at him. You don’t think you heard him right. “He — h-h-he’s signing over his rights,” his voice fully breaks, and he leans over on your shoulder. One hand grabs his hand that’s resting on your belly while the other holds his cheek. His tears wet your shoulder, and you’re struggling to hang onto a calm reaction. Your daughter needs that from you.

“What?” You squeak out. Sniffling and gripping so tight to his hand. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Ransom just called. He’s signing over his — honey, she can officially be mine. He’s going to prison. Doe, I’m so sorry, baby. I have never been more scared in my life. It wasn’t just you, but our daughter, and our unborn babies. I won’t lose you. And now we can formally start the adoption. We can wait until after Ryden and Everly are born, and…”

“No,” you lift him up to look at you, and smile through your tears, “I want this to start as soon as possible. I want our daughter to feel like she belongs. She’ll be starting school in the fall, and I want her to officially be a Barber,” Andy looks so cute when his face goes all wonky, and he tries to remain strong.

Knowing that he loves Audrey this much tells you exactly how strong he is. He adores her so much. He was already willing to legally change her last name, even if he couldn’t adopt her right away. He was ready to fight Scott to make Audrey legally his daughter.

“Doe, I don’t need you to be stressed.”

“Stressed is knowing that we can do this, but you’re waiting. I’m fine. Audrey will be fine. Is this why you hide out in the study?”

“I don’t hide.”

“No, you’re keeping up with the DA’s office on Scott’s case because you couldn’t be a part of it for obvious reasons. But behind the doors that’s also what you’re doing, huh?” He just nods as he turns to look at Audrey more comfortably playing in the playhouse with Rosie right beside her. The ten minutes have passed, and she’s none the wiser.

“He was trying to save himself the embarrassment of those chargers,” you say. Your children will be better off forgetting about Scott. How someone that cruel could help you create the sweetest most amazing children, you’ll never know. “He didn’t want to be in a courtroom full of his peers while he answers to all those charges. Kidnapping, child endangerment, drugs, and I can’t even list them all.”

“You’re probably right,” you don’t need Andy to agree, you know you’re right.

“Audi!” You shout excitedly at her

“Are we telling her now?” You beam at Andy, nodding your head, “Princess, I’m…,” Audrey actually smiles as she and Rosie run towards the two of you. She crashes into Andy’s arms, and smiles up at him.

“Do you have a surprise for me?”

“We’re going to start the process to adopt you.”

“Really?” She squeals, and starts crawling into Andy’s lap. “Like really?”

“Yes, princess. You’re going to be my daughter, and your last name can be Barber just like everyone else’s, as long as that’s what you want,” Audrey looks at you, and then back at Andy. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“Will you always be my daddy?”

“Yeah, even if you don’t…”

“I want you to adopt me,” her little fingers start to play with his shirt. Her gaze on her fingers more than him. “And be my only daddy.”

“Okay. Then I’m going to adopt you,” Andy wraps an arm around the back of the seat, pulling you close to him before kissing the top of Audrey’s head. “You want to go back and play?”

“Do I have to?”

“If it makes you happy, you should,” she gives him another hug, and crawls off his lap. Doing her adorable little clicking of her tongue for Rosie before going back to the playhouse. She’s going to be okay. You could see the relief of knowing that Andy will officially be her daddy chip away some of her fear.

Maybe she realizes she doesn’t have to see Scott anymore. Maybe she just knows that she is actually on a journey to heal now. And she knows that she is going to be a Barber.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @capswife @distractingbeth @talk2trish @shoegal73

[handollyz]

close your eyes,

have no fear.

synopsis: trouble sleeping w/o vernon

tags: fluff, f!readerxidolvernon

authors note: idrk what to call this lol 😭 i take requests for svt rn and i’ll basically do anything ❤️ lmk if i missed any tags!! i wasn’t really sure what to put

wc: 700 !!

y/n always had a hard time sleeping at night. she hated how dark it got, and she hated how silent it got. she hated being alone with just her thoughts.

that was until she met the man who changed her life. vernon, that one guy from seventeen. after a while of them privately dating, they moved into a house together, meaning y/n wouldn’t have to worry about her sleepless, lonely nights as much anymore.

everything was fine until seventeen announced their world tour. she wished she could’ve just gone with them, but she knew that was far too dangerous. they most definitely would’ve gotten caught, so she stayed home, alone.

sleepless nights passed where she would lay in bed, scrolling on her phone to pass the time.

a world tour meant time zones were a problem, too. she couldn’t even call him before bed.

it really felt like torture. despite his busy schedule, though, vernon texted everyday. he didn’t miss a thing.

“y/n? are you awake? its late over there. go to bed.”

“the sooner you sleep, the sooner we’ll be able to call again.”

the words replayed over and over in her head. she knew he was right.

time passed, and suddenly, seventeen got closer and closer to home. she counted the seconds until she got to see vernon again.

“y/n, just a few more days, and i’ll be there.”

turned into..

“will you be at the concert tonight? i’ll be looking for you in the crowd.”

was that even a question? of course you would. anything to see him.

the concert was the best night of your life. as you waved your light stick in the air, you couldn’t help but notice how he looked extra hard around the crowd, even skipping the silly signs that his fans would write for him.

his eyes landed on you, and for a moment, everything stopped. you felt your face heat up. he smiled like a little kid, and it made your heart flutter. you couldn’t wait to be in his arms again.

as the concert came to a close, you got more and more excited.

“baby, go to the house so i can meet you there, okay? i don’t want you to have to wait for me here.”

you understood where he was coming from and waited at home on the couch, watching your favorite show.

before you knew it, the doorbell rang, and it made you roll your eyes because you knew he had the key and was just trying to be extra. you stood up and walked to the door, opening it slowly.

he had a big, goofy smile on his face as he held a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. he really looked like he could explode from excitement.

you hugged him tight, giggling softly as he did the same.

“y/n.. you look as beautiful as ever. i missed you so much.”

you blushed softly. you never really got used to his compliments. they came so randomly.

“and you look as handsome as ever.”

you guys rested on the couch together as he filled you in on all the things that happened while he was gone. it felt like hours had passed of you laying your head on his lap while he played with your hair and talked.

you yawned, covering your mouth.

“are you not tired, baby? we should go to bed.”

you asked softly, excited to get your first good night of sleep in forever.

“im a little tired. lets get ready for bed.”

you both washed your face and brushed your teeth side by side before changing into pajamas.

you sleepily dragged him to bed, feeling your eyes drifting shut.

“okay okay, we can sleep now. i’ve been trying to do better skin care.”

you laughed softly and rolled your eyes, plopping into bed and pulling him down with you.

just as you were about to fall asleep, he spoke up, a soft whisper.

“i really am proud of you, and i’m so sorry for leaving you. i promise to bring you next time.”

you pouted softly and buried your face in his chest, nodding.

“you better, hansol.”

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Tangled lives: Chapter Eleven

Law x reader (she/her)

Chapter eleven of Tangled lives

Words (for this chapter): 2.4k

Notes: Here we are! Sorry for the delay from my usual two-week schedule. I’ve been super busy and mentally drained, and then I started having doubts about this story. I was contemplating rewriting parts of it because I feel like I'm making Law too much of an ass. But in the end, I decided to stick with what I already have, since the whole story is written. Though it’s just a first draft, so each chapter needs some intense editing which takes time. Also, I’m a bit chaotic and can’t focus on just one thing, or I’d burn out and drop it completely. So this has to share time with my other stories 🫠

That being said, once again, sorry for the delay... and sorry in advance for what you’re about to read 😅

🫶 @chillerkiller @deputy-azor, @henritherogue, @theprincesss5, @hopelesslover06 @forest-haven @milktearose @moonj-fool @miruto1 @wanoisland @cruziival72🫶

The next morning, you woke up to the muted light filtering through the blinds, the world outside still moving on as if nothing had happened. But everything had changed. As though something inside you had finally unclenched after being wound tight for far too long. 

You hadn’t expected this. Not really. You were hopeful, but it still took you by surprise—a breathtaking, beautiful surprise. Even now, you could still feel the traces of his hands on your skin, his body pressed against yours in a way that had been both desperate and yet so full of… love?

Real and raw and terrifying. He hadn't said it outright, but he didn't need to. His body had spoken in a language more honest than anything he'd ever managed before.

Your mind refused to let go of the night before, replaying every stolen breath, every whispered confession, and every moment when Law stopped running. From you. From the tangled mess of all those feelings.

You remembered how, just before sleep claimed you, he pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead. You’d smiled, drowsy and content, and when your heavy eyelids lifted for just a second, you caught the way he looked at you—soft, reverent, as if you were precious.

You had him now. Really had him. No more chasing after shadows. No more waiting for him to turn back around. Finally. And for the first time, it felt like everything was going to be okay. You didn’t have to keep fighting, didn’t have to keep waiting.

But when you opened your eyes, reality came rushing back with a sharp sting. Where is he?

For a split second, your heart raced—not in the sweet, fluttering way it had the night before, but in the cold, hollow panic of absence. You reached out instinctively, hand searching for him in the crumpled sheets, eager to feel the curve of his shoulder, the muscular chest, or any part of him for that matter.

You wished he were still there, his arms wrapped around you, his steady breath mingling with yours, the warmth of his skin a comforting presence against yours. But the space beside you was empty.

Maybe he had just stepped out. Maybe he was in the kitchen, pouring coffee into that mug of yours he always said was ridiculous. That had to be it—no need to jump to conclusions.

You pushed yourself to your feet, the movement stiff, as if your body wasn’t quite ready to leave the cocoon of intimacy you had shared. 

The apartment was eerily quiet. Too quiet. Law was nowhere in sight, and you wondered if he had just disappeared. Maybe he changed his mind and is now afraid to face you. Maybe all of it—the kiss, the words, the tenderness you had shared—had been too much for him. Maybe now he was regretting it, retreating into the walls he had built around himself, afraid to face what he had let slip through.

Heart pounding, you moved toward the kitchen, hoping—praying—to find him there, waiting. 

He wasn’t there. 

Instead, an array of ingredients sat on the kitchen counter besides two plates. Your favorite dish—half-prepared. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of confusion crashing over you. Law never left things unfinished. It was not like him. 

A hundred thoughts collided all at once, none of them sticking long enough to calm you. You wondered and came to the conclusion that he must have realized that something was missing and quickly went to the shop to get it. He’d always noticed little things. Maybe he just wanted to surprise you. That would make sense. That would explain his absence.

He must’ve just gone out for a little while. That had to be it.

But then you heard a quiet movement. Your breath caught in your throat as your head snapped toward the sound, every muscle in your body tense with anticipation. Law’s door creaked open. 

It seemed that he was coming back, perhaps everything wasn’t lost, but the seconds stretched on, and when he didn’t appear, a knot of unease tightened in your stomach. Instead, there was only the soft shuffle of footsteps coming from the living room.

 You quickly followed.

As soon as you stepped into the living room, you saw him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his posture stiff, his face tense. He hadn’t said a word yet, but the look in his eyes was enough to set every nerve in your body on edge. That and the opened bag filled with his things.

Law was the first to break the silence. “We need to talk.”

You nodded slowly, a tight knot forming in your chest. Of course, you did. The last night had been too much to leave unresolved. Too much to ignore. And that damn bag wasn’t helping.

“About last night,” he started, but the words seemed to hang between you both. His jaw tightened, as if he were still wrestling with something inside. He stared intently at the wall. “It shouldn’t have happened”.

Your heart throbbed, a cruel sting slicing through the warmth you had woken up with. Every part of you screamed to stay calm, to tread carefully. But you couldn’t.

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to push me away after everything that’s happened. I’m not something you can just use and discard because you’re too scared to admit what you fucking feel!”

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He still wasn’t even looking at you.

You marched forward, your pulse quickening with frustration, your chest heaving. “Stop with that shit. I’m tired of you deciding what I deserve! I’m tired of you pretending this doesn’t matter.”

The air between you shifted, charged, seconds from shattering. Then, in a heartbeat, the tension snapped. He shoved off the doorframe, closing the distance in two quick strides.

“It matters too much, damn it! That’s the fucking problem.”

You instinctively stepped back, thrown by the force of his words, by the fire burning behind them. If it mattered, then why was he running? Why was he doing this?

You barely registered him walking away, the space between you growing colder with each passing second. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, a silent battle raging beneath his skin as he struggled to rein in his emotions. Or maybe—just maybe—you were grasping at hope, desperate to believe there was more to this. That he didn't want to completely break you apart.

“So what now?” you asked, your voice low, heavy with a bitterness that tasted sour on your tongue. “We just keep pretending like nothing happened?”

Law looked at you, and for a second, just a split second, there was a glimpse of something real in his eyes. Perhaps it was guilt. Possibly, it was regret. Maybe it was something way worse. Something darker than you were ready to deal with.

But whatever it was, it was short-lived.

“I’m moving out.”

Your heart sank. “Why?” The question came out softer than you intended, raw with emotion. “Why are you doing this?”

There was a pause. A hesitation. A crack in his resolve.

“You’ll be better off without me,” he finally said, his voice flat detached, as if he were reciting a fact rather than ripping your world apart.

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. And then something inside you snapped. Perhaps it was the quiet devastation in his tone, or more likely it was the anger surging through you like wildfire, refusing to be contained. But whatever it was, it was too much.

Anger flared inside you, hot and unrelenting. “You’re such an idiot!”

This time, you saw it—the slightest change in his expression. A flinch, so brief it was almost imperceptible. But then, just as quickly, his face smoothed back into that unreadable mask, shutting you out all over again.

He moved like a machine, methodical and distant, stuffing his bag as if he could pack away the last remnants of what you were. Books vanished from the coffee table. His hoodie disappeared from the sofa. He shrugged into his jacket with a finality that made your stomach twist.

It wasn’t just his things he was taking—it was everything. Every moment, every whisper of warmth, every trace of a life that had once included you. And you could do nothing but stand there, watching as he dismantled what was left of anything you had built together.

“You think you can just walk away from this? Pretend like last night didn’t change everything?”

Law exhaled sharply, as if steadying himself before he spoke. “I never asked for this… I never wanted for things to get complicated.”

You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t that. A part of you had braced for an argument, a fight—anything but this. It was too cold. Too detached. 

“You never asked?” You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You kissed me. You fucked me. And now you want to pretend like it was nothing?”

Silence. Only the ghost of a pained expression dancing across his face.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Hands clenched at your sides, you struggled to keep your voice steady. “What the hell?” The bitterness cracked through, raw and unfiltered.“I’m standing here, trying to make sense of this, and you're just… shutting me out.”

“I should’ve moved out the second this turned into more.” His gaze was heavy, but he took a step back, as if the extra space could make this easier. “I should’ve stopped it before it got here. I should’ve left—before it wasn’t just about sharing space anymore.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away? Pretend none of this mattered? That it wasn’t real?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on the floor, his jaw working as if he was holding back something else—something more, something deeper than he was willing to admit.

And then, at last, he looked up.

There it was. The emotion he'd been fighting so hard to bury. Regret? Desperation? You didn’t know.

But instead of words, all he gave you was silence. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag, his gaze wavering away as he zipped it shut.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything he could have said.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn!” Your voice broke under the weight of your frustration. “You think this is what’s best? Running away?” 

The pain in your chest felt unbearable. How could he do this? How could he throw everything away so easily?

For a second, just a second, his hands faltered as he reached for his bag. But he recovered quickly, shaking his head. “This should have been done a long time ago.”

Tears blurred your vision as his words drove another dagger into your heart. You bit your lip, fighting against the sob building in your throat.

He stiffened.

“You’ll get over me.”

Your stomach twisted. Rage, heartbreak, disbelief—they all tangled together until you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Just stop running away! Stop being so damn stubborn and say something real for once, you idiot!” 

Your words were sincere, desperate—a plea for him to just stop, to acknowledge what you both felt.

Coldly, he replied, “Say what, exactly?”

 “Say you’re not leaving! Say you love me back!” 

The words burst out of you, your voice cracking as tears streamed freely down your cheeks. You clenched your fists, your teeth, every part of you, as if bracing for the pain of his response. “Say you’ll stop running away from your feelings!”

Silence.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at you.

Your voice rose again, breaking under the strain of your emotions, the sobs you couldn’t suppress anymore. “Why are you running away? Why can’t you just tell me you love me, you idiot?! Stop giving excuses about what’s ‘for my own good’! Stop being a stubborn ass and let yourself be loved! Or just fucking tell me what the true problem is!”

Still, he remained silent, his expression locked in that same unreadable mask. But the conflict in his eyes told a different story.

He reached for his bags. The movement was slow, as if each action weighed heavily on him.

“You really have nothing to say?” Your voice was barely a whisper now.

Nothing.

Your chest ached. Your hands trembled.

“You’re such a coward,” you said, the final blow landing between you like a crack of thunder.

His shoulders tensed—a subtle shift, but you noticed it. You always noticed the small things about him—how his jaw clenched when he was lying, how he avoided eye contact when he was hurting. And right now, everything about him screamed that he was set on leaving.

You stood across from him, arms crossed, as a way to hold yourself together. You knew what you should do. You should throw the door wide open, shove him out with all his baggage—emotional too—and every excuse. Keep your pride intact. Your mind understood that. It knew you deserved more than this. Better than him.

But your heart was a fool. A fragile, trembling thing that hadn’t yet learned to stop caring. It was desperate not to feel pain.

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

You hated yourself for begging. For letting him see you unravel. You hated not feeling like you’re able to handle another person leaving. You would much rather have him as a ghost than to lose him completely. 

For a moment, you thought he might change his mind. That your desperation touched him, that he might finally say what he truly felt and what the true issue was.

Instead, his voice came cold—a shield against the war raging inside him. “It’s for the best. You’ll get over me.” He paused, the smallest sign of doubt betraying him. Then, so softly, you almost missed it—

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

A fleeting, pained look.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. And out of your life.