#hes also come home early from work a handful of times this year and im just like ??? sir youre hourly what are you doing

[out--of--ordinary]

Anyone else save up their sick days at work until like December or is that just me and my anxiety? My roommate is off today for the third time this year already because he "didn't feel very good" and I'm just over here like how tf can you just guiltlessly take 3 sick days before January is even over 😵‍💫

[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. 

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. 

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out. 

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch. 

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[c0smoshit]

hi! i have a request (obviosuly you can choose to do it or not, im not forcing you ^^) with a cloud x fem reader story.

y/n and cloud were togheter for a year now, and cloud returns home after a long time (1 month) and he was really clingy because he missed y/n so much but he was kinda shy doing all these things and let this side of him go out that much. (i'll leave to you adding details or something to the story) basically just a cute fluff story with shy kisses,cuddles and things like that :3

bye and thank you! i LITERALLY LOVE your story "Shy Kisses", and i love the way you write! i would be happy if you did this story for me❤️

Far Road ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ fluff!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ last fic of the year and it had to be a Cloud one, hope you enjoy it and thanks for this adorable request!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 2.233

A knock at your door kept you from washing your dishes.

God how you missed him.

Everytime someone knocked, you would run to the door, only to be dissapointed with a plain looking hair and eyes, not your spiky blonde hair mixed with some astonishing mako infused eyes.

It had been such long, lonely and cold nights without his arms warming you up from under the bed, his body so close to you, you could feel his own heartbeat.

You even tried to replace him with some big chocobo plushie he had gifted you a few months ago.

And although they might look alike, no big, fluffy chick could replace your grumpy one.

"I'm coming"

You announced, the glint of hope on your eyes completely vanished now as you placed your plate down the sink. Drying your hands on a towel, you began walking towards the door.

. . .

"Please don't be out there for too long"

Your words caused a crack inside his chest, when he had finally became comfortable with you, with your home, your smell. He had to help his friends once again.

He hadn't even stepped outside the door on that quiet, dark twilight he already was missing you so much. He couldn't bear the fact that he was going to be without you for such a long time, what if something happened to you?

He wouldn't be able to protect you and he did not want to go over that feeling again.

Your shivering hands held your door as your blanket was still wrapped around you, too cold not to hold it close against your body. He hated seeing you shivering, you should be heading back to the bed with him, you even didn't have to work next day so he could've stayed with you.

You also were supposed to be sleeping, it was definitely too early for your puffy eyes to be staring at his own ones in such a melancholic way. He felt guilty, your poor, tired body had been awaken by him shuffling around the appartment, soon coming to see him depart.

"I'll be back soon, promise"

He whispered into the thin air before wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you close to his chest for the last time before a long while. Getting a whiff of your syrupy shampoo, memorizing it's smell.

But on top of it all, he hated saying goodbye after all the times he hadn't got the proper time to verbalize it.

. . .

Opening it up you didn't even see the face of the person that was standing in front of you at first, your eyes peeking at your kitchen for a brief moment to see if you has closed the sink. But when you took a glance at the very man that was standing in front of you, you almost fell down.

Eyes wide as you recognized his almost hollow scent, you quickly searched his eyes, hoping that they had been exposed to a, now familiar, substance.

"Hey"

Oh god.

It was really him.

His eyes quickly closed tight as your arms suddenly enveloped his neck like a scarf, a homemade one. You smelled good, really good. He had been craving that sweet aroma of yours, how it would linger on his pillows for a while after you had gotten off the bed.

And your soft skin finally embracing his own one, tender as he had imagined so many nights out there without you. Your nose hitting his shirt in such a perfect way as you pressed closer into his chest, your short breaths and your tight squeezes against him.

He finally was home.

He got so deep into his thoughts he didn't notice you dragging him into your home, back to the place you had both shared everything. Your socks dragging along his boots as you happily guided him to the living room, not once spliting appart.

"Can't believe you're finally back"

He huffed, rubbing your right arm soothingly as you both sat on the sofa, getting lost in the softness of the couch, you really had done a great job in choosing the pillows.

. . .

"Hey"

He said with half a chuckle as your hands worked on his belt, eager to get inside the bathtub you had made with so much love for both of you.

He first sat down, letting you do the same as you rested in front of him, a relieved sigh coming from your mouth as you leant your head back slightly, careful not to soak your hair up with the blueberry foam.

Both of you getting lost in the feeling of the lukewarm water, a bit too cold for your liking but you knew he liked it just this way. When he opened his eyes briefly he saw you already smiling like a dork at him, almost seeing hearts in your eyes.

"You really did miss me huh?"

You chuckled, of course you had, buying groceries without him by your side and his nonexisent advices over which fruit would taste better or the clothes that would fit you the best.

His afternoon dates of offering you rides around Midgar, the warm afternoon breeze vanishing through your hair as you stared at the dying sun, mind in blank and finally at peace. Listening to the loud roar of the engine, you would always place your hands underneath his jacket, trying to keep them warm as your cheek pressed against his back.

Your homemade meals, god he missed them, nothing could even come closer to the taste of your food, your own personal chocolate smiling faces on your desserts whenever you had the chance.

"Mmmhm"

You nodded in agreement before getting outside the tub, at first he would've asked you where were you going but the feeling of your hands on his wet hair and the smell of his shampoo quickly shut him up.

"Missed you so so much"

You said in a soft tone, rubbing the liquid on his scalp, slowly massaging it around his golden strands, careful not to make knots.

He was in heaven right now.

He desired to wash himself up on his bath once again, the strong scent of his few soaps and some deserved intimacy. But your hands working on his hair was definitely something else.

"Feels good?"

A nod slowly answered your question, smiling as you admired his state: tightly closed eyes, limbs falling over the bath and the sluggish pace of his chest.

You continued rubbing his scalp, your movements soon growing more and more tender and sweet. You had missed him so much you wanted to express your feelings through your touch, your honeyed words and maybe a tasty meal.

When you had finished cleaning up his hair, you motioned him to wash the soap off with some water, giggling as you saw him sliding down the tub, shaking a bit his head under the water. You finally got up, knees feeling slightly numb as you stretched yourself, slowly getting inside the tub again with him.

But this time you had layed on top of him, his eyes shooting wide as he took in the feeling of your body, too blissed out to even notice you getting back up. But he soon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as he spread his legs, letting you rest in between them.

There wasn't anything sexual about this, the feeling of your wet skin touching his underneath the water didn't make him feel aroused.

It made him feel loved, warm.

The way your cheek would brush into his before your head lowered down below his chin, your red face thanks to the closiness and the temperature of the room. It was all too much for him to handle so he opted to just admire you as you closed your eyes with a sigh on top of him.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist, sitting upright before his limbs decided to copy your own, relaxing and softening under your body.

Oh how he wishes to do this every day, to hold you until his last breath.

The feeling of your skin wouldn't go away even if the tried to file it down his own skin.

He kissed your forehead, and after you were both satisfied and soaked up enough until your fingers were all wrinkled up. You kissed him on the lips slowly, smiling like a dork and laughing lowly, your breath hitting his mouth as you whispered.

"I love you"

"I'm here with you now"

His deep voice made you giggle like a little girl, you loved his low tone, the first thing you would hear in the mornings and the last thing you would hear before falling asleep. For things like that you loved his quiet self, after a long while of not talking, his voice would naturally lower some tones.

. . .

Wrapped with a towel you looked at him, his hair all ruffled and soaked up just as his body. His towel hung lowly on his hips and you couldn't help but admire your boyfriend's chiseled physique.

How did you get so lucky??

Your mind always gets back to that question, he wasn't only caring, honest and cute but he was ripped off too?!?

And his absolutely angelic face, his gorgerous eyes and his small and cute nose were too much for you to handle. Since the day you had first seen him, you had always thought that his absolutely adorable features didn't match his body. He was just too cute to be that buff!

"Seen enough already?"

He asked with a hidden smirk, he also loved the way you drooled over him, teasing you just to see your blushy cheeks as you had been caught. But he couln't really laugh that loud because, hell, you looked absolutely astonishing too.

"Nah, not yet"

You teased back, walking until you met him as you wrapped your arms around his back, pecking his shoulder as you heard his breath hitching, earning a sly smirk from you.

But as much as you wanted to tease him further, the roles were quickly exchanged as he picked you up suddenly, throwing you over his shoulder as he started to walk off the steamy bathroom. He often did this, picking you up or manhandling you around, trying to avoid your teasing kisses or touches. And you should be already accustomed to it, but you couldn't help the yelp escaping from your lips.

He was the one smirking now.

Playfully kicking his back you told him to put you down, laughing as you felt his shoulder poking your stomach through your towel, your hair fell down and your face was starting to heat up again thanks to your blood travelling downwards.

But soon your giggles were cut off as you landed on the bed, jumping off slightly as you stared at him with fake disbelief.

"Did you loose your maners on that trip?"

You said as you stared at him, resting on your elbows, his back was facing you as he searched some clothes on your closet. His back moved swiftly as his muscles flexed under his skin, huffing out he answered.

"Maybe"

You laid your head on the bed, closing your eyes as you breathed out, taking all the space with your extremities. The bed felt extra-soft today and the lavender scent you always sprayed on on top of the mattress seemed to have became stronger.

"But maybe you shouldn't tease me like that"

You almost didn't pick up his words but your pride was much more bigger than just accepting them, so you sat upright, looking at the oversized shirt he was holding on his arms.

"Oh, you love it"

You said in a ludic tone, quickly taking away the piece of clothing as you smiled mischeviously.

"Hey, that was my shirt"

You dropped your towel before putting on the shirt, smelling it like crazy before your head poked out of it. He naturally retrieved his eyes from your back, as if he didn't see you naked just a few minutes ago.

"Well, it smelt too good for you to wear it"

He huffed out, reaching out to grab another shirt before placing it over himself finally and he actually noticed it smelling a bit too much like him. Did you spray his perfume over it?

Well, he couldn't blame you, he was the first one to take a long breath of your hair the moment you hugged him. Press his face on your pillow as he woke up, hell he did even smell your shirts once in a while.

"mmmhmm"

You mumbled, sighing out for a long while as you finally nuzzled into his neck once again. You had really, really missed his arms around you, well, his everything around you. From his soft skin to his steady heartbeat, soothing you slowly into nirvana.

"I love you"

You lifted your head just so you could kiss him once again, lips you couldn't understand how they were perfectly hydrated always. And it wasn't an exception tonight, moving slowly against yours as his hot breath hit your cheeks.

But you felt yourself slowly falling asleep on him, so he took your face off him, pecking your cheek before his right hand guided you back to his neck. His hand then lifted the mattress, carefully covering both of your entwined bodies.

[mydearesthrry]

right back home to you - h.s.

a/n: had a hard time deciding if i wanted to put this out since im not too happy with the outcome but i wanted to feed u guys. in the future ill probably go back in and edit it but for now i hope you all enjoy this little angsty girl xx im also working on part 2 of love in secret !!!!!!!!!! she should be out fairly soon <3

wc: 4.8k

warnings: none, angst, fluff, flight anxiety

“Hello? ‘M home,” Harry shouted into the cold house. Not that he would even notice, but the air was dull and the atmosphere was still, hues in the normally vibrant house now gray and lifeless. “Baby?” 

“Oh, hi Harry,” A dulcet smile was on her face as she walked around the corner with sweatpants and a baggy hoodie on, a baseball cap on top of her head. She had her dirty and beat up air forces on her feet that Harry loved to make fun of, small dollops of paint on the soles of the shoe. She also had a pair of sunnies that lay stagnant on the dark blue visor, a tell tale sign for Harry that she was going out. “I didn’t hear you come home.” 

Harry hummed, holding his arms out for her to walk into. She did, but only embraced him with half of her body, one arm curling around his waist loosely while the other stayed swaying by her side. In both of their opinions, it was way too short to even be considered a hug, not even close to being an embrace, but Y/N did it purposely. Harry frowned, feeling a twinge of hurt at her unusual lack of affection. “Um… Are y- are y’going out?” 

She laughed falsely, shaking her head and turning her body to face the large windows in their apartment. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” 

Harry was still confused. “What d’you mean?” 

It’s now or never, Y/N thought, and mustered her bravest smile as she pivot turned to face him again. “I’m leaving, Harry. I’m going up to New York to stay with Eliza. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’ll be sure to let you know in advance, is that okay?” 

A few beats pass, Harry staring at her in disbelief. “What the fuck? No, no, s’not okay! Why- why are y’leaving? Y’didn’t even tell me? When were you planning on telling me y’were leaving?” 

“I’ve been planning on leaving for a long time, Harry. I was actually meant to leave before you even got home, really, but you’re early.” She sighed, rubbing at her temple and knowing the fight that was about to ensue. 

“Why are y’leaving?” Harry’s voice started to grow in volume, becoming harder and harsher as he tightened his hands into balled fists, trying to channel his feelings in another way rather than yelling at his girlfriend. 

“I’m leaving because I can’t do this anymore, Harry. I cant keep arguing with you every day, it’s just not fair to me. And it’s not fair to you either, really, so I’m just… taking the stress off of the both of us and making the bold decision to leave.” She explains, moving to grab her suitcases from the hallway and roll them into the living room. 

“That’s wha’ this is about? The fight we had last night?” He asks, eyes widening and mouth drying at the sight of her multiple suitcases. 

“Um— not entirely, I guess. I’ve meant to go up to visit Eliza, if you remember, we were going to but you had um— a party, that you needed to attend. So I just decided to book a flight last night after you went to sleep.” She's as quiet as a mouse, her words not staggering but it was physically obvious that she was nervous. 

“So what now? Is that it? You’re just… throwing away four years of my- of our fucking life?” Harry spat. She’d started to shrink into herself quite a bit, sweaty palms running over the now warm black handle of her small suitcase. 

“I’m not throwing away anything, Harry. We had a fight, you and I both said some nasty things, and I’m just going up to my sister's house for a little bit to clear my head. Like I said, I was meaning to go up anyway. This isn’t really about you, Harry, as much as you think it might be. I’ve been miserable here all alone and all I want is to be with someone who I know can provide me with love and attention right now, which is what I need. You need it too.” She tried to hold her ground but the tremble in her soft voice made her feel weak. 

She and Harry had gotten into a multitude of arguments within the past weeks that he had been off tour. It started from little things, like a sock being thrown over the laundry basket and not inside of it, or one of them leaving their dirty tea mugs on the counter when the sink was right there! But as small and insignificant as these things were, they also grew into arguments about bigger issues. One of the more nasty arguments had pushed her to pack her bags and book a plane ride up to her sister’s house in New York. 

The argument on the table this time around was that whenever Harry was home after an elongated amount of time on the road, he would treat Y/N as if she was his friend and not girlfriend of three years. She’d had a problem with this seeing as all she ever wanted him to do was love her and take care of her, and for some reason she couldn’t help but feel he found that hard. 

“Bullshit. I know y’leaving ‘cause your feelings got hurt or whatever, but you know y’don’t have to leave, pup. We can resolve this, don’t we always?” He grumbles, taking a few small steps forward to meet her where she stood by the door. 

“It’s entirely different this time, Harry.” She sighed, bending down to sit on the floor since she knew they’d probably be there for a while. 

“How?! How could this be any fuckin’ different? We’re jus’ arguin’ are we not?” Harry runs a stressed hand through his hair, trying to channel his energy away from his voice. Though he tried to refrain from allowing his anger to seep its way into his voice, his girlfriend could still pick up on the edge that lined his vocal chords. 

“No, baby. We aren’t just arguing. This is me trying to tell you how I feel, and you keep pushing it aside. So this isn’t just us arguing anymore, I guess I’m surrendering. I’m tired of doing this with you whenever you’re home, Harry. I’m alone every day, 24/7, and then you come home and it’s like nothing has changed. Which I love, I love how we can just bounce back, but sometimes I need more love or attention when you come back, and I just…” She starts to gnaw on her lips, trying to word her next thought carefully. “I’m tired of being treated like your friend rather than your girlfriend.” 

“What?” 

“Mhm. Besides me being alone all the time, whenever I do have you— or people around, you only ever want to keep me at arms length. The whole world knows we’re together, Harry. You’ve posted on my birthday and it’s no secret to anyone anymore. I… I just can’t understand why you do that, really. It makes me feel like I’m just your friend and not your lover.” She pauses, inhaling a sharp breath of air and willing her tears away. 

“What do you— what do you even mean? I’m always with you whenever I’m home, I bring y’everywhere w’me?” His anger just kept growing and growing, but this time he noticed that the weight of guilt that was sitting on his heart had gotten heavier with every breath he took, the weight of the pull almost being able to bring him to his knees.

She lets out a wet laugh, shaking her head before dropping it in defeat. “Harry… I hate to bring it up but— you’ve been home for what, three weeks now? We haven’t had sex, we barely have cuddled, you don’t put your arm around me in public or kiss my cheek. I— I feel like I’m losing you. It’s so hard to love you when you won’t let me. I’ve tried to be understanding and just trying to accept the fact that you’re readjusting to our normal life but… I miss you. The only time we talk for longer than a few minutes is when we fight, and that’s not okay. You know how much you mean to me, but I just can’t keep trying to love someone you aren’t anymore. It’s just too destructive to me and I just can’t. I’m sorry, Harry. I hope you can understand, and I’ll be back whenever we’re ready.” 

Harry’s now shaking with sobs. Uncontrollable, messy, heartbreaking sobs. Her words were finally making sense to him. All of the arguments had finally made sense. She was arguing with him just so he would talk to her. He thought he could die with the amount of guilt squeezing his heart right now. 

“I love you, isn’t that enough?” He whispered. 

“I don’t think it is anymore, Harry.” Lifting herself up to her feet, she rolls her suitcase to stand behind her, taking a few small steps to be inches away from her Harry. “I’ll be back, H. I promise.” 

Placing a kiss to his wet cheek, he watched her walk away with a damp smile, and against his will, engrained the image of her leaving to his mind. 

This wasn’t how he imagined they would end. 

He didn’t even entertain the thought of them ever ending; but now he feels like he just lost every single atom of his being in the quickest of moments. 

—

It was hell. 

Harry could say with full conviction that it was absolute hell to be in that house, that big house on the beach, alone. 

Nothing felt right. From the second he woke up in the morning, to the minute he slid his legs under the covers at night, he almost felt nauseous because of how unusual he felt. How unusual everything felt. 

And it was all his fault. 

Picking up his phone, he goes to text his sweet girl again when he decides to scroll up to find the reprieve of gray amongst the sea of blue. 

Harry: Please text me when you land. 

Harry: I love you, please don’t forget that. 

Harry: Take all the time you need, Angel. I’m here if you need me. I’m so sorry.

Harry: I’ll be waiting for you when you get home. Just say the word and I’ll get you a ticket. 

Harry: Take your time though, please be safe. I love you.

Harry: Again

Y/N: just landed. kinda busy rn, talk to you later bug

Harry: That’s okay, be safe. ❤️

Y/N loved this message

Harry: I love you 

Y/N: yeah love you too h

Allowing his head to drop onto the back of the sofa, his arm fell limp onto his thigh, his green eyes scanned the interior of the living room, twinges of pain and guilt panting in his chest whenever he’d land his gaze on something that was proprietarily hers. 

Her growing orchids in a handmade pot that they’d painted together on their first Valentine’s Day as a couple. 

The godawful mirror she thrifted from a random corner store back in her hometown that she begged Harry to put up. 

A small canvas filled with tiny paintings of inside jokes and memorable dates that she gifted to him last Christmas. He allowed himself to trace over that painting for a little longer than the rest of the small things placed among their living room. 

11/29/19. The first time they met. 

1/16/21. When Harry asked her to be his girlfriend. 

4/07/21. The first time they said I love you. 

12/25/22. When Harry surprised Y/N on Christmas with a down payment on a house. The one he was now residing in, alone. 

A red convertible figurine, the car they first kissed in. 

A coffee cup and a teacup, symbolizing the first date they went on, where he learned she hates tea and preferred coffee, which led to an argument on whether coffee or tea was better. 

A small tulip, representing the first bouquet of flowers he ever bought her. 

And a small pearl ring, an exact replica of the promise ring Harry had given her on their 3 year anniversary. 

He didn’t even notice the streaks of tears beginning to run down his face until he felt a teardrop fall onto his inner wrist, making him look down. 

But as he canvassed the room once more, he perked up at the sight of a small snow globe that she brought him back from New York, and that was when he got an idea. He knew it was dramatic, and a bit of a stretch, but who said he wouldn’t go to extreme lengths to get his soulmate back?

Yeah, no one ever. 

To: Eliza

Harry: Hey Liz, got a sec?

—

Harry hated flying alone. 

Since he was a teenager and stepped foot on his first plane, he was anxious even being next to someone he barely knew even though his friends were two seats away. Though he would claim that he’s always been a bit anxious and just chalking it up to flight anxiety, he knew that the real reason why he hated flying alone was because he always feared that something bad would happen on the ground when he was in the air and vice versa, and that was always his greatest vice. 

His hands began to tremble nervously as he looked out the window of the airplane, seeing nothing but fluffy white on the exterior and the soft red light of the aircraft’s wings blinking every so often. His headphones were placed over his head, smushing his curls down flat onto his head, a mask covering the bottom half of his face. His hood was pulled up as well, trying to conceal himself as much as possible. He hadn’t brought much, just a little carry on and a small tote to shove under the seat in front of him. It was wishful thinking that he wouldn’t be there for a long while, but he brought the keys to his apartment in New York anyway. 

He kept his head hung in nausea, the speed of his shaking hands increasing tenfold. The pit in his stomach grew and he had to beg his own body to allow his eyes to not stray to the window next to him. Sure, he could close it, but he feared if it was too dark he would become more anxious than he was right now. The mask covering the bottom half of his face now felt constricting— as if he was being suffocated by the thin layer of fabric. The light douse of perfume that danced around the sunflower print of the mask couldn’t even distract him, and it only pained him more that his senses were fully encompassed by her. He bit down on his lip to distract himself by the whirling feeling of nausea that now swirled around in his throat, willing away the sick that begged to come out.

The rest of the flight was the same, his anxiety only decreasing when he allowed himself to take a small nap. However, when he woke up, his nerves had heightened when he flickered his gaze from the window to the screen in front of him, reading only 20 minutes until he was set to touch down. Grasping his phone from his hoodie pocket, he aligned it to his face then rolling his eyes when he remembered he had a mask on. Lowering his phone he typed in his password— Y/N’s birthday— and pulled up their messages again. 

Harry: Good morning baby. I love you. I hope you have a good day today!! 

Y/N: thanks h love you

He couldn’t lie and say that her being short with him didn’t hurt his feelings, because it did. He wasn’t going to avoid the fact, but that didn’t mean that he liked it regardless. He felt like a fool checking his phone so often, especially when he knew that she wouldn’t be making an effort to reach out first, but he could be hopeful, right? 

At least that’s what he’s telling himself. 

The plane landed safely, nerves rolling off of his back in waves and he was more than happy to leave his flight anxiety on the floor of the plane, relieved to not be miles high in the air. There was a lull that was obvious to Harry, and he felt himself switch to function in autopilot, waiting mindlessly to enter the aisle to retrieve his bag from the overhead compartment. 

The nippy New York air was the first thing to snap Harry out of his trance. Looking down at his phone, he felt a soft buzz and soon after felt his heart beat almost fast enough to eject from his chest. 

Y/N: saw this in a store earlier, thought of u

Y/N: Attachment: 1 Image 

Eliza: waiting near terminal b for you, lmk when you get outside 

Harry: I’m outside, can you see me?

Eliza: yep. be there in a sec

Swiping out of Y/N’s sisters messages, he went to click on Y/N’s before a black car stopped in front of him, averting his attention from his device to the car that just screeched to a halt. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he trudged forward and grabbed onto the door handle, prying it open and avoiding Eliza’s deathly stare. “Um- hiiii.” 

She scoffed. “Hi, H.” 

He throws his tote to his feet, awkwardly buckling himself in and turned in his seat, avoiding eye contact but making sure she knew that conversation was open if she’d wanted to make it. “How— um… How are you?”

Silence follows his words for a few seconds, making him heat up in embarrassment. “Good.” 

“Oh- that’s good… I, um— haven't seen y’in quite a while, Lizzy,” He says softly, guilt evident in his voice. “I missed you.” 

Eliza was basically Gemma’s best friend. They were attached at the hip the first time they met, bonding over being the eldest sisters, and shared secrets. Y/N and Harry’s family had always been interconnected, close with each other even if Y/N and Harry lacked that communication. 

They were basically soul tied in every sense of the phrase. 

“Yeah, I missed you too, H. But,” Eliza starts. “You’ve been a right dick to my sister.” 

“I know,” He whispers. 

“Do you? Fuck, H, my fucking baby sister came to me crying because of you. And you know how much I love you, truly, you know I do, but I love her more. So, I just have to ask,” She pauses, gnawing on her lip and clicking her blinker on to signal her turn. “What the hell happened?” 

“I,” He sniffs, trying to contain his emotions already begging to come out. “I don’t know.” 

Eliza snorts. “Bullshit.” 

“I— I really don’t, Lizzy. I guess I was really in m’head about… well, everything. I lo- love her so much,” Harry’s voice cracks, his facade shattering into more microscopic pieces than the most delicate sheet of glass ever could. 

“I know you do, H. That’s why this is so confusing to me. To Gems. And most importantly, to Y/N. What happened, Curly? How’d we lose you?” She begs, trying to get him to explain where he was mentally. She loved him as she would Y/N, which was the hardest part. It hurt her as much as it hurt him to confront him about the issue. 

“I don’t want her to hate me! Okay?” Harry sobs, chin falling to his chest in weakness. “I don’t want her t’hate me for being away all the time, and I’m so fucking scared. ‘M scared because the press is doing nothing but talking bad about me and I don’t know if I can equally protect her as much as she does me when this happens. When it happens t’me I jus’ ignore it, but I know she can’t do that. I know it, Lizzy, and so d’you.” 

“I know, H. I know.” She whispers. 

“I jus’ wanted to keep her as far away as I could so that if she did decide she didn’t want me anymore, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” He murmurs so quietly, he himself even doubts if he said it out loud. 

Silence followed the rest of the car ride, the only sound filling the space of the vehicle being the soft splatter of rain on the glass windows and windshield, paired with the crackly static of the stereo. The sun even seemed to be hiding away, the sky dark with clouds, little to no light making an appearance to greet Harry’s arrival. 

Pulling up to her driveway, Eliza parked the car, keeping her ignition on so she could drive away after Harry got into the house. Turning to Harry, she chewed on her bottom lip as she traced his side profile with her eyes. “You need to tell her exactly what you told me. Word for word, Harry. You can’t keep her in the dark. She doesn’t even know I went to pick you up. So, just promise me that you’ll tell her exactly what you told me.” 

“I promise.” Harry’s voice cracked in a broken whisper, vocal cords thrumming against each other as if they were rusted. “Love you, Lizzy. Thank you.”

Stepping out of the car, he knocked on the door thrice, and tapped softly on the doorbell for good measure. His hands had gone cold with anxiousness, but he wrote it off as the stark cold weather of New York. 

“Harry? Oh my god, baby, get inside,” Y/N pulled him in immediately, pushing his thick puffer jacket off of him that was shiny with rainwater, hands coming up to pull his baby blue beanie from his hair, revealing his soft curls. They shared no words as she pulled him to the living room, where she sat the both of them down and covered the length of their torsos and legs with a big fluffy blanket. Y/N didn’t waste a second before she threw her legs over his thighs, grabbing his hands and rubbing over the cold and cracked red skin, trying to exude as much warmth from her own as much as she could. 

She’s always been warm. 

Her hands have always been graced with heat and more significantly, she always tended to carry around an aura as sweet as honey and as warm as a hug with her wherever she went. Bringing their hands up to his lips, he presses kisses all over the back of hers, kissing her knuckles and fingertips that moved erratically over his own. She could feel the dry chap of his lips on her hands and down to her wrists but she didn’t care. She didn’t mind one bit. She would rather commit the feeling of his lips on her hands to memory rather than not know what they felt like at all. 

“What’re you doing here, baby?” She asks, concern etched in her face as she lifts her head to look at him, her movements on his hands not staggering or slowing. 

“Came t’see you,” He whispers weakly. “Couldn’t bear it. I need t’see you, hold y’again… Fuck, do jus’ about anything to be near y’again.” 

Her heart twisted with the most intense emotion that she could only describe as heartbreak. “You— you got on a plane by yourself just to come see me?” 

“Would do jus’ about anything f’you, sweet girl. Of course I would go on a plane jus’ by myself if it meant I could hold you.” He admitted. He avoided eye contact with her, keeping his eyes trained on their conjoined hands that now lay stagnant on the soft fabric of the blanket. 

“Harry,” She whispers. “Why are you here, my love?” 

“I felt too guilty t’let you leave like that,” He says, gnawing on his bottom lip to will away the tears begging to escape. “I couldn’t let y’go without telling y’I loved you. And I didn’t…” He pauses, struggling for air as he over explained. “I didn’t even explain m’self. I didn’t tell you I loved you. I didn’t kiss y’back. I didn’t even tell y’to be safe.” 

He’s fully sobbing now, Y/N tracing his side profile with his eyes, jittering with fear and anxiety. “It’s okay, hey, baby, listen,” Grabbing his chin with the tips of her fingers, she turns his head to hers, resting his forehead atop of hers. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I just needed time to think and I didn’t want to lash out on you because I didn’t have time to. We’re okay, baby. I promise.” 

He shook his head while she spoke, tears falling on the fluff of the blanket with every movement. His eyes were clenched as if he was in pain, and uneven erratic breaths fell from his mouth. “Nonono. I should— should’ve listened to you. I did- didn’t mean t’treat y’like tha’,” Harry’s accent had gotten heavier with how much emotion he was feeling, stumbling over his words as if he was drunk. 

“And I should’ve explained myself more. It’s not your fault, H. Please baby, breathe,” She begged, tightening her grip on his hands as she pleaded with her nose slotted next to his, every whispered beg pushing her lips forward to lightly brush against his raw-bitten ones. “There, that’s it.” 

His breaths began to even out, just the slightest bit. His hands still shook dramatically, veins in his neck that once protruded from the force of his cries now retracting. “I’m sorry.” 

“Harry, stop apolog-“ 

“No. I have t’say this before I leave because if I don’t, I don’t think I ever will. I— I didn’t mean t’push y’away. I was trying to protect m’self but I didn’t see that it was hurting y’too. It wasn’t my intention, and now I realize it wasn’t the right thing t’do.” He sniffles, pulling back from her face to hold eye contact for the utmost emphasis on his words. 

“I tried to keep you far away because if you ended up resenting me for being away all the time it would hurt less if you decided to leave me. Paired with everything that’s being said in the media about m’right now, I tried t’keep y’as far away as I could so that if everything came crashing down on me, I would’ve had to cope with losing y’less than everything else. And I kept picking fights with y’so that if— or when y’got too fed up w’me, you’d leave me yourself instead of something else forcing y’to leave me. I think it was all subconscious, seeing how I freaked out on y’when y’told me you were leaving. I guess I didn’t really prepare myself for when it was really going t’happen. I’m really, really sorry, Angel. I really do hope y’can forgive me.” 

She’s silent. It scares him, he can’t lie. He takes her silence as an answer and pulls his hands from her grasp and moves her legs softly off of his thighs, standing up and brushing off his pants in an attempt to stall. She’s still mute, and he takes it as his cue to go. There’s still tears streaming down his face, but they’re silent. Like he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that they’re falling at all. 

“I love you.” He whispers, before turning and walking to the door. Placing his hand on the knob, he turns it, and his heart follows the motion with a sharp twist that he thinks he feels in his entire body. He’s gnawing in his lip to avoid breaking down in front of her, even though she’s arguably seen him at his worst and most vulnerable times. Opening the door, he’s greeted with the harsh cold air, biting at his skin so aggressively he feels like his tears have now frozen to his face. Bearing the pain, he forced himself to take the step out the doorway and onto the porch, on autopilot as he let his feet decide his motions. 

“Harry, wait,” Y/N pleaded, running out behind him, meeting him in the middle of the driveway in nothing but tiny shorts and a stolen crewneck of his that she'd haphazardly stuffed into her luggage. “I love you. I love you more than I could probably ever explain, and I— I just need you to know that. If you’re done with me or done with this, that’s okay, I just need you to know that I love you.” 

“I love you. Always.” He whispers, lips trembling with sadness. 

“You know I always will, right?” She asks, placing a warm hand onto his wet and cold cheek.

“I know, baby. I do.” He says. 

“I’m here whenever you want me. I promise.” She pleads, coming up to reach his lips, placing a soft kiss to his cold ones. 

“Come home, please.” 

“Always, H. I’ll always come right back home to you.”

[jut-and-dae-enthusiast]

Behind Closed Doors {k.s.m}

Kim Seungmin x gn!reader, established relationship, seungmin brain rot, my bias wrecker of all bias wreckers, kinda proofread but im sure there's errors pls just ignore them thanks.

“Are you sure everything is okay with you and Seungmin?” Your friend asked carefully over coffee one day. 

“Uh, yeah, everything’s great?” You looked at her with confusion before setting your drink down to fully understand what she was trying to say.

“It’s just…” She hesitated. “We’re just worried about you y/n. We all know you deserve someone who’s absolutely obsessed with you, but I don’t think we’ve even seen the two of you kiss yet. And you’ve been dating for well over a year now.” You sighed and looked down into your drink. “I mean, the most contact we’ve seen between the two of you is that you sit semi-close to one another and occasionally hold pinkies.”

What she didn’t know was that it was always like this with him in public, shy minimal touches but eyes filled with adoration. There was the rare occasion where he would even hold you a bit closer, but that was on days he was feeling extra clingy. PDA was something that made both of you a little uncomfortable, so your public excursions usually consisted more of longing gazes and flushed cheeks. You had tried to explain this many times, but your friends wouldn’t have it.

What they don’t see is the fact that the second you are securely behind the closed apartment door, you can’t seem to get rid of him. Like a golden retriever thinking it’s a lap dog, he will fully lay on you while reading or scrolling through his phone. He’s so extremely clingy, following you around just about anywhere (he lets you have your privacy for the toilet but even that is a stretch). 

He has to be touching you in some way, whether it’s your feet in his lap or his hand on your thigh. He’ll never admit it, but physical touch is very comforting for him and he tries to fill up on it as much as he can when the two of you are alone. 

It was a point of conflict early in your relationship, mainly because your friends (continuously) expressed their concern about how cold he seemed. The way he would tease you mercilessly (but they didn’t see the heart eyes he had when he called you an idiot). They would also make passive aggressive comments to him and you had no idea it upset him. You found out on a seemingly random day when you got home from work, excited to be mauled by him. However you were greeted by silence, Seungmin laying quietly on the couch with his hood on and headphones secured over his head. 

“Hey, Minnie, I’m home.” You called softly, setting your bag down and gently patting the top of his head. He looked up at you and nodded, flashing a tight smile and looking back down at his phone. You smile softly, assuming he’s tired and decide to just go get changed out of work clothes. 

Once comfy, you come back and squeeze yourself beside him on the couch. He sighs and moves away, making your heart drop a bit. “Are you… upset about something?” You ask, leaning forward to try and look at his face. 

“I’m just acting the way your friends think I do.” He mutters, standing up from the couch. You furrow your brow, looking up at him. 

“What are you talking about?” He scoffed at your response, walking into the kitchen. You follow after him, watching as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Your friend said the other day that I must not show you a whole lot of affection.” 

“Min, she was just teasing. She didn’t mean it.” 

“Yes she did. She says out of pocket shit like that all the time. All of them do.” He sighs, pulling his hood off his head to make eye contact with you. “And you just laugh it off every time. It’s like you agree with them.” His expression is serious as he holds steady eye contact, keeping his tone level and calm. Your chest tightens, realizing that your friends had been hurting the one you love all this time and he just took it without saying anything. 

“Seungmin, I… I don’t agree with them at all I swear. I know you’re so full of love and I am so sorry I didn’t realize their words hurt you.” You feel your eyes begin to water, turning your head to try and hide it. “I’ve tried explaining to them how much pda kinda freaks us out but they just have these preconceived ideas about what a relationship looks like… I’ll talk with them.” You promise, swiping the stray tears from you cheek. “I’ll, uh, give you some space then. I’m gonna head to bed. Love you.” You smile assuringly and pat his arm on your way past him. You’re only about two steps away when you hear him murmur, 

“Dumbass.” Before you’re engulfed in his arms from behind. “I wanna hold you even if I’m upset with you. It’s annoying.” He sighs and rests his chin on your shoulder. You silently stand in his grasp, holding back the tears that are trembling in your eyes. 

“Min, I really am so sorry.” You whisper, leaning forward to kiss whatever part of his arm was closest to your mouth. You can feel him hum against your back and his hug tighten ever so slightly. 

“You’re the person I love the most in this world. I hate the idea that you might doubt that just because I’m a private person.” He nuzzles his face into your neck, sighing softly. 

“I have never ever doubted you, Seungmin.” You smile softly, turning to look at his face. He nods, smiling back. 

“Good. Now give me a kiss before I die.” He chuckles, leaning in with a wide smile. 

[blackhairedjjun]

staying afloat - k.th

pairing: kang taehyun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst, argument -> makeup, implied friends to lovers, office worker!taehyun, the subtlest of love confessions | word count: 899 | warnings: burnout and exhaustion from overwork

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - HEAT: while engaged in a passionate argument with one another, sender, in the heat of the moment, blurts out “i love you!” to the receiver. think of like, that glorious trope where people have a huge argument and then suddenly sb drops the mic with “because i’m in love with you!” and silences the other person. u know the trope! (requested by anon)

author's notes: HI ANON im sorry this took sooooo long. as i said, this was hard for me to write bc i already did the heat prompt twice before and i didn't want to be too repetitive with the arguments... the argument here is a bit calmer and more one-sided on yn's part but i hope it still works!

“you are running yourself into the ground, taehyun!” you grab his shoulders and give him a little shake. taehyun watches you closely, and you can see the darkening circles under his eyes. 

he’s still standing before the threshold of your home, right in front of the door. with just one step he could walk in if you weren’t blocking his way. outside, the night air is so cold that you shivered instantly upon opening the door for him. the sky is dark, with neither moon nor stars, and the only light comes from the fluorescent bulb at the doorway.

“y/n, you’re up working too,” he says. his voice is steady but firm. “you can’t tell me what not to do when you’re also working like this.”

“i’m doing overtime for just one night, for god’s sake. but you 一 you’ve been so busy and tired for what, two weeks? you forget to answer my texts. forget!” you throw your hands up. “and you’ve never forgotten before, not in all the years that i’ve known you.”

taehyun stuffs his hands into his pockets and his gaze flickers away from yours for a second before it returns. though he tries to stand his ground, you notice the soft look in his eyes, laying bare the tiredness and worries weighing down on him.

“well, i’m here now. why won’t you let me make it up to you?”

“because it’s one in the morning and you’ve been staying up late for overtime and extra projects for what, two weeks now? you go home late and you wake up early, your boss dumps all this work on you, and you barely get any time off!” you take a step closer, now fully exiting the warmth of your home, to stand so close to him. “please, taehyun. it’s not that i don’t want to see you, but you’re so, so tired. i can see it in your face.”

you reach out to touch his face, but his expression goes taut and your hand hovers just inches away. he turns away from you before you can scan his eyes for the tired look you saw; a cold breeze blows by, causing both of you to shiver and pushing the bangs away from taehyun’s forehead.

he looks... sadder than what you remember. you remember how easily his face would light up before he took on his new position at his job; he would smile at the smallest of your remarks, his big eyes sparkling like jewels. you thought of the steady stream of texts from him day after day, reminding you to eat or commenting on a silly photo you took, and how that stream soon turned into a trickle. the memories make your body feel heavy.

taehyun says nothing for a few moments and just lets out a sigh. when he looks back at you there’s a pained look that wasn’t there before, and you feel an ache in your chest at the sight.

 “y/n, i... i don’t want you to worry about me like this. i can’t... i can take care of myself. please, please just trust me. i hate watching you worry like this.”

“oh, you hate watching me worry?” your tone rises before you even realize it. “and i hate watching you turn into this! you’re exhausted, taehyun. you’re not yourself anymore. i can’t even remember the last time i saw you smile! do you know how much it hurts to see the person you love lose himself like this?”

you tremble in your spot and your words start to trip over themselves. your emotions pile onto each other, keeping you from speaking straight: some anger, yes, but mostly disappointment, worry, loneliness, fear. “i ha一 i hate seeing you like this, taehyunie. i can’t一 i can’t watch一 i love you too much to see this一”

taehyun cuts you off to pull you into a hug. he holds onto you so tightly, as if trying to wrestle you away from the emotions gripping you. one of his hands makes his way through your hair. angry tears prick at your eyes but you relax in his hold, finally letting out a sob.

“i’m sorry,” he says, his hand combing through your hair then rubbing your back. “i know you’re just looking out for me... and you’re right. i am exhausted...”

something shifts and now you feel his full weight on you. now you’re the one holding him, his head moving to rest in the crook of your neck, his shoulders fully slumped. the weeks of exhaustion have finally caught up to him, and you wrap your arms around his waist to prop him up.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” he repeats. “for not... listening to you... for forgetting...”

your hold on him tightens and tears stream down your face, but you manage to speak. “i just don’t want you to hurt yourself...”

neither of you say anything more. taehyun doesn’t let go of you and sinks fully into your touch; despite the chill night air, he’s still warm in your arms. you let your tears fall freely as you keep a firm hold on the friend you love, as if letting go of him means he will sink and drown.

the night is so quiet that the murmur he lets out against your neck still comes out loud and clear.

“i love you too.”

[megalony]

Break Ins and Births

This is my first James Wilson imagine from House MD, any other House requests would be amazing. Any feedback would also be lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

Masterlist

Summary: (Based on a request) House let's himself into Wilson's home, not knowing his wife is in. The shock sends (Y/n) into early labour.

Enjoy.

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

Something akin to a smile drifted onto House's face when he heard the successful click of the lock and when he jingled the door handle, it opened with ease.

He needed to get a key. Wilson had a key to his apartment for emergencies and mainly since he had stayed over a lot and never handed back the key. But House didn't have one to Wilson's house and that didn't seem fair. He couldn't come and check by on Wilson when he needed something or when he thought something was amiss. Instead, he had to resort to picking the lock when knocking wasn't sufficient enough and House was desperate.

"Wilson?" He shut the door behind him before he hobbled into the living room, looking round for his friend. He said he had this week off work from the hospital and House was getting desperate enough to visit him here at home for help.

His vicodin had run out.

If he didn't get another prescription supply soon, he would start to go into detox and it was not pretty. The amount of times he had detoxed over the years was unbelievable and House wasn't ready to go through that again and feel the imminent pain he would suffer.

He knew Wilson would give him something, he might give him something different than vicodin and a little less strong, but House needed something, anything to get him through the day.

He moved a few of the magazines from the coffee table, scattering them around to see if Wilson's prescription pad was hanging around here somewhere. No such luck, but then again, House wouldn't expect him to just leave it lying around here.

It would be up in his study.

"Wilson…" He called out again whilst peeking into the kitchen before he sighed and moved towards the stairs.

Why did Wilson's study have to be upstairs? Why did he have to have a house and not an apartment like House? Something on the ground floor that was easily accessible would be preferable to this.

It took a while and a lot of pain and effort for House to amble his way up the stairs, despite the searing agony it caused to bolt through his right leg. The pain would be worth it if he could get another dose of vicodin.

Which room was the study? House couldn't recall the last time he'd been upstairs in Wilson's house, it would only have been to use the toilet. Most of their hang outs apart from the hospital and the odd road trip was at House's apartment, not Wilson's house. The last time he was here probably would have been when Wilson invited him round after he and (Y/n) bought the house and newly moved in.

Taking a wild guess, House hobbled over to the second door on the right because he was sure the bathroom was the door on the left next to the stairs.

The door swung open with more force than House could comprehend, so much so that he stumbled forward into the room just as a scream hit his ears and a figure appeared in front of him.

Screaming, (Y/n) stumbled backwards when the door flung open at her just as she went to open it, causing her to fall back into the bedroom.

Oh God, someone was in the house. Someone had broken in, she had woken up at the wrong time. They were going to attack her and raid the house. What was she supposed to do?

Her hand held steadfast onto the door handle and it allowed her to ease herself down to the floor, landing with a thump on her bum. But when her wild eyes darted to look up ahead of her, another scream rattled through her chest and sent her reeling when something waved in front of her face.

He was going to hit her with a bat!

"What are you doing, you should be at work!"

Fire, rage and blind panic mingled together in (Y/n)'s blood as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away from her eyes and focus on the figure looming over her. It was House, cane in hand and a bewildered look in his deep blue eyes as if he was the one who had just walked in on a burgalry.

"House!" Letting go of the door, (Y/n) slammd her fist into the wood and bashed the door away until it flung back and hit the wall.

With her fingers tangled in her hair, (Y/n) bowed her head down and tried to breathe but each breath was high and shallow.

What the Hell was he doing in her home? How on Earth did he get in? She was sure her husband would have locked the door behind him this morning when he left. And if not, why didn't House have the manners to knock? He couldn't just walk into her home whenever it suited him and expect her to be out or perfectly fine with him wandering in and doing whatever he pleased.

"Why are you in my house? H-how did you get in?" (Y/n) choked through her words, still unable to catch a proper breath.

She dared to let her furious gaze fall upon her husband's friend and she was somewhat relieved to see guilt written across his face.

(Y/n) tilted her head back so she could look up at him properly but she moved her hand to rub across her stomach. The baby was doing summersaults from House's surprise visit. It didn't help that she hadn't felt well this morning, which was the reason why she wasn't at work where House clearly thought she should have been when he popped round.

"Looking for Wilson, where is he? And your front door isn't very secure, should probably get that looked at." House leaned into the wall and slouched a little so he could relax his leg and lean his weight onto his cane. If he even tried to sit down on the floor with (Y/n) he doubted either of them would be able to get back up.

"He's on call this week… you can't j-just wander in whenever you like, you prick."

"I need vicodin, where's his prescription pad? You need to take deep breaths or you'll go into shock."

(Y/n) tried to roll her eyes but it only made her head spin and she was starting to feel sick.

"I don't know, he doesn't bring it home every night. And what I don't need, is being frightened when I'm thirty-three weeks pregnant- oh, fuck." Closing her eyes, (Y/n) let her head flop forward and moved both her hands to cradle her stomach.

She didn't need any kind of shock or jump scares right now, not when she was so close to reaching the end of her term. House knew this, he was a dcotor, he was Wilson's best friend. He knew they'd been trying for months to get pregnant and he was the only one at the hospital who knew (Y/n) had a bad miscarriage last year. She didn't need him coming into her home and scaring her half to death thinking an intruder was going to hurt and rob her.

But she knew she couldn't blame him entirely, he didn't mean to scare her. He didn't think she would be here, he was looking for Wilson who was used to his antics and games and Wilson didn't scare easily. Not anymore.

"What?"

"You gave me a cramp."

With a sigh, House pushed off the wall and reached a hand down towards (Y/n), despite the glare she shot his way. He waited patiently, keeping his hand reached out until (Y/n) relented and took it as she moved onto her knees. they both knew he wouldn't be able to pull her up properly, not with his bad leg and having to lean half of his weight onto his cane.

But he didn't grumble or say a word when she pulled tightly on his hand, holding his arm with her free hand so she could manage to get up without pulling House down to the floor with her.

"Come on… I'll make you a cup of tea." It was the least he could do after unintentionally giving her a fright.

When she was steady on her feet, (Y/n) let go of his arm and adjusted her pyjama top before slowly walking out of the bedroom after him. It was a relief he always had to walk slow because right now, (Y/n) felt like her legs were made of jelly and she had the shakes rattling through her.

They were two steps away from the stairs when a horrid cramp tore through her lower stomach and sent her reeling. She reached out to steady herself on the banister so she didn't go crashing to the floor again and her upper half coiled over like a tightening spring until her chest was merged with her stomach.

"House…" His name tore from (Y/n)'s lips in a quiet, frail whisper followed by a guttural cry when they both looked down and a steady stream of water trickled down her legs.

Oh dear.

She could see the way he visibly paled like a fading image standing in front of her and he sighed as his shoulders slumped down, but it was the worry in his dusty blue eyes and the fear creeping onto his face that showed he cared. He could see what was happening and he already knew the worries that were rattling around in (Y/n)'s head when she started to cry.

"Where are your keys, I'll drive you to the hospital. And I'll page Wilson to meet us at reception."

House didn't have a car and he knew there was no way he could get (Y/n) on his motorbike with him to get her to the hospital. It was a small mercy that the hospital was so close to their home so he could use (Y/n)'s car to get her there. It would be better than calling and waiting for an ambulance. And if he paged Wilson he would be sure to get the message rather than try to ring his personal phone and risk it being locked in his office while he was with a patient.

"By the door… House, t-this is too early, I can't-"

"Hey, come on. You're a nurse, this doesn't mean labour, Wilson will have you on bed rest in the maternity ward for a week or more before you have this kid. Let's worry about getting you down those stairs."

He wrapped an arm around (Y/n)'s waist, letting her grab his shoulder instead of the banister before they shuffled somewhat awkwardly over to the stairs. This didn't mean (Y/n) was definitely in labour, if she was feeling contractions there were medicines that could stop them and prevent them for days or even weeks. She could be put on observation and bed rest and not have this baby today or tomorrow or for a few weeks. they would find out when they got to the hospital.

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

Wilson leaned his forearms on the reception desk and arched his back out before he glanced his eyes over at the two files he had brought down with him. He had been on his way to go consult with a patient when he got a strange page from House.

Need you at reception now. Bring a wheelchair.

There was too much room for speculation and no room for understanding. What was he supposed to do with that? With House, it could mean anything, it could just be him wanting a consultation or wanting an excuse to get away from Cuddy and clinic duty. It could be an actual emergency or just a one off or House bringing in a new case.

All Wilson knew for sure was that if he ignored the page and went ahead to his consult, he wouldn't hear the end of it. And God forbid it was some kind of emergency, Wilson didn't want it playing on his conscience.

He had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes, stood like a lost patient at reception with his pager on the desk, his phone in his pocket and a wheelchair at his side.

Every now and then he glanced at the receptionist and tried to smile but he knew his presence was unnerving her. She had given up asking him if he wanted something or what he was waiting for when he just said House or 'I don't know'.

"James!"

His head snapped to the right and as quick as lightning he pushed himself off the desk and straightened up. He knew that voice anywhere; his wife. He didn't like the urgency in her voice or the hoarse catch in her throat. She sounded like she'd been crying, even just from that one word Wilson could detect the panic in her voice and it set him on edge.

The sight of (Y/n) and House hobbling into reception was something Wilson never thought he'd see in his life and it was something he did not like at all.

(Y/n), his girl, almost falling on her knees with one arm around House's shoulders like a viper and her other arm cradling her stomach. She was wearing her pyjamas that were riddled with sweat and slightly skewed and scrunched up. Her hair was falling out of her ponytail and sticking to her sweat-ridden skin. But it was her expression that broke his heart completely.

She had been crying, a lot. In fact, she was still crying now, gasping for breath between sobs and Wilson knew she was having contractions when one rippled through her and jolted her down to her knees with a pained cry.

"James…" (Y/n) loosened her arm from around House who had been rather patient and understanding considering this wasn't his forte. He had calmed her down in the car, let her cry out when the contractions got worse and he timed them and talked her through it. He was practically carrying her into the hospital from the car despite his cane and limp and he didn't moan or squabble or complain once.

When she was kneeling on the floor, (Y/n) tried to take a deep breath but the moment James was crouched down in front of her, the waterworks got worse. Her arms deadlocked around his neck and she croaked and hiccuped into his shoulder, binding herself to him like glue.

It was comforting beyond relief to have his arms tightly wrapped around her and his lips pressed to the side of her head. She could feel the panic radiating through him and his heartbeat that was going wild.

Whatever House had said on his message, (Y/n) could see it hadn't been nearly as close to the truth as it should have been.

"What's happened?" Leaning back a little, Wilson moved to cup the side of (Y/n)'s face, brushing her hair away and swiping a few tears from her cheek and nose. He could deduce that she was going into labour, he noticed the vast amount of fluids on her shorts and between her legs to guess that her waters had broken. But he didn't know why.

This morning he had been called to come on shift since he had the on call phone and he knew (Y/n) wasn't feeling great when he left. She had a headache and felt under the weather, but other than that he knew she had been fine. Nothing had been wrong enough to suggest she would go into labour while he was away.

"House, what happened- did you call House?" Wilson looked back down at (Y/n) in his arms, trying to get her to talk but all she could do was sniff and try to breathe.

"I stopped by your place, she had a shock so I brought her in."

"Why were you at my house? What does a shock mean?"

Wilson darted his eyes to the side when he heard Cuddy's voice as she hurried from her office, diverting to grab the wheelchair when Wilson pointed over at it. In his rush to get to his wife he didn't scoot it over with him.

"H-he let himself in, I thought h-he was a burglar… it hurts." Moving her head, (Y/n) tucked her face back into Wilson's shoulder as much for comfort as to hide away from prying eyes. She could see a crowd starting to form around them as Cuddy pushed through with the wheelchair and House stayed close but not quite touching any of them.

She could feel Wilson tensing against her and his fingers dug into her sides to try and stop himself from going into a rage.

He could handle House at the best of times, especially when everyone else had had enough of him and his antics, Wilson could cope with him and calm him down and reason with him. But he couldn't reason with him over this. He had let himself into Wilson's house and scared his wife so badly she was now in labour. That wasn't fair.

"Alright sweetheart, I'm gonna get you up on three okay? One, two, three."

Shifting around from his knees onto his feet, Wilson then slipped his arms up until they were hooked under (Y/n)'s arms and he carefully and slowly stood up, pulling (Y/n) along with him. He paid no mind to how deeply her nails were digging into his shoulders through his white coat but he couldn't help but focus on her pained cries that were seeping into his neck and making him shiver. She was trembling so badly in his arms that she could barely stand up until he took all of her weight onto his chest.

He carefully turned on his heels and twisted them around until (Y/n) was level with the wheelchair Cuddy was holding and he lowered her down. The relief was instant on (Y/n)'s face but as soon as she was sat down, her legs coiled up and her arms cocooned around her waist like she was trying to curl up into a ball.

The anger boiled up into rage in Wilson's eyes when he glanced over at House who limped over to them.

"I was looking for you, I needed a pill refill but I thought she'd be at work-"

"So you broke into my house and scared my wife into pre-term labour? Thanks."

"Come on, you think I did this on purpose-"

"I think you didn't consider anything but your addiction, House! You break into my house where my wife has every right to be and shock her and now she's in the hospital. Just… go." His hands balled into fists at his sides and his jaw locked so tightly that his teeth felt like they were going to break.

With a wave of his hand, he turned his back and took a step closer to (Y/n) to end the conversation. He could stand around and argue with House for hours over this but he didn't have that much time. He needed to look after (Y/n) rather than waste his time taking his much deserved anger out on House.

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

"Have you been waiting here this whole time?" Wilson closed the door behind him and leaned his weight onto the door frame. He couldn't quite meet House's eyes when he looked over at him. It was Cuddy who had whispered that House was sitting outside and true to her word, here he was, cane discarded on the floor and tennis ball in hand to keep him occupied in the empty hall.

House took a moment to take in Wilson's state. He was usually always prestine and presentable when he was on shift- which he technically wasn't anymore. Now, he had shed his doctor's coat, unbuttoned his striped shirt, rolled the sleeves up well past his elbows and his hair was dishevelled. He looked the complete opposite of himself.

"How is she?"

"Undoubtedly in labour and almost fully dilated," Rubbing at his forehead, Wilson took a few deep breaths before he looked back over at his friend. "If you wanted vicodin why didn't you just call?"

"Tritter can get my phone records, I just needed a few to get me by and I thought you'd be home. I didn't know she wasn't at work, I wouldn't have gone in if I did."

"Normally I'd do something rash like shout at you or even hit you. But you're desperate and (Y/n) said it wasn't all your fault." He ran his fingers through his hair, too tired to let loose the rage he felt earlier that was slowly disappating now. "Just… try and think, House. This is my family, if she wasn't past thirty weeks we could of lost another baby."

He wasn't in the mood to argue, but he needed House to at least try and see things from his perspective.

He and (Y/n) had wanted a baby for months and then they lost one at five months last year. Wilson didn't know how he managed to pull (Y/n) back after that loss, she barely got through it and now they were in early labour. If (Y/n) hadn't been this far along and labour couldn't be prevented, they would have a big risk of losing the baby. At least being at thirty three weeks, they still had a big advantage.

"You don't have to stay, you know. It's still gonna be a while until you meet your godchild."

"I know,"

With a nod of his head, Wilson turned on his heels and headed back inside where Cuddy was sat at (Y/n)'s side. The dean of medicine was close to both Wilson and (Y/n) and she wanted to be some sort of help and be with them during this. Much like House, who had been named Godfather since the moment they found out about the pregnancy, wasn't ready to go yet.

He knew he didn't have to stay, he could head back to his office or go home since it wasn't his shift today. But he stayed seated outside the delivery room. He wasn't going anywhere.

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

Tipping her head back, (Y/n) closed her eyes and tucked her face into the crook of Wilson's neck. Her hand reached up to cup his face when she felt him kissing the top of her head and his arm that was secured around her waist tightened and pulled her into his side.

She could barely breathe and every inch of her skin was flushed and covered in sweat and everything below her waist felt both torn and numb at the same time. She even felt pins and needles in her feet as if they were on fire despite the tingling numbness travelling down her legs.

"L-Lisa, are they alright?" (Y/n)'s voice was cracked and she could barely speak from how hoarse her throat was from sobbing and screaming. Her eyes followed Lisa as she moved from the end of the bed and walked up to their side.

It didn't take long for the dean of medicine to take over and for the midwife to take a step back. (Y/n) was a lot calmer with Lisa being in charge and delivering their baby than a midwife neither of them knew, considering they worked in the same hospital.

"She's perfect,"

Every part of (Y/n) that could shake started to shake violently when a small newborn was nestled into her chest. She was tiny, still curled up in the fetal position and she wasn't crying, only whimpering so quietly it was barely there, but it was music to their ears.

She placed a shaking hand on the newborn's back and kept her other hand brushing across Wilson's face and she could feel the tears he was shedding. His free hand came up to cradle the back of their daughter's head while Cuddy leaned over to clamp and clip the unbilical cord.

"Would you like to weigh her and get her cleaned up?" Cuddy gently paced a towel around the newborn before she looked over at Wilson to give him the honours. After all, he was a doctor and he knew exactly what he was doing, there was no one better to get her washed, weighed and into something warmer than her dad.

She barely fit in the crook of his elbow, that was how small and fragile she was. When her small hand curled around his index finger, Wilson let the tears cascade down his face.

"House?" Leaning out the door, Cuddy finished wiping her hands with a paper towel, smiling softly when she saw that he was still where they had left him in the afternoon. He hadn't budged an inch other than to sneak to the vending machine and back.

He sat up straighter when he took in her expression, but the warm smile glowing on her lips calmed down one of the raging nerves inside of him. Despite what he liked everyone to think, House did care. Not about many people, but Wilson and (Y/n) were part of his family, and he cared about them very much.

"Would you like to meet your Goddaughter?"

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - neighbor joel miller x reader

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

A/N: hiii. this is my first time writing a fic. please let me know what you think :> i proofread like a million times and probs missed something. this is my first time writing anything sexual so dont make fun of me, im learning :p . thanks to my pookie raven for encouraging this, proofing it, and for feeding my delusions. 

Summary: After 4 years of college, you moved to a neighborhood in Austin. Your first and even second interactions with your new neighbor, Joel, were less than pleasant. But damn is he a looker. 

Warnings: MDNI, age gap, peeping reader, male masturbation, female masturbation, semi-asshole joel, some angst?? if you squint, cheating ex boyfriend, i think thats all idk let me know if i missed anything xoxo. 

Word Count: 1.6k

Chapter 2 - Masterlist

It's Saturday morning, the first Saturday morning in your new house. You’re 23 and fresh out of college with nothing but a bachelors in education and your final paycheck from your shitty college job. A shitty job with a shitty paycheck, that just so happens to cover your rent and utilities this month. You roll over and snooze your 7 a.m. alarm, and groggily make your way to the kitchen. Austin was going to be different, new city, new neighbors, new job. You plug in the coffee pot and open the cabinet only to realize; no coffee. You make a mental note of that. 

A new city means new habits… sorta. In high school, you held the record time for cross country, all 4 years. But then college happened and that habit died quickly. You lace up your running shoes, put in your earbuds, and head out the door. It's already muggy and you have no idea why you've done this to yourself. Just as you’re about to click shuffle on your iPod, a deep voice bellows from the doorway of the house beside yours. “Goddamnit Tommy! We’re going to be late again if you don't get out here. I'm sick of wasting my Saturdays because you can't get your lazy ass out of the bed Monday through Friday!”. The door slams. The man is tall, and largely built. His biceps borderline pulsating out of his black t-shirt that reads “Miller’s Construction”. You try to look away before the man notices but you’re too slow. You flash a smile and throw a hand up, he looks away without so much as a nod. “Dick.” you mutter. 

You started easy this morning and only did a mile, an 11 minute mile. You’re somewhat proud of yourself as it's been 5 years, but somewhat disgusted. You can't remember the last time you had an 11 minute mile, probably middle school. You take this as an opportunity to explore your new neighborhood. It’s still early, so it’s quiet. Gives You Hell by All American Rejects comes on and you turn it all the way up. You tell yourself “new town, new people, new start”. Almost all 4 years at University of Dallas were spent with your, now ex boyfriend, Connor. You guys were inseparable. You met at freshman orientation and were glued at the hip, until you caught him hooking up with a random girl at a frat party your senior year. You were crushed but never allowed him to see it; You just never spoke to him again. 

You made your way back home, and the loud cranky neighbor is still gone. You keep thinking back to the rude and awkward interaction this morning. After taking the coldest shower known to man, you turn on your current hyperfixation (Greys Anatomy) and look over your lesson plans for the following week. You want everything to be perfect because you need this job. You need Austin to work. Before you know it you’re drifting off to sleep and don't fight it. 

You wake up in a puddle of sweat to a fuck ton of banging and muffled yelling. The TV is off and the house is quiet. You go to check the time and the digital clock you keep beside the couch is off. Weird. You go to look at the microwave but it's also off. Great. It’s still light outside so you know you didn't sleep the day away. You flip up your pink Motorola Razr to call your landlord, and he's on vacation. Double great. He talks you through resetting the breaker box, which is on the outside of the house. The yelling is still going on outside and this time you get an earful. “Tommy, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sick and tired of picking up your goddamn slack.” “No one asked you to pick up my goddamn slack Joel. Quit your bitchin’ before I give you something to bitch about.” Joel and Tommy, what an interesting duo of neighbors you have. At this point, you’re so invested in their conversation that your landlord is just talking to himself. You mutter a couple uh-huhs and yeahs and it must be convincing enough because before you can muster the word wait, he hangs up. “Shit.” you say under your breath. You stand with your hands on your hips, staring intently at the unlabeled switches, not sure of what the hell to do.

It’s not like you ever had to do this growing up. Your dad was a tradesman, and your brother followed suit. As a woman, you were expected to tend to the home, which is funny because to you this seems like it should fall under “tending to the home”. You don’t dare call your dad in fear that you’ll get an earful about why you “need a man of the house” and “this is why you should’ve forgiven Connor”. 

You muster up the courage to head next door and ask one of your neighbors, the ones that had 2 full on blowouts in front of the neighborhood, to help you reset it. You feel like an idiot. You approach the door and knock. Gently but loud enough to be heard over yet another muffled argument. A silence, and then a burly man with short brown hair opens the door. “Can I Help You?” He says, deadpan. You get lost in his deep brown eyes, just for a second. Yet again, his biceps borderline ripping his t-shirt at the seams. Joel leans against the doorframe. “Hi, I'm your new neighbor” you point to your house. “I just moved in next door this past week and my breaker box tripped and I can't figure out how to reset it.” He’s deadpan staring, like he’s waiting for you to say something else. “Uhh.. Is there any way you could help m-” Before you can finish, he makes his way past you with a grunt. “Where's the box?” You follow quickly behind him. “It's on this side of the house, the left side.” He says nothing. After what seems like an eternity of silence, Joel finds the box and flips the switch. “Thank you so much. I didn't seem to catch your name.” A few seconds of silence again. “Joel.” he says firmly. “Joel, nice to meet you. I’d invite you in for-” and he interrupts again. “No need, but next time call your landlord.” You begin to explain a half lie half truth and say he's on vacation and didn't answer but when you look up, Joel is back in his driveway. 

You head back inside and begin to make some dinner. The sun is setting and you’re exhausted. You look through your boxes of food that you have yet to unpack and find all of your baking ingredients and a half loaf of bread. In your bare refrigerator is milk, eggs, and a pack of american cheese slices. You settle for a grilled cheese, but make a mental note to maybe bake some cookies or muffins for your neighbors since you seemed to be such an inconvenience today.

You yet again fall asleep on the couch, watching Reba reruns. You wake up and the clock reads 9:47 in bold red numbers. Fuck. You turn the TV off and mozy to your bedroom, making sure to turn your ceiling fan on when you walk in. You change into your pajamas, turn your bedside light on, and the overhead light off. As you’re getting cozy, you notice that your window faces Joel’s. You draw your curtains open, just a bit. Joel’s curtains are borderline shut but you can see a shadow moving. His silhouette begins shuffling back and forth before it stops and begins stripping. Right in front of the window. Christ those fucking biceps, even in shadow form. You sit up a little bit, careful to not be potentially seen. Next are the pants, you see the silhouette of his belt come off. Fuck. You feel like a fucking creep but you inch closer to your window. You think to yourself “if he didn't want anyone to see, why change in front of the window?”. A heat washes over you, you feel flushed. This is the most action you’ve gotten in months, and it isn't even action.

You open the drawer beside your bed and pull out your favorite vibrator. Your pants come off and you’re sprawled on the bed. You turn it on the lowest setting, a low but consistent buzz. You twitch. You look up and his silhouette is now leaning into the window frame. One hand holding him up, one stroking his cock. “Fuck.” you whine. It’s so big, you just know that the silhouette does it no justice. You click the button on your vibrator twice. Your body begins to arch, you’re panting, chasing your release, and it's so close you can taste it. You look out your window for one last glimpse and you see him. You SEE him. “Shit!” you audibly gasp. He’s staring you down. You can’t read his facial expression but you imagine it isn't good. You throw your vibrator across the room and basically do gymnastics to close the curtains and turn the light off. “Shit.” you murmur. 

Not only did you inconvenience Joel today and make a shitty first impression, he just caught you getting off to him in his own home. You fall asleep yearning for the release you never got. Feeling empty and unsatisfied. Wondering how the fuck to explain this when you eventually have to face him again.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hello)) Blame this on my grandma, I watched too many soap operas with her growing and we still do it 😂

So basically 2022 James x younger reader maybe she was his sponsor after he got out of rehab after 2019 relapse and she stayed him him during the pandemic (let’s pretend he divorced earlier than 2022, im not a home wrecker) and obviously it evolved into romance. Since he got vasectomy, they kinda weren’t very careful with protection, but it’s actually proven that these can fail, so she finds out she’s pregnant. Of course he doesn’t believe her and thinks she cheated and demands a DNA test. Having no options and feeling betrayed by his behavior, she moves out and they do a tests a few months later. Of course it comes back confirming he’s the father, but she also sends him something like NDA saying that she will never file for child support and will not disclose him as the father + the note that she doesn’t want to do anything with him as he betrayed her by accusing her of cheating. So the moment they have a break in tour he comes to beg for forgiveness? It takes her a while but she finds the strength to forgive him? And then she even joins them on tour and even goes to labour at the end of one of their shows (that’s actually happened with one of the fans)

Damn those TV shows did make sure my fantasies run wild 🫢

Don’t worry, how many times watching a series I made a lot of mental films (and it’s better not to know them🤭) I hope you will like it!❤

A New Beginning

I could still hear the echo of the accusations in my head, ringing louder than the sound of the tour buses or the distant crowds that gathered for Metallica’s show tonight. “You cheated, didn’t you? You couldn’t have gotten pregnant by me… it’s impossible!”

I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the flood of hurt that still rose in my chest every time I thought about it. I’d never cheated, never given him a reason to doubt me. I had stood by him through his darkest moments, through rehab, through the pandemic lockdowns when the world felt like it was falling apart. I gave him my heart, my love, my everything. And in return, he gave me distrust.

The memory of how we met flickered in my mind like an old film reel—those early days, before the weight of fame and fear crushed us under its heel.

I had been his sponsor after his 2019 relapse. A fresh face among the older, battle-worn members of the program, I hadn’t expected to be assigned to someone like James. I still remember that first meeting—how he slouched into the room, the weight of the world on his shoulders, his eyes distant, almost lifeless. His tattoos were visible beneath the sleeve of his worn-out leather jacket, and his hands trembled slightly as he held a paper cup of coffee, more like a shield than a drink.

He was a legend, a rock god, someone I had grown up listening to, but none of that mattered in that room. There, he was just another man struggling to find his way back from the brink.

I had introduced myself, unsure of how someone like me could even begin to help someone like him. But as the days passed, we found an unexpected rhythm. He was raw, real, and unfiltered, and I wasn’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit when he tried to downplay his struggles.

“You’re not invincible, you know,” I had told him once during one of our private sessions, my arms crossed as I stared at him down. He had tried to laugh it off, but I didn’t let him. “You might be James Hetfield to the world, but in here? You’re just another person trying to get better. And if you want this to work, you’re going to have to face the hard stuff.”

To my surprise, instead of pushing back, he had listened. Really listened. And slowly, over time, the walls he had built around himself started to crumble. We spent hours talking, not just about his addiction, but about life, music, and everything in between. I saw glimpses of the man beneath the rock star, the man who had been buried under years of fame and pressure.

The pandemic hit not long after, and somehow, through all the uncertainty and isolation, we grew closer. What started as a professional relationship morphed into something else—something deeper, more intimate. The nights were long, filled with shared stories and quiet moments where it felt like we were the only two people left in the world. And somewhere in the midst of it all, I fell in love with him.

He was still broken in so many ways, but I loved him for it. I thought I could help him heal. I thought I could be the one to put him back together.

But I hadn’t expected him to break me in the process.

Now, months later, here I was, sitting alone in the apartment I had moved into after his betrayal. The DNA test had proved him wrong, of course. The baby was his. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

I absentmindedly placed a hand on my growing belly, feeling the flutter of movement beneath my fingertips. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. He knew now, without a doubt, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about what he thought. I had sent him the NDA weeks ago, making it clear I didn’t want anything from him. No child support. No public acknowledgment. Nothing. It was his choice to betray me, to accuse me of something so vile, and I would never forget that.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I hesitated for a moment, not expecting anyone. Slowly, I stood, heart racing for reasons I couldn’t quite place, and opened the door.

It was him.

James stood there, looking more worn out than I had ever seen him. His eyes were puffy, as if he hadn’t slept well for days, and his shoulders were hunched, weighed down by regret. His gaze met mine, and for the first time in months, I saw something I hadn’t expected—tears. He blinked them away quickly, but not before one slid down his cheek.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice steady even though my emotions were anything but.

He shifted nervously, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. “Can I come in?”

I wanted to slam the door in his face. I wanted to tell him to leave and never come back, but a part of me—a small, treacherous part—still longed for the man I had once loved, the man I had thought he was before everything went to hell. So, against my better judgment, I stepped aside and let him in.

The silence that settled between us was heavy, oppressive. I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he was here after everything he had done.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice rough and low. “I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Sorry wasn’t going to erase the hurt or make up for the months of pain I’d gone through because of his accusations.

“I was scared,” he continued, taking a hesitant step toward me. “I didn’t want to believe it because… I didn’t think I deserved it. You, the baby… any of it. I thought it was too good to be true, and I freaked out. I messed up. I know I did.”

“Damn right, you did,” I snapped, my emotions finally bubbling over. “I gave you everything, James. I stood by you when no one else did, and the second I needed you, you turned your back on me. You accused me of cheating—like I was some random groupie. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

His eyes dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know, and I hate myself for it. I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He looked up at me, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I want to make things right. I can’t take back what I said, but I want to be there for you—for the baby. Please… I can’t lose you.”

For a long moment, I just stared at him, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His lips trembled, his hands shaking as they reached out for me, and that’s when I saw it—more tears. They fell silently, streaking down his face, and it shook me to my core. James Hetfield, the man who never showed vulnerability, was standing in front of me, broken and pleading.

“You already lost me,” I whispered, feeling my heart crack all over again. “The moment you accused me, you lost me.”

He took another step closer, his hands reaching for mine but stopping short when I didn’t move. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I’m sorry, that I love you.”

I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, torn between the love I still felt for him and the pain he had caused. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “But I’m not giving up. I’m going to fight for you, for us. I love you. I always have.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion, broke something in me. For the first time in months, I saw the man I had fallen in love with, the man who had been buried beneath his fears and insecurities.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

James nodded, his eyes glistening. “I’ll earn it back. I promise.”

We stood there, both of us broken and scarred, but maybe—just maybe—there was a chance to heal. I wasn’t ready to forgive him, not yet. But as I looked into his eyes, I realized I wasn’t ready to walk away either.

___________________________________________________________

Months had passed since that heart-wrenching conversation, and though the pain hadn’t entirely vanished, we had started to rebuild—piece by fragile piece. James and I had taken things slow. He had apologized countless times, not only with words but with his actions, showing up for every doctor’s appointment, staying by my side during the hardest days of pregnancy, and fighting to earn back the trust he had shattered.

By the time the band’s tour kicked off, I had grown more comfortable with the idea of us—tentatively agreeing to join him for a few weeks. There was something cathartic about seeing him on stage, in his element, pouring his heart into the music. It was the same passion I had fallen for, the raw energy that made him who he was.

That night, the crowd roared as the band played their set. I stood backstage, watching James from behind the curtain. The energy of the performance was electrifying, but as the night wore on, I felt an unusual pressure in my belly. It started out mild, but soon a sharp pain gripped me. I pressed a hand to my stomach, my breathing becoming shallow.

I knew what it was. The baby was coming.

Another wave of pain surged, and I leaned against the wall, trying to steady myself, but it was no use. My knees buckled slightly, and panic flared in my chest. No, not now, not during the concert!

I winced, unable to call out over the blaring music and the chaos of the backstage area. The crew was bustling around, completely unaware of my situation. My vision blurred, but I managed to catch the eye of a stagehand nearby, my voice barely a whisper as I gasped, “Get… James…”

Her eyes widened in alarm when she saw the state I was in. Without hesitation, she rushed off, navigating through the flurry of activity until she reached the side of the stage. She tapped on the shoulder of the band’s tour manager, urgently pointing toward me, and within moments, a message was relayed to James over the in-ear monitors.

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, James glanced toward the side of the stage, his expression shifting from focused to alarmed. The guitar in his hands stilled mid-song, and the rest of the band kept playing as he tore off his in-ear monitors, rushing offstage toward me.

By the time he reached me, another contraction hit. I was clutching my stomach, struggling to breathe.

“The baby’s coming,” I managed to say between breaths, my voice weak. “Now.”

James’ face went pale. “Oh God, okay, okay… we need to get you to the hospital.”

He quickly helped me up, supporting me as I leaned on him, and together we moved through the maze of equipment and crew members. The sirens wailed in the distance as we made our way to the ambulance parked outside.

Once inside, James squeezed my hand tightly, his brow furrowed in worry. “You’re going to be okay. I’m right here,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but I could hear the tremor beneath it.

The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity, each contraction more intense than the last. James stayed focused on me, whispering encouraging words, but I could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Finally, we arrived at the hospital, and I was rushed into the delivery room. The world outside faded as I focused on the task at hand, the pain consuming me but accompanied by James' steady presence.

 

After what felt like hours, the moment finally arrived. The cries of our baby filled the room, and I looked at James, who stood by my side, tears streaming down his face.

 James leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead, the weight of the past finally began to lift. The room was filled with the soft coos of our newborn daughter, and in that moment, I felt a warmth spreading through me—a mixture of hope and love that I had thought lost forever.

“Can you believe we made her?” James asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced down at our daughter, who was peacefully nestled in my arms.

I smiled, my heart swelling with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he said, looking back at me with eyes full of adoration. There was a sincerity in his gaze that sent shivers down my spine, a reminder of everything we had been through together.

He gently reached for our daughter, and I carefully transferred her into his arms. The moment our baby was in his embrace, his expression softened, transforming into one of sheer wonder. He gazed down at her as if he had just been handed the greatest treasure in the world.

“Look at her,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “She has your smile.”

I watched as James became utterly enchanted, rocking her softly as if to soothe a restless heart. “But those eyes,” he continued, his breath catching in his throat, “she has my eyes.”

I leaned closer, gazing at our daughter, and my heart swelled with love as I saw the truth in his words. “You’re right. She has your eyes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And your spirit, I can tell already.”

James grinned, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I can’t believe I get to be her dad,” he said, emotion pouring from him. “I promise to always be here for you, for both of you. I want to build a future—a real future—with you.”

A thrill of excitement raced through me. “Really? You mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, looking up at me, his gaze steady and sincere. “I’ve learned so much about myself, about us. I won’t let fear or mistakes dictate our lives anymore. I want to be a family, to share every moment with you.”

As he continued to cradle our daughter, a soft smile spread across his face. “I can’t wait to teach her about music, to show her the world,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “I want to be the dad who’s always there, who shows up to every recital, every birthday. I want her to know she’s loved.”

My heart raced at his words, overwhelmed by the love radiating from him. “I want that too,” I said, feeling tears of joy prick at my eyes. “I want to share everything—the good and the bad.”

James took my hands in his, his grip warm and reassuring. “Then let’s do it together. One step at a time.”

As he leaned in, our foreheads touched, and the world around us faded into a soft blur. In that moment, everything felt right. We were two people, imperfect yet wholly devoted to each other, standing on the brink of a new chapter.

“I love you, James,” I breathed, feeling a sense of peace enveloping me.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

With a renewed sense of hope for our future, we shared a tender kiss, the promise of a beautiful life ahead lingering in the air.

As he continued to cradle our daughter, he looked down at her with a mixture of awe and determination. “You’re going to be so loved,” he said, his voice a gentle whisper. “And we’re going to take care of each other, always.”

Together, we would face whatever came next—hand in hand, heart to heart, as a family.

[river13245]

I would love to see some Timothy McGee.

Something on the lines of :

His “crew” keep on wondering why he has to bail out on dinners and keeps a low profile when going home not knowing that he just can’t wait to get back to reader and spend time with his loving boyfriend.

My Peace

Timothy McGee x Male reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: friends being nosy.

For the past two months Timothy McGee had been rushing off at the end of the day. Normally he would have stayed about an hour or so after so he could catch up on paperwork and some other things at his desk. Or stay back to help Abby with some things in her lab.

He still helps Abby sometimes but recently he has been saying goodbye to everyone. Then taking his paperwork home so he can finish it there. He has also been bailing out on dinners and group outings after work. When usually he is pleased to go. The thing that's caught Ziva and Tony's interest is the fact that he rushes out. Like he has some place to be.

So tonight after Timothy leaves Ziva and Tony come up with a plan. Its actually Tonys idea and Ziva goes along with it. "I can't be the only one that has noticed McGeeks behavior recently"

Ziva looks up from the work she is finishing up. Looking at Tony she nods "He has been acting different than he usually does. But im sure he just wants to get home." She says trying to steer Tony from making a scene.

It doesn't work as she plans because it makes Tony even more curious. "I'm going to figure out why he's been like this" before he can invite Ziva there's footsteps heard and in come Gibs. "You should have better things to do besides spying on McGee" he says as he goes to his desk and grabs a few things.

"yes boss" Tony says before sitting back down and finishing up his paperwork.

-----

Timothy had managed to leave without causing to many questions. He just wanted to get home because someone was waiting for him. His boyfriend whom he had been dating for a year now, had moved in with him recently. It was a big change for the both of them since now his boyfriend would be home alone many hours out of the day or night. But he seemed to be adjusting well.

Even though you had told him over and over again that you were fine. That you didn't mind being home alone after coming from work. He still felt bad and always tried to come home to you as early as he could. You never once made Tim feel bad for having to work many hours out of the day. It was his own mind eating away at him.

So when he finally made it home he walked in to the smell of food. He had texted you saying what time he should be home and it looked like you had made dinner. You were standing in the kitchen in a pair of sweatpants and a sweater since Tim always liked it a bit chilly in the house. You looked so handsome even when your hair was slightly messy.

He walks into the kitchen and places a kiss to your cheek. This causes you to smile and lean against him "welcome home handsome. Im making your favorite" you said as you finished up the food.

"Thank you for doing all of this. You didn't have to, I could have picked something up on the way home" he said. You turn to look at him once you turn the stove off. Your hands grabbing ahold of his own. "its the least I could do. You are here at a reasonable time tonight. We both deserve a home cooked meal. That's shared together"

Timothy's love languages were words of affirmation and physical touch. So you knew how to get him to relax and really be here with you. He looks down at you and leans to place a kiss to your lips. A smile on both of your faces. "I will always try to make it home at a reasonable time"

You squeeze his hand before making him a plate. He had went to go sit and you placed his plate in front of him before you yourself sitting down and enjoying your meal.

During your meal the both of you talked about your day. He talked about anything he was able to share with you. Most of what he talked about was the team though. Sharing stories about Tony and ZIva mostly but there were even some stories about Abby and their boss Gibs.

Then you told him about your week and that consisted of what kids have done and said. You were a teacher and a part time baker, you had your own bakery that you were in charge of. Telling him about the crazy orders that people have put in. About how many things you have to make this weekend when you don't have school.

As the both of you talked you ate. Timothy always making sure you knew he was listening to what you said. Asking questions to keep you talking. He loved the sound of your voice more than anything.

When the two of you had finished eating he had gotten from his seat and begun cleaning up. You walked up behind him and placed a kiss to his shoulders. "thank you for helping clean up. Would you like to play a video game together once you're finished?" you ask and he instantly smiles. "of course I would. How about we play that walking dead game you like so much"

The two of you get ready and sit on the couch playing a video game together. Not hearing the footsteps that were getting near your door.

----

Back at the job Tony had finished everything and had managed to get Ziva into coming with him. They had gotten everything and decided to come and see just exactly what McGee was hiding from them all.

So they got into the car and stayed outside the house for a few minutes. Seeing if there was any suspicious activity going on and from the most part they could see. Everything was normal except for the fact that Tim didn't unlock his door. It was already unlocked for him which was strange because everyone who worked this job. Always locked their doors and from what they have known he lived alone.

They had grabbed some fast food and ate in the car. When they decided to walk up to the front door to knock they hesitated. The reason they stopped was because they heard laughter and slight yelling from two people. It wasn't the type of yelling out of anger it was out of mock frustration at something.

Ziva turned to Tony "come on lets leave him be. What if there's a reason he isn't telling us something"

He shakes his head "If he isn't telling us its probably something bad. Just come on" His fist knocks on the door.

Its only a few minutes until the door opens and there stood a man. One who they have never met before, that stood there in one of McGees sweaters. "Hi" you say

Tony and Ziva look at each other for a second before McGee's voice comes around the corner and he sees whose at the door. "Tony, Ziva. What are you two doing here?" he asks

"we came to check on you. You've been acting more odd than usual and we thought something was up. Is there something you need to tell us?" Tony asks as if he's some family member catching him in a lie.

You laugh and shake your head. "Im y/n. McGees boyfriend. This isn't how we were planning on telling you guys. But its nice to meet the both of you nonetheless."

The four of you all talk and get acquainted. You actually get along pretty well. Ziva and you like to pick on Tony. You and Tony lovingly picking on Tim. However when it was time for them to leave. You were glad for it cause now you can spend the rest of the night playing the game and sleeping.

Turning to look at your boyfriend the both of you laugh. "well what a wonderful way to meet your team" you say with a smile.

[rrxnjun]

two people ;; mark lee

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader genre: wedding planner! mark, fiancé! jeno, strangers to lovers au | slice of life, slowburn, angst, hurt/comfort word count: 16.8k warnings: swearing, a break up a/n: i broke my own heart with this one. also, the blue monday series is finally over, after more than a year passing since i started it haha <3 sorry it took so long, but im happy to finally have a series that i managed to complete :) thank you for everyone that read the series, all of the fics are insanely special and to me and i hold them very dear to my heart. hope you like a painful hurt/comfort as our last stop!

synopsis: two people under bedsheets: one suffocating lover, one fool in a wedding gown. in other words, where you find the courage to get over your guilt and break free from your own promise, all becasue, in true irony, your wedding planner.

blue monday series | playlist

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE SHIVERING WITH COLD FEET

You’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

When your body hits the cold sheets of your bed, stumbling to your side of the mattress, you wonder if the heater broke again and you’re going to spend another night alone, shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling is quite uncomfy. It makes your bones itch, it makes you wonder what is wrong and why you’re suddenly so deep in your thoughts, wondering about all the different paths you could’ve taken. You try to battle the feeling, but there’s no use– it’s too strong and you’re too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements, wondering if you’ve woken him up. Feeling momentarily bad, you get ready to mumble a whispered apology for going to bed so late when you know that he has to wake up early for work tomorrow, acknowledging the fact that your arrival to bed always startles him and makes him wake up in the middle of the night, when a strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug.

His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaching your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes still closed, noticing his breathing being steady. You haven’t woken him up, you sigh in relief, eyes traveling along his face for some time, studying his features as if this was the first time he’s so close to you. 

His eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face making him perhaps one of the most handsome people you’ve ever seen. You remember all the girls in university being jealous of you, for you’ve managed to catch Lee Jeno– the Lee Jeno everyone had been pining over ever since before you enrolled, feeling pride for how long your relationship has lasted. The shape of his lips is now a familiar sight to you– you bet you could recognise his mouth even with your eyes closed, knowing his warmth and his mannerisms while kissing you by heart now, for it’s happened more times than you can count; more times than you can remember. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on your bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the weird feeling starting to dangerously spread across your insides again. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you fight the sigh that desires to come out of your chest.

Shimmering in the cold– because your body doesn’t let you absorb the hotness of his love anymore– you nervously play with the silver on your ring finger, twirling it around and feeling for the little pedant in the middle.

Almost like every other day, not being able to fall asleep, you’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

Heels clicking on the shiny white floor, you walk through the narrow hall of the building in the very center of your hometown, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. As you near the service you’re supposed to visit today, your heart starts doing little tumbles and turns, your hands shaky as you think of the appointment right in front of you. Taking a deep breath in and out, you run your hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself down for the last time as you open the door and step inside of the room, telling yourself that there’s no turning back now and you’re in it for good.

The bell above the door rings, making you cautiously look around the room, noticing the whole store decorated in white and nude tones, plants and flowers potted everywhere across the spacious room. In the corner of the whole store, you see a little light wooden desk with three cushioned chairs, a desktop computer in the corner, various catalogs scattered across the surface with some more in a little white IKEA bookshelf right behind it all. 

Admiring everything, you almost don’t notice the man peeking his head out of the door on the right, a hesitant look playing with his features. 

“Good morning,” he says, bowing to you out of politeness.

Caught off-guard for no reason at all, you turn your lips into a tight-lipped smile, greeting him. “Good morning! I’m… uh… I’m supposed to have an appointment today,” you say, playing with your fingers as you clasp your hands together at your waist.

“Oh,” he nods, finally coming out of the room, furrowed eyebrows and all, “Ms… and Mr Lee?” he asks, confirming, earning himself a hurried nod.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m- I’m Ms Lee to-be,” you clarify, licking your lips in nerves.

The man in front of you nods, ushering you towards the little station in the corner, leading you to the chair and inviting you to sit down. “And Mr Lee is…?”

“At work,” you mutter, putting your hair behind your ear, “he’s- he’s quite busy with work, usually, so he wasn’t able to come and I didn’t just want to cancel it, so I figured I can come alone, but- but he’ll be here the next time, I promise!” you hurriedly explain, suddenly feeling shy under the stranger’s gaze, not wanting to be judged by, who you assume is, your wedding planner.

His smile is gentle and reassuring, nodding as he stares into your eyes. “No worries! It’s okay, it’s just… unusual to come alone to a wedding planning, but I suppose we can work with only you today, then,” he says, his voice calm and sending shivers down your spine.

Clearing your throat, you take your eyes off the stranger in front of you, letting them travel all across the room, desiring to find something to put your attention towards. The whole situation feels weird and awkward. Who even comes to plan their wedding alone? It’s not like it’s only your wedding– there’s two of you that are getting married, and it’s only expected for you two to do it all together. And that’s how it was supposed to go anyway– the appointment at the wedding salon was scheduled a little over a few weeks ago, with Jeno reassuring you that he’s free that day; but when the day came and he told you he has work, you wanted to cancel it and come some other day. He refused, though, telling you that you can start on it alone and he’ll just compromise with you and follow what you’ve chosen.

It all feels like it’s supposed to be about you, but when your own wedding is the thing on line, it almost looks as if your own fiancé isn’t even interested in being a part of it. 

“My name is Mark Lee, by the way,” the man says after clearing his throat, catching your attention again and offering you his hand to shake, “I’m the person in charge of your wedding, it seems! I hope you find working with me on this important day fun and that we can arrange something you two have always dreamt of,” he smiles as you take his hand and shake it, noticing the warmness of his touch.

Mark Lee doesn’t seem like your typical wedding planner. The ones you see in the movies are almost always female, with long acrylic nails and blonde hair pinned up into a funky hair-do, with bright eyes and smile lines imprinted into their face. Mark Lee, on the other hand, is a male– which is unusual, to say the least– and he also seems nothing like the movies. He’s calm and gentle, although still excited to work with you on the day of your dreams, with a shy smile and honest eyes that are slightly covered by the fringe of his chocolate hair falling into them, making him look young and lively.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, “my name’s ______ ______,” you introduce yourself with your first and last name, not taking Jeno’s just yet and shuffling a little in your seat.

“Okay, so,” Mark says as he takes out a notepad and types in the password into the computer that’s sitting in the corner of the desk, “I suppose we can start brainstorming today? Maybe tell me your main ideas, what you want for the wedding and what you don’t, how you want it to be decorated, just- just the general idea, nothing too detailed. We can move further when your fiancé is here as well, to make sure your ideas align and stuff. Sounds okay?”

Humming in approval, you watch him click around for a bit, opening some documents, while also twirling his pen in his other hand, the movement of it through his fingers fascinating you. The steady motions of the blue plastic of the pen catch your eye and make you zone out for a few seconds, completely making you forget about the task at hand and clearing your head out.

“So, anything you have in mind?” Mark perks up your attention again, making you swiftly take your eyes off the pen in his hand and instead look into his eyes again, finding yourself having a hard time maintaining eye contact with his deep brown eyes.

“I- I…” you stumble over your words, trailing off as you get lost in your thoughts. Wondering what your ideal wedding should look like, you chew on your bottom lip and try to imagine the day playing out right in front of your eyes. Your imagination tends to be crazy and wild, completely vivid, but for some reason, in this moment, you can’t seem to see the scene materialize in front of your eyes no matter how hard you try, all moments of it in your brain turning out blurry and hazy, making you sigh in frustration.

What do you even want your wedding to look like? How do you want it to play out? The questions run through your brain in a rush, not letting you focus and come up with answers, making the man in front of you silently clear his throat to get your attention. 

Noticing that you’re probably wasting his time with this, your cheeks feel hot as you point your eyes towards your shoes, sighing. “I’m- I’m sorry. I think… I… I don’t- I don’t really think I have an idea of how the wedding is supposed to look like?” you mumble out, sounding more like a question than a firm answer.

“I see,” Mark answers, nodding in acknowledgement, “you have all the time you need, don’t worry. We’re here to make it perfect,” he says, smiling at you.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you realize you’ve never really fantasized about your wedding. You remember all your classmates at school sighing and gasping about the idea of a big wedding, marrying the love of their life; but you surely don’t remember ever engaging in those conversations. It’s like you never really cared to get married, you never really wondered how it would feel to kiss your loved one at the altar, you never really thought of it as a big deal. And now, when the day is supposed to come that those imaginations are to come true, you find yourself torn and confused, because how do you even chase a dream that was never there in the first place? How do you fulfill expectations you don’t have?

“To be honest, I have no idea about what I want, I just- I kind of know what Jeno would want, so I suppose I can just follow that, but- but I never really…” you trail off, seeing Mark nod and bite on his lower lip. 

“Uhm,” he hums in understatement, “I see. Maybe… maybe you can look through some catalogs and see what you like the best? I understand that you know what your fiancés' imaginations are, but I also want both of the parties to like the big day, so I need your input as well.”

Gulping, you hurriedly nod, sweaty palms reaching over to the magazines on the desk, desperately flipping through the pages and pointing your gaze towards the pictures, trying hard to admire the big ceremonies, the pink and red decorations, the flower crowns and red carpets on the beach; but once again failing, noticing that this is nothing close to what you imagine when you think of what’s supposed to be the happiest day of your whole entire life. 

The pages of the catalog stick together, making you desperately try to peel them off of each other with your clammy fingers, your breathing getting quicker as you notice the eyes of Mark Lee on your figure, watching over your every move. 

This is not at all how you imagined the appointment to go. You’re only wasting his time and embarrassing yourself– there’s no way you’re ever going back.

“Hey, I’ll send you this quiz, okay? It’s like a- like a little questionnaire where you pick and choose what you like and answer some simple questions and then it gives you a rough idea of what your wedding could look like based on these answers,” Mark says, making you halt in your motion, “I know this is probably a lot of pressure on you right now, since the whole process could be scary and stressful and you’re out here all alone, so don’t worry about not giving me an answer today, alright?”

You find yourself nodding, averting the hands off the pages of the catalog and pressing your body further into the chair. “Alright.”

“And you can also take some of these catalogs home and look through them, mark what you like, take notes in them… whatever you want, okay? And the next time you come with Mr Lee, you can tell me what you both like and we’ll work from that.”

Following his lead in the conversation, you nod again and watch him close the catalog you’ve been frantically searching through for the last few minutes, stacking some more on top of it and pushing the pile towards you so you can take it home. 

“Tell me your number so I can text you the link to the test and the next time you come, it will be easier, I promise.”

“Okay,” you nod, desperately trying to take your attention off the fact that you probably look like a little child, following each instruction that’s been given to you, too scared to take a move.

Paying your goodbye to the wedding planner and taking the pile of catalogs back to your car, your heels meeting the ground resonating all through the empty hallway as you walk out of the building, your mind flashes with the thought that Mark Lee already had your email address and he could’ve just sent you the link there.

Sitting in the silent car for a minute before you drive off, you try to battle the memory of what happened just a few minutes prior out of your head.

Fixing up your lipstick in the mirror of Jeno’s car, you get ready to enter the premises of the wedding salon once again, but this time, with your fiancé by your side. You suppose that the last meeting was completely useless- Jeno told you so as well, and you agree, in a way– but if you wouldn’t have gone to that first meeting, you think that the second one would make you even more nervous.

You see, it’s easier to pretend that you know what you want when you’ve rehearsed what you want to say beforehand. Taking the quiz Mark Lee sent you, and also a couple of more, accompanying yourself with catalogs, magazines and Pinterest boards while your fiancé was at work, you tried hard to come up with something you wouldn’t hate as much. 

Maybe you just don’t like the idea of a wedding. That doesn’t mean you should crush your fiancés dreams to the ground and make the whole thing more difficult than it should be. You’ll just go along with it, get married, and then, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. It's as simple as that– you’re good at compromising, after all.

“Ready?” Jeno asks you as you put the cap of the lipstick you’ve been using back on, shooting you a quick look before you nod and open the door of the car, climbing out of the vehicle.

Following Jeno’s footsteps, so confident and easy it almost makes you feel like he’s been here before, you reach the entrance of the wedding salon in no time. You texted Mark about the time of the next meeting a week ago– you figured it’s easier to communicate like this, instead of emailing each other back and forth. Finding a time when it would be fine with both Jeno and you, and also looking for a free time in Mark’s schedule was quite difficult, but you managed to find a spot on a Thursday afternoon. 

You hoped the day would come slower than it did, but as we all know, life doesn’t work like we want it to all the time.

Hearing the ring of the bell above the door, your wedding planner is already waiting for you at the computer, a welcoming smile adoring his features. You find yourself smiling back at him, easing into the situation. The man in front of you is wearing black jeans and a white button-down, opting to a more professional look, as he shakes his hand with your fiancé and introduces himself. 

“Hello!” Mark smiles, sitting down at the stool, pointing his eyes towards the computer and clicking around for a bit, seemingly opening some document where he can note down everything you two tell him about the vision you have for your wedding. “So, as I already mentioned with Y/N the last time, I’d like to hear some brainstorming from both of you right now, just to see the general idea that we can build off of next. Sounds good?”

Jeno offers him a nice smile, the one where his eyes crinkle up into moon crescents, turning into the adorable samoyed you fell in love with in university. Reaching for his hand, you try to calm yourself down by playing with his fingers– an action you always used to practice whenever you were nervous about something– ready to continue with the planning of your wedding. 

“Sounds great,” Jeno agrees, making Mark nod at his answer, glad with the reply he got. Resting his back against the chair, the man in charge of your wedding looks at you with expecting eyes, ready to hear your answers.

“So, what comes into your mind when you think of your wedding?” Mark asks.

Jeno looks at you for a split second, smiling, as if he was waiting for you to go first and say your ideas. When you don’t comply and stay silent instead, he wastes no time in turning to the other man in the room, talking enthusiastically about what’s going to be the most important day of his life, making you stare at him in examination and interest.

“I think of something romantic. I like grand gestures and big things, so I want our wedding to be one big party where everyone has fun and stays up the whole night,” he starts, making you hum. You knew that Jeno was into these kinds of things– he never missed a chance to celebrate anything with his friends Doyoung and Renjun. Even the way he proposed to you was a grand gesture in itself.

The whole thing played out on your vacation in Spain. You like Spain– the architecture, nature and the sea. Everything about it is your ideal vacation spot, a spot that makes you relax and reset after the whole year. Your first vacation with Jeno was in Spain, and so to be proposed to in the same spot you two walked across together a little over 4 years ago was only fitting and romantic. The beach spot you two found together when you graduated from university was decorated with flower petals and fairy lights, making you wonder how and when your dear partner managed to set all of this up, and when he kneeled down and asked you to marry him, you didn’t have it in you to say no. 

Not that you wanted to say no, of course. You’re in love with Lee Jeno– you somehow think that you always have been and also you always will. Marriage is a big step, though, so you think that the status itself was what made you halt and hesitate for a split second before you replied a teary-eyed “Yes” and kissed your boyfriend with fondness and urgency.

“Alright, sounds good. When you close your eyes and imagine the day, what do you see? Anything specific?” 

Jeno hums, even closing his eyes and thinking deeply, before he replies with a grin. “I see people dancing. I also think I’d like it to be in a big venue, a lot of white and pink… something similar to what you have going on right here, to be honest,” he says.

“Great. Y/N?”

Raising your brows up, startled, you point your look to Mark and realize he wants you to answer his question as well. A wedding is a thing for two– at least– so it’s only normal for him to expect you to have some opinion and idea of what you want.

“I… I’d like it to be something small and comfy? With my closest friends, and stuff. I don’t mind it being decorated simply, since… I’m not really that about flowers and… all that romance stuff…” you say honestly, making sure the rehearsed sentences you made up in your mind on your way here sound gullible. 

It’s not that you’re lying– you just, frankly speaking, still don’t think you love the idea of a wedding. What you’ve said is just a thing you know you’d hate the least. 

Mark looks at you with an examining look, furrowing his eyebrows as he nods and notes down everything both of you have said into the computer. 

“That’s… your opinions are completely opposite, to be honest, but I’m sure we can find a compromise and create something both of you would like. I’ll show you some catalogs and you can both point to things you’d like, okay?” Mark says, rummaging through the drawers of his desk and offering you some magazines, almost identical to the ones you have at home from the last time you visited.

Seeing Jeno taking charge and flipping through the pages with much excitement, you watch his profile when he smiles and points to pictures of greatly decorated wedding halls, churches, tables full of cakes and a picture of the groom and the bride photographed together in a dramatic posture, dipped down and kissing. Flower petals, sparkles and fairy lights everywhere– this is the image of a wedding your fiancé would love, and you’re aware of the fact all too well.

“Isn’t this great, love?” he asks, not even tearing his eyes off the page he’s currently looking at, too busy with studying all the details, already imagining the two of you in the moment captured on one of the pictures in the catalog.

Eyes glazing over the glossy page, you bite down on your lower lip, sighing. 

Again, you don’t find it in you to disagree. He looks so excited and you wouldn’t want to break his heart with your decision.

So instead, you only nod and try to put on your best excited tone. “It looks amazing, Jeno.”

Your eyes meet Mark’s for a moment. 

The look is full of stern sympathy.

ONE SUFFOCATING LOVER ONE FOOL IN A WEDDING GOWN

The next part of your wedding planning journey is perhaps the one you, as the bride, should find the most exciting. How you’re gonna look on your big day is truly important, since you can only imagine full instagram stories of the wedding of every single guest invited, and also, the pictures you take on your wedding are what’s shown around to next generations, making your kids look at the moments captured in time, making them see the blueprint of what’s love supposed to look like while also simultaneously reminiscing of the feelings that died down over the years, simmered and a little washed-out into gray.

Maybe the last thing is what is making you despise the idea of marrying someone so much. What if, after many many years, when you’re at the end of your journey, the pictures would bring more pain than joy? What if it’s a painful reminder of something great that you no longer have in your grasp?

You don’t know what’s making you feel so conflicted about the whole thing. Thinking about it is scary, but the underlying stress of everything is still present and makes you constantly feel like you’re walking on eggshells, bound to mess something up.

Standing in another wedding salon, joined by your closest friend Seori– because you despise the idea of a big group of screaming women joining you on your journey of your own remake of Say yes to the dress– and your wedding planner Mark, you wait for inspiration to kick you and set you off to hunting down the perfect wedding dress. 

“Hello, hello,” a man– lean in posture, wearing dress pants and loafers– joins your little group, a bright smile sitting on his face as he speaks to you, “I’m Na Jaemin, nice to meet you!”

Bowing to the man in formality and shaking his hand, introducing both yourself and your best friend of many years, you grow hesitant in your place. Eyes roaming around the room– walls painted a light peach color, creating a beautiful contrast with the white dresses hung all around the room– you take a deep breath in and out, taking a glimpse of Mark Lee standing by your side and saying something to you.

“This is where we usually go with our brides to pick out dresses, since Jaemin here has the most amazing assortment of all kinds and styles,” Mark explains, making you notice that the two men seem rather close. As you nod and walk around the salon with Seori, they catch up for a minute before the one with blonde hair walks up to you with a bright smile.

“Do you have any preferences about the dress? Any image in your head?” he asks, making you startled. This is not the first time you’ve heard someone ask you about your preferences for the wedding, yet, the question always surprises you and catches you off guard. Usually, you’d consider yourself a woman with strong opinions that’s not afraid to voice them– you’ve gotten into multiple arguments about feminism over your university years– but suddenly, you feel weak and disheartened, shrugging.

“I’ve looked on Pinterest the last night… and the last couple of nights, actually,” you softly laugh, trying to ease yourself into the conversation, “I found more styles that I liked, but I’m not sure if they would fit me well.”

“That’s what we’re here for!” Jaemin encourages you. “Just pick up whatever you like and we’ll help you try it on! Any adjustments needed will be done here, so don’t stress about it.”

Gratefully smiling and nodding at the man, you turn to the rack full of pearl white and shades of cream, your hands start working before your brain does, moving the hangers around and taking a look at all of the dresses available, taking your time. You’re not quite sure what would look good on you, not really able to imagine the dresses on your figure, and you feel the mental block of not being excited enough about all of this holding you back and tying you down. 

“What about these?” Seori asks, an excited glint in her voice. Turning around to her, seeing the dress she’s picked out, you can’t help but giggle, since the dress is awfully similar to the obnoxious gown you wore to your senior prom, just in white. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you laugh, coming up to her and taking the hanger into your hands, “one look and I’m back in high school,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief and hanging the dress back onto the rack, giving up on that option already.

“I still remember how funny you looked,” Seori laughs, poking fun at you, “I can’t believe you wore that.”

“I can’t believe you let me wear that!” you argue back. The memories of your senior prom hit you with a sense of weird nostalgia. It was all so easy back then– you went with Jeno, and you had a lot of fun together. It felt like an end of an era, and it truly was just that, even though the reality of it didn’t click for you back then. You’ve lived through multiple stages of your life with Jeno, and to think you’re going to be with him until the end of your life, seems oddly unbelievable on your insides. 

“You were unstoppable, girl,” Seori grins, shaking her head. Continuing to look through the dresses, you pick out a few that you like, hesitantly moving them to the separate rack that’s emptied out for your options. Catching a glimpse of Mark sitting at one of the sofas, alongside with Jaemin, your eyes meet as he offers you a warm smile. This works as a reassurance, making you walk back to the dresses, standing next to Seori, seeing her pick up another white gown, showing it to you.

The dress is long and lacy, decorated with mesh on the shoulders, flowery details scattered all along the skirt. You can’t help but find the dress a little obnoxious, a little too much, perhaps, yet, you’d still call the piece of clothing beautiful, for you can see the appeal of a princessy look for most women your age. Hesitantly scanning over the many details, Seori speaks up to you.

“Jeno would love this on you.” 

Meeting her eyes, she looks at you warmly. She’s known Jeno for as long as you have, all of you being friends since high school, so you can’t say she wouldn’t know. Because, frankly speaking, it’s true– Jeno would love that dress, and he would love it on you. It fits the image of his ideal wedding perfectly, with all the romanticness, all the grand gestures matching with the long skirt and the girly detailing across the neckline. You hate the dress, you feel sick as you’re looking at it, it makes you feel claustrophobic and dizzy, yet, the words that came out of Seori’s mouth resonate in your head over and over, making you pick up the hanger and move it to the rest of your options.

Jeno would love that dress.

“I… I think I have enough options now, I’m gonna try some on,” you say, smiling at the men sitting on the sofa, being met with eager nods of acknowledgement. The two of them seem to talk like old friends, and you can’t help but wonder why Jeno doesn’t meet up with his friends anymore and why he no longer has time for anything other than work. You’d like to see him like this– immersed into a conversation, yet, still playful and happy to just… exist.

Seori helps you into the dresses behind the curtain of the dressing room. The first few of them are a miss, you don’t like the way they look on you and the way some dresses enhance the features you dislike on yourself, saying no to them almost instantly. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get through all the dresses; it feels like infinity, like the time’s stopped and you’re stuck in this loop forever, when only two dresses are left: the one Seori picked out and your own, personal favorite.

Choosing the one Jeno would love the most, you wear it and hear Seori squeal out with excitement. “This looks so good on you! Oh my god!”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you look like the woman Jeno would want to marry. Like a cut-out from the wedding magazines he likes to look through on his free days, you spin around like a princess, fitting the image of Jeno’s ideal wedding almost perfectly– with all the flowery details and romantic style. 

“Do you like it?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. You must seem unsure– but on the inside, you are screaming. The claustrophobic feeling settles into your chest again, making you feel like you’re suffocating on the inside, making you desire to rip the gown off and never see it again. 

“Let’s show them!” Seori says, opening up the curtain and making you step outside of the dressing room, turning you in your place so you twirl like a Disney princess. “Doesn’t she look magical?” 

Jaemin instantly nods, a happy glint in his eye. You wonder if he likes his job so much– he certainly looks like it, from the never-disappearing smile on his face and the enthusiasm he walks around the place with. You’re quite jealous of him. He seems like the perfect image of what you’ve dreamt of being when you graduated university– a person with their life together, loving their stable job and starting a family. Yet, you’re here– seemingly put together in a wedding dress that makes you panic, the eyes of everyone on you feeling judging, not sure of what to do and to which direction to step towards to finally get yourself together.

“She looks amazing!” you hear Jaemin say, making you nod with tight lips. “Is this your favorite one?” he asks.

Opening your mouth to agree– even though it’s a lie– you blink a few times to calm yourself down. The mental image of your favorite dress still waiting at the empty rack, waiting to be tried on, burns in the back of your brain, but you’ve said goodbye to it the moment you dressed up as Jeno’s bride. 

“It can’t be,” Mark says, making you look at him with glossy eyes, confused.

“B-but-”

“You have one more to try on. You’ll see which one you like better after, okay?” he says, almost as if he was reading your mind, seeing the hesitance you tried so hard to hide.

Nodding, you step inside the dressing room again, changing the dress for the one you picked out with the help of your best friend. Taking a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your eyes almost start to water, the A-line of the skirt and the simplicity of it all making you feel the best, like you could actually imagine yourself getting married, if you were wearing this gown. Turning around in your place, admiring the silk fabric, you don’t think you could ever find a better one. 

Yet, the other dress still sits in the back of your mind like a bad memory, not letting you leave without it. It’s there, pettily kicking it’s foot against the flooring of your brain, bringing you headache and making you nervous as your clammy fingers move your hair away when you step outside of the room, ready to be criticized by the other people at the salon.

Eyes shaking, they find solace in the features of your wedding planner, his eyes like big pools of honey when he softly traces over the lines of your body, his lips parted agape. The expression makes you shy away from his gaze, heat rising to your face when you notice light pink dusting the man’s cheeks, quickly breaking his gaze from you.

“You look beautiful,” he mumbles, clearing his throat. The compliment should sound more casual than it has, the three words making your hands shake as you turn back to the mirror, forcing yourself to watch your surroundings through it instead, shielding yourself from the situation.

“Thank you,” you say.

“So, which one do you like more?” Jaemin asks, walking up to you and tightening the dress around your waist, showing you its full potential. 

Locking eyes with Seori, you see that she’s not up to the simplicity of the dress you’ve got on. You see the suggesting look to the other dress, the one that makes you drown in despair, the one that you should be wearing, logically; the one that Jeno would love to see you in, the one you should be wearing to be his wife. 

Pupils shaking as you take your reflection in for the last time, you’re ready to say goodbye. You’re ready to take the dress off and force yourself to forget about it, force yourself to never think of how pretty you thought you looked wearing it, force yourself to never see the image of you in your brain– to not cause yourself the bittersweet feeling you’ve been getting used to recently.

“Y/N, you should… You should only think about yourself right now, okay? Our opinions don’t matter,” Mark says from behind you, your eyes locking in the mirror. He uses the word ‘our’, suggesting that you shouldn’t think about the people in this room, that you shouldn’t think about what Seori, Jaemin, or Mark himself thinks, but somehow, you feel as if the words had a deeper meaning.

Perhaps he’s telling you to forget about Jeno’s opinion for a minute. To truly let yourself get lost in the planning of the wedding, to let go of the opinion that’s weighing you down the most of them all. To pick the dress you like, and not the one your fiancé would.

“This is the only part of the wedding that’s completely up to you, after all. Maybe you should take advantage of that,” Mark completes, sending an encouraging smile towards your figure.

And he’s right. You can’t be fully in charge anywhere else– almost to the point of feeling like your opinion doesn’t matter if it’s not the same as your fiancé’s– and maybe, that’s what’s making you feel so restricted in the whole process.

Maybe you should take your favorite dress. Maybe you should do at least one thing for yourself.

The trips to Mark Lee’s wedding salon are a usual thing now. It’s your first time planning a wedding for yourself, and while you also truly hope it’s also the last time, you can’t help but feel a little weirded out at the ordinariness of it all. You get used to the trips to the salon, you get used to the time it takes you to drive there in your small car– letting you time the songs in your playlist almost perfectly until the last moment when you park and turn the engine off– only when you’re driving there alone, though, because Jeno likes to pick the music when he drives and compromise is one thing you two can’t do when it comes to a playlist. It’s okay, though. You drive to the wedding salon more times alone than with your fiancé, and while it’s unusual and you’d really want him to be there, you guess you can’t really do anything about it now. It’s not like he was the one to ask you to marry him, after all… 

“What about the honeymoon?” Mark asks one day, looking at you from under his eyelashes. The weather outside is cold and he’s wearing a thick hoodie, his whole outfit looking twice as cozy as your little thin jacket that you threw on yourself quickly before leaving the house. The image of his sweater paws makes you wonder how it would feel to be in the soft material of his light gray hoodie, making you almost slap yourself when you're caught on your own with the thought in your brain. It’s not like you’re thinking of another man when you’re on your way to get married, that’s not it– it’s just the simple jealousy of the warmth Mark radiates that’s gotten you to this point. 

Shrugging, you glance at him, meeting his chocolate eyes. “I bet Jeno would love to go somewhere to the sea. We got engaged on a beach, so I guess that’s the right way to go.”

Scribbling on the notebook that’s sitting on his table– you wonder when he switched from his laptop to written notes; maybe it’s the power crisis– he hums before he turns back to you with an examining look. “And you?”

After working for you for a couple of weeks, the man should already know that it’s no good to ask for your opinion when it comes to your wedding. You don’t really have an image in your mind, and when you do, there’s no use in pushing through with your view, since Jeno’s would always be stronger, and what Jeno says, usually goes. And you love him– he’s the one dreaming so much about marriage. So you do what he wants, naturally. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

Earning yourself a sigh from Mark, you almost laugh at his annoyed look. “How many times do I have to tell you that you need to tell me something I can work with, Y/N?” he asks.

After so many days spent at the wedding salon with Mark Lee, you two have come to a state of a casual friendship. It’s not all so formal and stern anymore, leaving you two space for jokes and snarky comments about cliche decorations shown on the shiny pages of magazines, making you two comfortable with each other enough to joke about looking dead when the other one is tired and telling each other about your days when you have time. Ever since you two have met, you’ve been the most indecisive person Mark Lee’s ever known– and he’s met a lot of people in his profession of a wedding planner so far. The only thing you’ve ever had a straight opinion on was the wedding dress.

He can’t get the picture of you in your dress out of his mind. Sure, he’s seen a lot of brides before, the image not really impacting him as much anymore as before– for the look on the bride’s faces never failed to make him emotional with the premise of the fact that he’s a part of something beautiful. He’s seen a lot of brides and weddings before, but in the white lights of the bright salon, he couldn’t help but think that you’ve been the most beautiful one so far, and he can’t seem to imagine anyone ever beating you. It’s a silly thought– one that he finds himself battling more times than he should, but it’s still there, in the back of his mind, whenever you two meet eyes. 

That’s why he couldn’t let you choose the dress Jeno wanted. Not because he would be selfish– at least he desperately hopes he’s not selfish for wanting to see you in that dress again, at least once, at the wedding– but because he knows that you wouldn’t feel like yourself in the other one. And why would he let that happen, when he’s practically the one in charge of the whole ceremony?

And so, the fact that you say you don’t know what you’d like for your honeymoon doesn’t surprise him. But still, he wishes you could let yourself get more in tune with your opinions than Lee Jeno’s. At least when he’s not present…

“I know, I know,” you roll your eyes at the scolding manner, “but I just… I’ve never thought about it before, I guess?”

“That makes sense, I mean, it’s your first time getting married,” he shrugs, “but you must have a place you’d like to see one day, no? A place both of you, with Jeno, would love to travel to one day,” he says, looking at you with expectations in his orbs.

Lost, shrugging at his question, you almost look full of despair and confusion. Truth be told, planning a wedding is not as relaxing as one would think. There’s many things to take in mind, a lot of things that can go wrong and need to be taken care of. And you keep telling yourself that it’s going to be alright and that it has to be the most perfect day of your life, but you just can’t seem but to be a little stranded, especially in moments when Jeno isn’t by your side; when he’s the one that should be in charge, and not you. 

Maybe Mark can read your mind. Or maybe, he’s just too good at reading people.

“Okay, relax,” he smiles, nudging your leg a little under the table, “then just… think about what you’d like to see. Your dream holiday destination. A place you always wanted to visit. Don’t think about the honeymoon thing or the wedding, if that helps.”

The grateful smile on your face is like a reward for the man, your eyes close a little as you lean back in the chair and think of the place you’d love to see the most. Not held by the grudges of the wedding, not holding on to the thought of a honeymoon, you find it easier to see the place right in front of your eyes, to focus on the noise of the destination, the crowded town centers and amazing architecture; you find it easier to be in tune with what you want, letting go of the thing you always force yourself to say.

“I’d love to go to France. Paris. I- I know they say it’s dirty, but frankly, I just want to see it with my own eyes at least once. And I think it’s quite romantic,” you say, opening your eyes to see the man in front of you glancing at you with a soft smile playing with his features, feeling yourself getting shy as your cheeks heaten up at the words you’ve just uttered out of your lips, “oh god, this might just be the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”

Mark chuckles, shaking his head at you. “It’s a nice change.”

Scratching the back of your neck, you watch as the man scribbles down the word ‘Paris’ into his notebook, the lack of eye contact leaving you with your walls down and your soul in open. “But I don’t think- I don’t think Jeno would like to go to Paris. I’ll think of something else, so it fits…”

Looking back up at you, the shame mirroring in your eyes when he examines your whole figure, he lets himself shake his head in disbelief, showing you his true opinion on the comment. “I think you should compromise, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

“That’s not a compromise, Y/N,” he says, his voice considerate, “that’s just… you compromising. Not Jeno. Never Jeno.”

And while you’d like to tell him that that’s how it’s supposed to be, because you already agreed to the wedding despite not making your mind yet, while you’d like to tell him that you owe it to him for not being fond of the idea, while you’d like to tell him that what Jeno says goes, because you can’t imagine yourself breaking his heart with telling him that this is not at all what you want– you stay quiet. Shrugging, you avert your gaze to the ground.

“I’m fine with that. I’m more than happy to comply, if he’s happy.”

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE WALLOWING IN DEFEAT

Swirling the maroon liquid around in your tall glass, feet dressed in warm socks as you’re twisted into a blanket burrito, you overlook the figure of your fiancé sitting at your small couch, papers sprawled all around the coffee table. Taking a sip of the red wine, you feel comfortable for the first time in weeks– you don’t feel rushed, you don’t feel like there’s a burden on your shoulders– and you pray hard that it’s not just the effect of alcohol.

“Can you pass me that paper?” you ask Jeno, seeing him turn around with his half-wet hair, having just come out of the shower after work, his slight smile putting you at ease.

“Which one?”

“The list of guests. The one in the corner,” you point to the paper sitting at the coffee table, the contents of it another important step closer to your wedding. Mark advised you two to compile a list of all the people you want to invite to your wedding, so you know how big of a venue you’ll need to rent out. You complied to his request, sitting at your table one afternoon and scribbling down names of all the people you’d miss at your wedding, having the list not being that long– there was around 15 people, including your family, and you knew damn well that some of the people in your list will overlay with Jeno’s, for you have a couple of mutual friends.

“Oh,” he nods, passing you the list, “want to go over it? I did mine a while back, when you were at work,” he adds, making you nod.

“Sure.”

“Are you inviting girls from university?” he asked, looking at you from under his eyelashes. He knew some of your friends from uni, and while you could very well imagine your wedding full of people that you barely knew, it’s not something you strive for. Your wedding, at least in your head, is supposed to be a little safe haven– a place where you dance around and have fun, a place where you know each face that shows up, being able to let loose and enjoy the evening with your closest friends. So, to Jeno’s question, you shake your head in disagreement.

“Only a couple,” you say, “my roommates, yes. The other ones, I don’t really need there.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, squinting his eyelashes. In the midst of the scattered sheets of paper on the coffee table, he finds his own list, full of lazy scribbles in black ink. You can tell he took the paper you keep in the kitchen for when you need to write down a shopping list, because it’s a little greasy at the bottom. Looking over the names he’s written down, you notice that his list is significantly longer than yours, and you can also tell that some names, you barely even recognise.

“You want that many people to attend?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I want them all there. Besides, my family’s big, so I can’t really make the list shorter, if that’s what you’re implying,” he notes, taking you off-guard with the sudden protest to something you haven’t even started talking about yet.

“I-I wasn’t saying that, but I think we could… go through your list and maybe forget about some people? I mean, my list is only 15 people long, and if we go through with what you have, we’d have to rent a big venue, and I can only imagine how expensive that will be…” you mumble, trying hard to pursue him.

There’s a shadow of an encouraging smile somewhere in the back of your head, a soft memory of a voice telling you that you two should compromise– you bet it’s Mark Lee, but you won’t admit that to anyone. Something about his words on your last meeting struck with you, though, and even though you would love to comply to everything Jeno wants, because he’s the one in desire of a wedding, you find yourself protesting to his idea, because, frankly, maybe you do not want to spend that much money on a venue, and also, maybe because you wanted your wedding to be small and intimate.

“I don’t care how much it costs, Y/N,” he shrugs, “it’s our wedding. We can spend some money on the special day.”

Sighing, you chew on the inside of your cheek. ���I just thought we could have a smaller wedding, you know. I always wanted it to be filled with people I know, people I can’t imagine the day go by without, so I was very cautious with the choice of my guests-”

“And I wasn’t?” he cuts you off, suddenly all defensive.

“That’s not what I said, Jeno-”

“Look, I don’t want to cut anyone off the list. You have your own guest list and I have mine. We rent a venue that can fit both, okay?” he insists, making you finally snap, annoyance for the first time slipping off your tongue.

“Why can’t we just compromise on this?”

The man looks at you with cold eyes, something you never imagined to see from a man you’re in love with. Sure, you’ve had arguments before. Yes, they scared you a little each time, but they weren’t anything you weren’t sure you wouldn’t get through. You and Jeno argue over small, blatant things, things you can fix in a second– nothing to make you worry. This time, though, there’s a hit in your stomach that makes you freeze in your movements, halt in your step. Maybe you’ve hit a weak spot in him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, full of frustration as he throws the paper onto the table and storms off, closing the door behind him as he walks off to the bedroom, ready to sleep.

Is this how your dialogue was supposed to go? With you stating your needs, and him telling you to get over it? Do whatever you want?

You scoff. As if you wanted to get married in the first place…

Drinking the rest of the glass, you shuffle further down into the sofa, trying hard to make yourself fall asleep in the living room, despite your thoughts running around like they’re on a marathon. The warmth that radiated off the man and the whole situation is now long gone, leaving you feeling like an unlit fireplace, hugging yourself as if to shield your body from the impact of the silent sobs that dare to cut out of your throat.

What Jeno wants, goes. How silly of you to think you can compromise.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re just not holding on to something that’s slowly burning out. Looking at your fiancé in the wedding salon right now, his side profile so perfect you’ve gotten used to it over the years, you reminisce about the memories you two have made together during your early stages of the relationship. The images flash through your brain in a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia, making you desire a time of life that’s no longer here, because you’re getting older and settling down. It’s not like you can feel free forever, you just don’t feel like you’re free in the relationship anymore– and truth be told, you were free and in love in all those moments you think of with a soft smile, so why is the essence of it no longer there? Is it really just because the thought of marrying someone is so deeply terrifying to you, or is there something more to it?

“Do you like these?” Jeno asks, holding up a wedding invitation to you. It’s snow white and the corners are rimmed with a rose gold color, everything falling perfectly with the decorations and the whole theme of your wedding.

“I do,” you nod.

You don’t.

Everything about the whole day, the closer it is, the more scary it truly feels to you. You can’t bring yourself to think of it, to imagine it, to have the promise of staying with Lee Jeno until the rest of your life right there in front of you eyes, and it all makes you wonder– truly, deeply reflect on yourself– as to why you don’t want that, and why you’re so scared of staying with him forever, when in theory, he’s the one you love and the one you should want to marry. 

“And what about these ones?”

“They’re pretty,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

You wonder if this is just the aftertaste of the fight you had about the number of guests. Maybe you just don’t feel in tune with it because neither of you has acknowledged the argument yet, maybe because you feel bitter because you felt like your opinion wasn’t valid in the process. Maybe that’s what’s making you soullessly stare into nowhere, eyes trailing over the white walls and the clasped hands of your wedding planner sitting cautiously right opposite of you– maybe that’s what’s making you agree to everything Jeno likes; because your opinion will never matter in the first place.

But that’s okay. That’s your fate now– that’s what you signed up for, after all. You agreed to marry him. You told him yes, even though the reply wasn’t clear in your head, you said you’d love to spend your forever with him, even though the feelings battling inside of you were so conflicting, yet the one you were leaving more towards was the urge to run away. So now, you have to face it; you have to marry him, because you lied to him about your emotions, because you let him down with a promise you never wanted to keep; because you can’t face the reality of breaking the man’s heart when all he did was love you deeply.

And it’s not even that you don’t love him anymore. Maybe you just hate the idea of your relationship feeling ordinary. Maybe you’re selfishly just bored. 

“So, which ones do you prefer?” Jeno asks, looking at you with big eyes. If you stare into them for long enough, you could even see a hint of him trying to do better– asking for your opinion and ready to respect it, a hint of him saying sorry for the things he’d said without words, laying the opportunity of being in charge to you again. 

Shrugging, you chew on the inside of your cheek. You hate both. You hate the idea of every single wedding invitation, because you don’t want a wedding, and the idea of using these little pieces of cardboard to invite numerous people to see you lying into your partner’s eyes makes you want to dig a hole and lie in it, maybe even bury yourself alive. “I like both.”

“But we need to choose one,” he insists, putting a hand to your thigh, his grip soft, yet protective and comforting. You used to love his sudden touches, the affection seeping off his fingers any time his fingertips glazed the surface of your skin. Now, you find yourself wanting to shrug the hand off, for the contact of it with your body burns, making you guilty for a mess that’s currently going on in your head, making you dizzy and confused.

“I-” you stutter, “which ones do you like?” you ask, helpless.

Eyes scanning over your figure, Jeno almost pressures you for more. He almost asks for your opinion again, wanting to see the excited glint in your eye as you look through the magazines and choose your wedding invitations, but when he finds nothing in the endless pools of your eyes, he knows to step back and leave it be, a hopeless sigh escaping his lips. “I like the first ones better.”

You could guess the answer if you were asked to.

Smiling, you nod. “I was leaning towards these as well.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Totally,” you nod, trying to reassure him with a soft smile. You’re not sure if it reaches your eyes– you just know that if it doesn’t, Jeno can clearly tell.

“Okay, that’s all for today, I think,” Mark concludes, making you look at him. His chocolate orbs are plastered on your distressed face and you feel naked in front of him, you feel as if he can see right through your lies, as if he can tell that you really want to be anywhere but here right now. 

“Thank you,” Jeno smiles at your wedding planner, the two of them shaking hands in a formal manner before your fiancé stands up from his chair and reaches for his coat, ready to leave the office. When your eyes meet with Mark’s, you offer him a friendly smile– the one you always have saved for him– and turn towards your coat as well, ready for your departure. Just when you’re about to leave the room, Mark’s voice echoes after you, making you halt in your movements.

“Actually, I forgot… Can I talk with Y/N alone for a sec? It’s about dresses, so… you’re not really allowed to hear, Jeno,” he says, cracking his knuckles as he utters those words, making you nod as Jeno offers him a polite nod, telling you that he’ll be waiting for you in the car outside. Once the door closes behind him and the room falls silent, you move closer towards Mark, looking at him with expecting eyes.

“What is it?” you ask.

Mark takes a deep breath in and out, shaking his head as if to get his thoughts straight, before he looks at you again with softness in his eyes, his voice barely louder than a whisper– for the contents of his speech are something that should be banned to say, especially in a setting like this. “You know you can still back away, right?”

Looking at him for a few seconds, a few seconds that feel like eternity, you blink at him in shock and surprise. “What?”

“There’s still time to say no,” he says, now looking you dead in the eyes, the expression stern, yet considerate. 

His words can’t really process in your head, the whole situation making you break down your walls as you shake your head, running your hand through your hair. Scoffing in disbelief, you turn defensive– because who is Mark Lee to tell you anything about your upcoming marriage and why can he see right through you? Who gave him the right to see through your walls, through the facade you built up all those months ago; who let him make you feel utterly, completely naked in front of him, scared of what he’ll see inside? 

“What are you even talking about?” you snap.

“I think you know what I mean, Y/N,” he says.

“I-” you stutter again, all words stuck inside of your throat, “why would I even want to do that? Why would I want to call it off?”

“Y/N-”

Nothing can stop the tangent that’s incoming out of your lips right now– not the soft, considerate look he gives you, not the eyes full of truth and honesty staring right inside of your soul, not the soft touch on your shoulder that you shrug off in the speed of light as your hands fly into the air in frustration. “It’s not your place to tell me to cancel my wedding, Mark, and I don’t know what’s gotten into your brain to make you think for just a second that that’s what I want to do, because- because I know that I’ve been out of it, I do know that, but I just- I just can’t do that to Jeno even if I really wanted to, you know?” you let out, tired voice echoing off the walls of the salon. “So don’t go around and tell me I can still say no, when I’ve already said yes, and don’t try to tell me that this is what I want, because I truly, deeply wish that I didn’t.”

The defeated look on your face is enough for the man to break, yet, he offers you nothing more than silence as you stare him down, wordless and empty. Breathing heavily, you turn to the door, shaking your head in disapproval of the whole thing.

Turning around one last time at the door, you try to burn Mark Lee down with your eyes, for the comfort he gives you with this new opportunity both sets you free and makes you suffocate at once, his words make your insides burn with ashes as you desperately try to breathe for fresh air– the whole thing leaves you mad and stranded, completely alone and left to lean on nobody, because the one that’s supposed to be there for you now and forever is the object of this mere conversation.

“Don’t- don’t mention this again,” you sternly say, reaching for the doorknob, feeling a stray tear falling off your cheek as you escape the pure white walls of his office. 

This whole time, you didn’t even notice you’ve been crying.

Voices of the people present resonate through the half-empty venue, pearl white pillars supporting the weight of the ceiling situated in calculated places all around the spacious room as you lean on one of them, watching your fiancé walk around with your wedding planner, observing the place. There are big windows on one of the walls, the glass panels providing you with a view of the outside– a pretty, long garden filled with flowers that will wilt once the cold season is over, tall trees shielding some places from the sun, providing a relaxing shade. 

Tugging your sleeves down to further cover your arms, since the place is kind of chilly, you try to catch up to the two men in the other corner of the room, both physically and in conversation. Listening to Jeno asking all about the technical stuff and how the place is going to look once decorated, Mark answers him with factual answers, showing him around and making sure the groom is 100% satisfied with his choice. 

You still think you’d prefer a smaller venue– you still prefer a smaller wedding. It’s not up to you to decide, though, and you’ve given up on that opportunity a long time ago. Maybe in the same moment you said yes to him on the beach– you think that was the moment where you decided your own destiny, the moment where you tied yourself down with a metal ball on your leg, and now it’s your fate to drag it around and pretend it’s not there and that you’re not bothered by the weight.

“It seems perfect,” Jeno hums, making you automatically nod with a mechanical smile, looking around the venue once again. In Jeno’s eyes, it sure does seem perfect– it fits all the criteria of his ideal wedding, of the best day of his whole, entire life. And you can’t lie, if you really tried hard enough, you could even see the vision. You could even force yourself to enjoy the image of it in your head, you could even imagine the day going exactly by the plan, and in reality, nothing will even change, because you’ve been living with Jeno for quite a while now, but the concept just seems so scary and unnatural to you that you can’t help but feel like the reality will crash you any passing second if you don’t try hard enough to keep your guard up.

“It’s amazing,” you nod, afraid to meet any of the men’s eyes. Gathering up all the courage you have left in you, you add another convincing message. “I can almost imagine it all decorated and stuff, it’s gonna be great.”

You hear a strangled hum come out of Mark’s throat, a noise you can only decipher with it’s true emotion because you still have the conversation from a few weeks ago fresh in your brain, replaying over and over in front of your eyes as you can’t fall asleep under the blankets of your soft bed, twisting and turning in despair. If he could see it, why can’t Jeno? 

There’s a hint of you that wishes oh so deeply that your fiancé, the man that knows you the best, could see right through your white lies; there’s a hint of you that desires for him to talk to you about it, to get mad and leave you for leading him on and breaking his heart.

That doesn’t come, though, and you know it never will. You're too far in now to ever look back.

A touch on your hand brings you to avert your gaze from the ground to the man next to you, the emptiness of it all breaking your heart a thousand times over and over, your heart yearning for somebody to take it and mold it back together, glue the sharp pieces back again even though they could cut them, to tell you that it’s okay and that you’re human and that people make mistakes, yours just was a way bigger one than you should’ve ever let happen. But that doesn’t come, and it may never– but it’s okay, because you are the reason for your own downfall, and you’re the reason why you now have to play pretend and suffer. 

You glance up at Mark. Strangely, his eyes soften. He should hate you– for even though you pretend, he knows damn well what storm’s going on on the inside, and maybe you could say it’s only for the years of experience he has with fiancés eagerly planning their wedding that he can see you don’t share the same enthusiasm, or you two were just simply connected and in tune. Chewing harshly on your lower lip, so hard you taste the iron bitterness of your own blood on your tongue, your discomfort tries hard to show at your face and you keep battling hard to not let it slip. 

It’s been years with Lee Jeno by your side. Why can’t he see your suffering?

And you keep telling yourself that maybe it’s just his own joy and enthusiasm that makes him so blind to your averted eyes and still body under his sheets. But that doesn’t help your situation; you’d argue it makes it even worse, for you don’t think you can keep going for any longer, and he’s the one pushing forward with such force. You never enjoyed the difference in power you two have. You should’ve never said yes to him in the first place.

And it’s drowning you, because it’s not even his fault. He’s done nothing wrong, but you can’t help but want to stay away, want to hide and run whenever the topic of a wedding is brought to your attention, because it’s not what you desire, even though it’s what you should want, after so many years by his side.

Mark’s voice echoes in your brain, his damn argument never leaving the walls of your head. You want to silence it, but you’re never strong enough.

It’s never too late to back away. But how could you do that to him? You shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t, and that’s why you’ll never do so, no matter how scared and panicked you feel. 

You shouldn’t, because you loved him.

ONE UNREQUITED BELIEF

They say that staring into a cup of black coffee won’t make your troubles go away; nor will it make you feel at least a little better about yourself, but nonetheless, you do it on a cloudy, sad afternoon, sitting in your kitchen as you hug your knees to your chest. Hearing the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, you wonder why you can’t make the time stop– why you can’t just hide away from your problems for a little while, finding a quiet haven and listening to yourself for just a second, to see what you really need and what you should do.

But you can’t stop the time, even though you sometimes really desire for that to happen, and that leads to your fiancé eventually coming home to find you staring into the cup of now cold, black coffee, the solemn look on your face telling him perhaps more than you would’ve expect, but still not enough to fully understand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking a cautious seat on the chair opposite of yours, not even bothering to put away the groceries he brought with himself on his way from work. Sensing the tense atmosphere, you take a glimpse on his face, and with the sad pools that are his eyes right now, you force yourself to swallow away the guilt and look away. 

“Nothing,” you mourn, your voice weak and almost a little shameful. It makes you feel bad for him– for letting him see you like this, on your worst; but the reality of the knowledge that if you two want to really stay together forever, he has to see you like this until you die– the image of him looking at you with such scared eyes every single time, it sends shivers down your spine. You’d rather crawl out of your own skin than to experience it over and over again, the motion of it destroying you completely until there’s nothing left of you than a broken, empty shell of a human you used to be.

And Jeno, he’d fit in your skin, if he could. He’d crawl inside with you, trying to fix every piece that’s broken, trying to understand the patterns of your veins and the thoughts flowing through your head. But the truth is, that you’ve got some problem, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. And that’s even scarier than anything he’s ever encountered before.

But he’s not stupid. 

“We need to talk about the wedding, right?” he asks, and the reality comes crashing down on you. He knows– he knows, he knows, he knows; he’s aware of the storm on your inside and how the raindrops can’t seem but to wash you completely away, making you drown. And you should’ve expected it, he’s your partner, after all, but you never once in your life could’ve predicted the lost look in his eyes when you finally look up at him from the darkness of your coffee cup and offer him a hushed whisper.

“What about it?” 

Offering you a tired smile, he sighs and nestles deeper into the chair. Brushing his hair out of his face, as if to prepare himself for the tough conversation, he puts his hands on the table and you watch his muscles flex when he moves to crack the knuckles of his palms in nerves, a habit you’ve noticed in him from when you first started dating back in high school.

“You’re unhappy with it,” he proclaims, not even leaving you a second to react with a disapproving ramble that he knows is coming– you always say everything’s fine when it’s not– as he proceeds with his observations, “and I know I might have been too pushy with some of my decisions, and I wasn’t being considerate enough of your opinions, but I promise you that we can change all the parts you don’t like and compromise. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you can’t have a say in it,” he says, and there’s a wallowing pit inside of your stomach, because after all,

he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t see it in your eyes when you tiredly close them to get rid of the exhaustion, he doesn’t understand that this is not the problem, and it’s okay, because he’s not a mind reader, but to your poor, selfish self, it feels like you’ve been wronged, because who can understand you in this, if not your own fiancé, the love of your life?

“It’s okay, Jeno,” you mumble, almost automatically.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

There’s a silence overtaking you two, the clock ticking on the wall driving you insane. You think that if you hear the piercing sound of it ever again, you might just open the kitchen window and jump out of it, but then there’s another sound, and that one makes you crawl out of your skin again, the sound of Jeno's voice making your nails scrape against your own insides as the last remains of you need to stay inside, true to themselves.

“So what’s wrong? What do we work on?” he asks, and the tone of his voice is so considerate, so gentle, it almost brings you to tears.

Because you don’t deserve to be treated like this. 

Because you’re a traitor. That’s what you are, aren’t you?

“Nothing…”

“Do we change the invitations? Is it the venue?” he insists, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion as you don’t offer him any response. The silence is excruciating to him and you can clearly see, but still, it doesn’t lead you to breaking the truth to him, it doesn’t make you say the words that have been slowly dying at the tip of your tongue since the day you got engaged.

“Y/N, if you don’t tell me, we can’t fix it. Can you please talk to me and tell me what it is so we can work on it together?” he asks. 

And it’s killing you. 

Shaking your head, you scowl. This is not the way your script is supposed to play out. You were too careless, let him see inside, but all he saw through the crack was a glimpse of the full thing and now him aimlessly searching with a pointless game of guessing is only making it worse, and you don’t know how longer you can go without bursting apart.

“I told you it’s fine,” you insist, eyes closed as you plop your head against your palm, resting your elbow on the hard surface of your kitchen table. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but the impact of your words still feel like arrows with a straight goal to Jeno’s poor heart.

Another sigh leaves the man. Reaching gently for your wrist, he tries to pry your hands away from your face, but you stay put as he asks you over and over again. “If you really want to have a smaller wedding, I’ll cut down the guests. I’ll do it for you, if you want me to,” he says, and you don’t know why him fully letting go of what he wants is what makes you break– maybe it’s the fact that now that the wedding won’t be exactly to the point like his ideal, leaving the whole thing a whole fraud, an act you’re playing just to satisfy him and the others– but you do, as you cut him off with another hesitant, yet firm sentence.

“Maybe we can lower the guests… to zero.”

A heartbeat passes, and then another one. You think he can’t quite grasp the full meaning of your words, and you’re right as he opens his mouth and inquires for an explanation, his heart hammering against his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we don’t need a wedding.”

His expression falls more, if that’s even possible, his eyes losing all their glint as he stares at you, dumbfounded. Snickering, he shakes his head. “You’re joking.”

Wetting your lips, averting your gaze from him and taking a glimpse outside of the window– the snow falling for the first time this winter making the whole situation even more idyllic, pushing you further with your final decision– you sigh and shrug, the argument already started and there’s no going back now, so you aren’t even scared of the idea of backing away anymore. 

“I don’t want to get married.”

And in this moment, you almost feel like the clock got broken and the ticking stopped, or the world stopped spinning and the time halted in that exact second– either one of these, as your heart beats angrily against your ribcage, the sound of it in the veins of your ears making you drown out everything else. Lee Jeno is staring at you with eyes that slowly lose all their life, his expression growing more and more full of despair, and the image tears you apart, the little you inside wanting to break free at the sight of him completely crumbling under the impact of your words, and suddenly, you don’t know what to do as you stare him down and await his response. You don’t know how he’ll react. He could scream, he could shout– hell, he could even cry or leave you in silence, the closure never coming as you wait for him at that damned kitchen table forever. But Lee Jeno’s always been a man of words, and so, he doesn’t leave you hanging for long as he scoffs again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re joking, right?”

But when the silence is his answer, he already knows he doesn’t have to keep asking.

“So you’ve just been… what? Leading me on for the last few months?” he asks, the bitterness falling off his tongue making your hands tremble, lips parting as you want to hurriedly assure him that your feelings were real, they were real until suddenly, they weren’t, and now you don’t even know where they stand and what to do with them and the confusion on your insides.

“This is unbelievable…” he says, running his hands through his hair as he stands up from the chair he’s been sitting on for the last few minutes, walking across and back through the kitchen a few times before he continues, “all those months… You’ve been just lying straight to my face? What did I even do? Why- why do you- why do you suddenly not want to-?” he rambles, and his voice slowly starts to break as you can’t seem to push any other answer out of yourself, all words stolen from your tongue as you stare at him, just waiting until the moment is over and you can let your body relax.

And it’s not his fault. It never was, but suddenly, you’re too weak to tell him, too selfish to give him the answers, too small to be the bigger person and tell him that it’s you, it’s always been you and none of this is a problem he’s created.

“Why did you say yes, then? If you never wanted to get married?” he asks, halting in his steps as he looks dead at you, waiting for your answer.

You should’ve never said yes to him. But you did. And why?

Because you were scared of this exact moment happening sooner? Maybe it would’ve hurt him less if you declined right when he asked. Maybe it could’ve been saved. But now, you’re sure you made more damage than can be fixed.

“Great. Don’t talk to me. Amazing,” he snickers, closing his eyes tightly as a stray tear comes down his cheek, the one you try hard to not notice in fear of breaking down as well, because truthfully–

now is not your time to feel bad or feel sorry. It’s not your time to cry and make it about yourself, because it’s you who messed up. It’s you who made all of this mess.

Looking at you again, and this time, it feels like the last, the question falling off his lips makes you completely shut down and build up walls around yourself, for the weight of the guilt is too heavy and you can’t seem to carry it well this time.

“Do you even love me anymore?” he asks.

Tears falling off your cheeks, your lips pressed into a thin line as you look somewhere into the unknown– anywhere but his eyes– you give him the silent answer again, and that’s enough for him to nod at you with a choked-out ‘okay’ before he disappears out of the door, the rambling through your closet being a background noise to your crying.

And relief doesn’t come even when the door shuts behind him and you don’t get up and try to stop him from leaving and the clock starts ticking in your ears again, grounding you back to reality; relief doesn’t come even when you let your sobs overtake you and your eyes tiredly fall from your coffee cup to the groceries left on the kitchen table.

Staring outside of your window, you can’t seem to find energy to even make any sound, your sore throat reminding you to take a step back and take care of yourself, just like you did mere seconds ago, finally breaking free.

On December 2nd, when the snow fell for the first time this year, you broke Lee Jeno’s heart, and you don’t think you’ll ever forgive yourself.

You decide a walk is surely gonna clear your head– at least that’s what you decide to think when you put on your winter shoes and get out of your small, silent apartment with a loud sigh, the meeting point of your errand today brightly lit in your mind as you leave the car in the parking lot and shudder in the cold. 

The walk doesn’t clear your head, it makes you even more lost in your thoughts, it seems, but there’s no turning back when you’re already halfway there and you’re too lazy to get back and turn the engine of your little old car on, driving there instead. It seems like the consequences of your own actions leave you more miserable than content lately, and although you’re doing all of this for yourself, you feel like you’re unknowingly engaging in some sort of self-sabotage, and the fact that your body is frozen in the strong wind is only the tip of the iceberg of this topic.

After some time, you arrive, your nose runny from the condensation when you reach the heated interiors of the building, clearing your throat as you walk through the door of Mark Lee’s office, just like you would any other day, more often than not with your fiancé, sometimes alone. The man is currently waiting for you at his desk, his silly little journal open on the pages you know so well by now, the image hurting you to your core. 

“Y/N!” he greets you, confusion mirroring on his face when he notices you being alone, since this meeting was scheduled precisely on Jeno’s day off, so both of you could attend, “why are you alone?”

Not giving him a reply, instead walking over to the chair and settling deeper into the cushion, preparing yourself to break the news to him, the curious nature of the man shines through as he asks you hushed questions, a tiny hint of bitterness in his voice unknown to you.

“Does he have work again? Did he cancel?” he asks, prepared to give out an over-exaggerated sigh if you tell him that he’s right about his assumptions, but when you just chew on your cheek and avert your gaze away from him, and instead look everywhere across the pearl white room, he senses that there’s something wrong.

“Yeah, about that…” you mumble, shrugging. 

It’s now or never, you think to yourself– you went here for a reason unknown to you. Maybe you seeked comfort in the man that pushed you towards your decision, maybe you desire for someone to tell you that what you did was okay and the right thing to do. You could’ve just texted him you weren’t going to plan the wedding anymore, since there is none to happen, but you didn’t– you went here yourself, just to break the news to him face to face, expecting nothing and everything at once. It’s weird. Maybe you just, true to your fragile nature, need someone to look out for you when you feel so insanely guilty for doing something for yourself. Why that person is Mark Lee, you don’t know. Perhaps there is something that is pulling you to him, the comforting nature surrounding him being your safe haven in a time like this, making you so selfishly wish that after hearing you say it, he won’t let you down and look at you with defeat and disappointment.

“I- I called off the wedding,” you say, finally meeting his chocolate orbs with expectations, “and we sorta broke up, so I just- I just wanted to tell you that I won’t need your service anymore, but that I’m really thankful,” you add, nodding to prove your point.

The man in front of you is left startled, eyes wide as he searches for a hint of something– anything– on your face that would tell him if you’re okay and what led you to the decision, opening his mouth to talk to you about it, when you cut him off and add another thing, a sentence that breaks him and glues him together in one swift motion, leaving him speechless.

“Thank you for telling me that it was okay… to do that. And that it wasn’t late to call it off. It means the whole entire world to me, Mark, and I’ll never forget that,” you say, smiling hesitantly at the wedding planner, playing with your fingers in your lap, “I felt like I couldn’t make this decision, even though the idea of getting married to Jeno was breaking me, but your words really assured me.”

“That’s-” he stutters, clearly shocked. It’s not like he didn’t know– once again, he advised you to do so himself– but still, the reality of it is making him bewildered, true surprise raining over his face as he shakes his head to clear it, providing you with a more coherent response, “I’m- I’m glad you were able to do that. It’s- it’s so great you broke away from something you didn’t want for yourself, Y/N.”

Smiling, although a little shamefully, you avert your gaze from his intense eyes. “Thank you.”

“No, no, don’t thank me, I mean-” he rambles, his professional composure breaking for what feels like the first time, his figure looking so approachable right in this moment, “are you okay, though? It must have been hard.”

Shrugging, you wet your lips in a moment of thought. Are you okay? You’re not so sure. So instead of worrying him, you just mumble: “I will be,” with a soft nod, reassuring both yourself and everyone involved. Because, in reality, even though it’s insanely hard and the moments without your fiancé feel foreign, you feel free. You feel true to yourself, and that’s the most important thing about it all. And as long as that is preserved, you will be okay one day.

Maybe your and Jeno’s ways parted just because your ideals were different. Maybe the difference between the two was so big you couldn’t get over the height; but that’s okay. Life happened this way, and there’s not much to do about it now. Only to get used to it.

“Okay,” he says, gazing at you.

You’d like to stay longer– the truth is, this is the first time in the last few weeks that you’ve felt relaxed, content, even– and it’s hard to let go of this feeling. Mark looks at you with soft eyes, as if he was scared that a more strong look may break you, and in a moment of selfishness, you think that although this chapter of your life is over, Mark is the one you don’t want to lose out of it. You wonder if he feels the same. You want him to feel the same.

But once the moment is over and you realize your stay no longer has a meaning to it, probably just wasting Mark’s time, you nod to yourself as you stand up from your place in the chair, paying goodbye to the place you’re most likely never going to visit again. “I’ll get going, then. Once again, thanks… for everything, Mark.” 

The man shoots to his feet, hesitantly walking over to you, meeting your expecting eyes. Clearing his throat, he reaches to you with wide arms, and your body moves into his hold almost automatically, selfishness hoarding over you once again as he hugs you tight into his body, perhaps with the same amount of bittersweet feeling you feel on the inside right now, the firm grip around your waist making you relax into his touch. Burrowing your nose into his neck, you forget all about Jeno for a while, the scent of Mark’s cologne overtaking your senses, everything, past and future involved, disappearing when the noisy thought in your brain keeps rambling how you need to remember the way his arms feel around your body forever, you have to imprint his scent into your brain until the end of your time, because this is your last opportunity you have to experience it. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he mumbles, one of his hands running over your back and up into your hair, a protective head pat mendling your fragile, broken body into his touch. 

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though,” he says.

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t feel appropriate.”

And Mark understands. It feels like he’s the only one that does. And although it may feel like there’s no one but him in this world that’s on your side right now, the reality of it comforts you, because that’s enough.

Breaking away from his hold, you pay him a goodbye as you walk towards the door, not turning around as you escape the room, because you think the image of him, knowing it’s the last time you’ll see him, would break you perhaps the most.

Your journey isn’t over, though. Walking through the countless labyrinths of the town, the weather outside making your bones cold as you stride for your next destination with utter determination, you know that once you complete this task, it’s finally over. The weight of it crushes you, but you know that in a few, you’ll feel completely free, and that’s why you keep going, despite it being insanely hard.

Your eyes are met with the view of a house you know too well; the windowsills greet you with a glassy shine, the sad trees in the backyard reminding you of your university days. You’re met with Lee Jeno’s childhood home, and by the looks of his car in the driveway, you were correct about the suspicions of his whereabouts. He had nowhere else to go, after all, and although you feel a little shameful about the fact, you don’t let it get to you.

Walking over to the small gate of the land of Jeno’s parents’ house, a red post box greets you, your final destination in reach. Rummaging through your purse, you take out a white envelope containing your engagement ring, and while opening the small box, you pay goodbye to the latest chapter of your life, putting the envelope in. 

Taking one last look at the house, you imagine Jeno on the driveway, and you wave at his figure with an apology on your tongue. 

Maybe one day, he’ll understand you. And maybe he won’t.

You can’t be mad at him for the emotions he has every right to feel. You acknowledge that you were wrong for leading him on for so long. But still, you hope that one day, he’ll be able to forgive you. 

And as if your fate wanted you to have the last bit of karma you’ve earned, it starts raining as you walk home. On any other day, you’d despite the shower, but today, you think you can get through it. You think this is your prize, and you’ll keep paying it forever, until you no longer feel the guilt of everything you’ve done.

Putting yourself first breaks hearts sometimes. But still, you think it’s worth it in the end.

Maybe one day, you’ll forgive yourself.

When your body hits the cold sheets of the bed that isn’t yours, stumbling to your designated side of the mattress, it seems, you wonder if the heater in his apartment broke again and you’re going to spend another night shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling, however, is no longer as uncomfy as it was the last time. It used to make your bones itch, it used to make you try to battle the feeling, even though there was no use– it’s always been too strong and you were too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements. He joined the bed just a few minutes prior to you, telling you he’ll wait for you to be done with your shower, but it seems like he fell asleep in the short time period, making you feel momentarily bad for waking him. 

A strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug. His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaches your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes flutter open and a soft smile glazing his features. “Ready for sleep?” he asks, and with a gentle nod, you watch him get more comfy in the sheets of his bed.

Continuing to watch him, his eyes close on themselves after a short while, his eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face contrasting with his overall soft demeanor making your heart swell with the thankfulness you feel because of his proximity. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the smile that’s dangerously trying to spread across your face. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety. This time around, it works. It always works out with him.

A sigh cuts out of your throat.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and it makes you snicker. You’ve never felt more content and satisfied in your whole entire life, yet, he dares to ask you this question, still uncertain. Nodding, you reply to him, sureness coating your words.

“More than okay.”

Your body slowly heats up in his hold– he’s like your portable heater, after all, since he likes his bedroom to be a little colder than you prefer, he took it upon himself to always have you glued inside of his arms whenever you sleep over at his place; to not let you catch cold, he says, but you secretly just think he loves to fall asleep with you in his hold.

Just a little over a year ago, with a different man in your sheets, you weren’t able to fall asleep with the weight of your overthinking. You rethought your decision over and over again, not ready to leave yourself to get a final conclusion, even though it was always somewhere there, in the back of your brain.

Now, though, your brain is at ease, relaxing after running laps through various scenarios in your brain– your body is soundly tucked in under the soft sheets of the bed, finding a sweet haven in a person you never imagined you’d let into your life. 

You no longer wake up in guilt and fear. You no longer startle awake at night, too scared to look at your fiancé on the other side of your bed; because the chapter is now behind you, the war is over.

And you learn to forgive yourself. All by Mark’s side. 

If it wasn’t for the actions of your past, you would’ve never met him, after all. Everything in your life has some sort of order, and while it wasn’t a happy journey, at least you’re left with nothing but experience and comfort in your heart.

Almost like every day, much to the contrast of your state a little over a year ago, you reach out for Mark’s hand again, pressing a soft kiss to it as you move it closer to your lips. Almost like every day, while you fall asleep to the scent of his shower gel and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sweet dreams, you’re thankful for every day with him, 

because he was the one that brought you peace again, taking care of you each and every day, carefully catching your heart when you let it fall freely into the unknown.

[land-of-evergreens-and-dye]

Ok so I know I reblogged @morganbritton132 post about steve not being an only child but the youngest of like a really big family and I added my 2 bits to that post, but now I need to get this out of my brain now or it will explode. The ages are how old they are by season 4 I hope I did the math right and it makes sense. Im also hopped up on 2 midols so hopfully this makes sense.

Steve who has 7 older siblings this including 2 sets of twins. His father started his first family young after getting his high school sweetheart pregnant and was forced to marry her at 17. Thankfully his side of the family was already loaded, so his Richard's father just had him work for him and provided a cushy life that provided nannies to raise his children so he didn't have to.

He has Rebecca (38) the oldest a stay at home mom with 3 kids and a divorce from her deadbeat, useless husband.

Oliver and Penny (36) the first set of twins. Oliver has 1 kid and works as a principal and is happily married. Penny never married but lives with her "roomate" of like 15 years she's a photographer who's opened many art galleries.

Peter (35) he's a lawyer and the most like their father. Stern and doesn’t believe in handouts that a man has to work for what he gets, despite being handed everything on a silver platter his whole life. Also never been married but enjoys his secretaries a little too much.

Harold or Harry (30) as he likes to be referred to is a firefighter. He keeps to himself and honestly gets overshadowed by his other siblings' achievements. He is the most like Steve personality wise and had always liked Steve as a kid, but shunned him just so he wouldn’t get the same treatment from his full siblings.

And finally the youngest and final set of twins Olivia and Cecelia (27) identical twins who look exactly like their mother. Olivia is a professional ballerina she travels a lot for work going from theater to theater never staying in one place for long. Cecelia on the other hand is a pediatric doctor who takes her work very seriously and is one of the harder siblings to get ahold of.

Richard ends up knocking up his 20 something yearold secretary when he was in his early 50's and decides to leave his wife and kids for her. Despite how successful his 7 previous kids are, they still do not meet his high standards and thought he could do better somehow. He makes the same mistakes, though, since his new wife is paranoid that he'll cheat on her when she's not with him. Poor steve is left with nannies until he's able to properly dial 911 all by himself.

No one in Hawkins has ever met steves older siblings since Richard's first wife won the house in the divorce so he moved his new family to his old grandparents house that was willed to him after their passing. And so poor Steve grew up alone in that big empty house despised by his older siblings he never gets to see. Their mother won full custody over them the only time he got to see them was from the ages 1-7 when their dad would actually hold christmas parties at his house to show off his children and claim their accomplishments as being due to his influence. During these parties his siblings would stay for a week or 2, and Steve was never included with their activities, as he was deemed both the reason their dad left and an annoying youngest brother.

Once Steve turned 7 and the yougest of his older siblings were now 13 they no longer wanted to be around him or their father so they just stopped coming and Steve was the sole bearer of their father's high expectations. While his older siblings had each other to rely on or to share the load. Steve was all alone and was crumbling under the pressure fast.

He befriends the wrong friends and falls into the popular crowd trying to please his father, who was never around. His new friends and ability to play sports pleases the old man for a little while, but his subpar grades really canceled out any sort of positive attention he thought he could possibly receive.

Then season 1 happens, and Steve discovers just how alone he is in the world. No one can get ahold of his parents who are out of the country again and not 1 of his 7 siblings even called him back when he left a meassage telling him that he was scared and alone and concussed. He understood the ones with kids probably couldn't do much they had to take care of their own families, but the other 5 were close enough to at least call him back. He made sure to keep tabs on them in case he ever needed to contact them. They were all close enough to at least care for his well-being, and they just plain didn’t.

Season 2 happens, and Steve's new and more real family starts to take shape. Steve had bever been an older brother, so the thrill of becoming an older brother like role model to these children he had semi adopted was quite the rush. Not to mention that Joyce Byers was a force to reccon with when she set her mind on making sure the lone teen in the group was well taken care of she made sure he was well taken care of. He finally had a family after wishing for something close to unconditional love his whole childhood, and he was finally getting that. He had family dinners with the Byers and Hendersons. He spent christams at different party members' houses throughout the day it was the best christmas he had ever had. He was loved and happy. Hopper wasn't 100% a father figure, but he was there more often than his own father, so he was already leagues better than his bio dad.

Unfortunately season 3 happens and Steve is met with the unfortunate pattern his life keeps taking. Where any good thing that happens to him, wether that be secret hangouts with Harry when they were kids or dinners with Hopper and El, must come to a usually lonley and painful end. Hopper is dead and Steve blaims himself, he loses the Byers +El, and he is once again ignored by his bio family while suffering a high grade concussion and side affects from the drugs still left in his system. Not 1 person from his family could come to the phone or call back. He doesn't even know why he bothers he's positive that he could die and no one would care or find out until his parents returned moths after the fact and found the house empty and covered in dust. And even then it would take a week of being mad about the state of the house before someone paid their condolences to his parents that they'd find out what happened to the youngest Harrington. Steve's convinced that they wouldn't even be sad for long. Why would they be sad about someone they hardly knew, he was just a background character in their lives if that. Not a thought spared to poor homewrecker Steve, probably served him right. But Steve does get a platonic soulmate in the form of one Robin Buckley who fits in perfectly with his found family and helps soothe the loss Steve feels in the Byers/Hoppers absences.

Season 4 happens, but they defeat Vecna. The plan works Eddie makes it. I'll bet a couple of pounds lighter and a few skin graftes later. But Eddie lives and is promptly handcuffed to the bed still being charged with the death of Chrissy and now Jason. And Steve can barely stand, but he will not sit around and let Eddie get pinned for this whole mess, not on his watch. He calls and calls and calls Peter until a full 2 days pass he finally picks up.

13 years and he finally picks up Steve is pleading and crying and bargaining, trying to get Peter to take Eddie's case. He promises never to contact him again if he would just help him this one time. That Steve will pay double no tripple what he charges for his services if it means he will help him. Peter hems and haws but finally agrees. And tells Steve that he only needs to pay the regular price. Steve finally sags into the hospital bed in the same room as Eddie, who is thankfully asleep in the bed next to him. He can finally relax knowing his family will be safe and happy, Peter has never lost a case yet.

The issue Steve was not prepared for was that apparently Harry had had enough of his family treating their youngest brother like nothing and after the most recent call from Hawkins general decided to go and collect his brothers and sisters to all go make sure their little brother was alive and fine. They had been talking about reconnecting with the youngest for a while now, but never really did anything about it, life got in the way and the yearly phone calls regarding their brother never seemed important enough in the grand scheme of things going on in their lives.

Well Harry had had enough and when he went to collect his siblings and finally got to Peter, Harry was absolutely furious to find out that after getting ahold of one of his family members. Family members who were supposed to love and care for him, their youngest sibling. All Pete did was charge the boy his usual going rates for his services. Didn't even ask if Steve was ok, he just agreed to the job nothing more, nothing less. Harry almost murded his brother right there with his 5 other siblings as witnesses. He wanted to cry for his baby brother, who he cut ties with so he didnt suffer the same fate, had no family to speak of and was alone in a hospital, again.

It took 3 days for Harry to force all of his siblings to Hawkins and into a cramped hospital room with 2 beds and a truck load of visitors for the the two occupants in it. Steve looked so confused when more than just Peter walked through the door. And at first the party thought they were more angry mob coming to finish Eddie off, but found they didn't recognize any of the faces. Except they did look familiar, but they couldn't put their fingers on why they looked familiar. Meanwhile, Steve's confusion just turns into a feeling of nothing. He's numb and not from the pain meds. No, he's numb because in his mind the only reason his siblings are here is because they think he has money. Peter must have told him about how desperate Steve was for his services and how much he was willing to pay. It's the only explanation he could come up with.

After like 10 minutes of silence as Steve's bio family stare at their little brother beaten to hell and bandged like a mummy from being demobat food, it's Erica who finally inform these stranges that they got the wrong room and to please leave. That seems to shock Steve's family into action as they all start talking over each other in response to Erica as well as critiquing the state Steve is in, the room is in, and the town is in. This starts a migraine in Steve's head almost immediately, and Robin clocks it almost just as quick. She demands quiet and gets it before asking the intruders who they are what they want.

Peter finally steps forward and introduces himself as both a Harrington and a lawyer who will be representing one Eddie Munson in his upcoming trial. All of the party's eyes land on Steve who just looks tired. But finally Steve introduces his siblings and with each new introduction he can see the hatred growing in his found familes eyes. Steve's embarrassed that they have to find out what a huge piece of nothing he is. He knew it was gonna happen at some point. After introductions are made none of the Harrington's are able to get a word out before Steve's found family decend onto his bio siblings for being the most absent and biggest piles of shit they have ever met. They defend Steve like it is their jobs and that steves siblings should be ashamed of themselves.

It's safe to say that the upcoming moths of healing, Eddies trial, and subsequent win are all very awkward and full of hate towards each other. Steve's bio family are convinced they did nothing wrong while the found family held tight to the belief that the bio family did everything wrong. And Steve has just accepted that from now on he will bear witness to Rebecca having full-blown arguments with Erica like that's a normal Tuesday for him.

This does result in a happy ending though with Steve gaining not just found family but also his bio family. It's a lot of work on both sides but in the end its totally worth it. Steve finally has the big happy family hes always wanted.

I personally think this would end in steddie and the whole family minus his parents would be at their wedding. And that Steve's bio siblings would have to also win over Wayne's approval. But that is totally up to you. Thank you for reading my midol fueled rant.

[thelargefrye]

ADORE YOU … drabble

pairing : poly!ateez x idol!f!reader genre : fluff, idol, everyone is basically married in this, future warnings : mentions of past relationship issues, pregnancy

tags : @tannie13 @cookiechristie @jcngh0-hq @atinytinaa @icyb3rry @kurosism @kangskims @im-whoim

a look at what five years in the future brings the nine of you.

you watched as yunho chased wooyoung and san around the house. seonghwa is quick to tell the three to knock it off as he is carrying a box into the living room.

wooyoung is quick to slide over to you and your place in the kitchen, a kiss is placed on your cheek as he wraps his arms around you. yeosang comes in next to you both with boxes labeled kitchen in bold black writing, and sets them on the counter. the glass contents in the box rattling a little bit as they hit the counter.

“come on, woo, there’s still a lot of boxes left,” yeosang says pulling away his boyfriend and dragging him back outside to the moving truck. this time yunho comes up next to as you begin moving boxes around.

“hi, yuyu,” you say with a smile as you look to your boyfriend of eleven years. he smiles back at you and you allow your eyes to drift down to the red line tattooed around his ring finger. the same red line that mirrors yours as well as your other seven boyfriends.

“are you doing okay baby?” he ask, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you close.

“i’m doing fine,” you answer back and yunho gives you another smile before he kisses your forehead and makes his way back out to the moving truck.

it’s takes another hour or two before all the boxes are unloaded and you and hongjoong work together to begin unpacking each room. soon the others are also helping, they couldn’t help but give loving kisses to you and hongjoong as they pass by.

the leader does well in unpacking but also bringing up fond memories from the early stages of your relationship.

“i remember going to eden-hyung’s wedding and imagining what it would be like to get married one day,” he says as he places several picture frames on the shelf in his home studio.

“i remember thinking that too,” you begin as you open a new box which contains more stuff for his studio. “that was still when me and yunho had broken up and i was questioning a lot of things during that time.”

“i’m glad you both managed to work it out. i couldn’t imagine all of this without the two of you together,” he confesses, he comes up and wraps his arms around you, his hands gently caressing your stomach.

the two of you pause in your unpacking in order to enjoy the quiet moment between the two of you. especially since this is the first moment you’ve had alone with him in a while.

“did you all come to a final decision on the baby’s room?” he ask after several minutes of sitting in silence.

“mingi wants to do like a seafoam green i think and wooyoung really wants whales but yunho wants puppies, san wants cats, and yeosang wants hehetmon,” you say with a laugh thinking about your fellow ‘99 liners and the argument they had about baby decorations.

“what do you want to decorate the room in?”

“i want to paint a mural like the one from up,” you confess and hongjoong hums at your idea.

“then we’ll do that, they can get over it if they don’t like it,” he says causing you two laugh at his comment.

“and what are you two laughing about?” seonghwa’s voice is soft with a fake sternness as he comes into the room.

“y/n wants to paint a mural in the baby’s room, like the one from up,” hongjoong tells the eldest and you watch his eyes light up at the idea.

“you mean with the house and all the balloons?” he ask and you nod your head in excitement. “that would be so pretty,” he adds as he comes up to kneel in front of your stomach. “don’t you think so flower?”

ever since seonghwa found out you were pregnant he would always refer to the baby as “flower” even when addressing them. the others soon enough also started calling the baby “flower,” yourself included.

you knew all the boys were excited about the baby, but it was easy to see that seonghwa was the most excited. you could just imagine how good of a father he, even if in the end he isn’t the biological father. you knew that wouldn’t stop any of them from filling loving your precious flower.

you let your hand thread through seonghwa’s locks, the action earning his attention and his big doe eyes looking at you like you held his whole world.

“i love you both so much,” you confess out of nowhere as you turn to look a hongjoong. he lets out a small gasp as he cups your face and brushes the tears away that you didn’t even know you had. “thank you for putting up with me for all these years,” you tell hongjoong who only shakes his head at your words.

“i should be thanking you,” he says before you kiss him, more tears spilling out right as the others come and join you three.

san is quick to pull you into his arms and rock you from side to side as you tell each of your lovers that you love them.

“we love you too, you and flower are so precious and beautiful to us. a true gift,” san says as his hand journeys down to caress your stomach like hongjoong as did earlier.

“also, i hate each of your alls decorations ideas, none of those would go well with seafoam green,” you confess before a chorus of heys are heard followed by laughter.

[enhastolemyheart]

BEAUTIFUL — PARK SUNGHOON

pairing. non-idol!sunghoon x gn!reader

genre. est. relationship, college au, summer au

synopsis. with finals being over, all you wanted was your comfy boyfriend.

warning(s). profanity, reader and hoon are uni students , lowercase intended, use of petnames,

word count. 0.5k

a/n. I was watching some enha 'so so fun' clips on yt shorts and jus randomly thought of this idea saurr here it is!! it's been a while since I've posted, hasn't it? I've been saur busy with school like we have exams like almost every week but im still trying to keep up with my writing. I really hope this came out good, pls lmk!! taglist us open and so are requests! enjoy readingg

finally.

school's over, and summer has started. finally.

you were walking home from the subway to your apartment, your comfy bed and pretty boyfriend waiting for you at your humble abode. sunhhoon wanted to stay over at your place after finals were done because now you have the time of your lives.

you head bobs to the music resonating in your over-the-head headphones, jazzy tunes playing. hands wrapped around your backpack strap. you and so many plans for the summer. first thing was to visit your family back in your hometown with sunghoon, and luckily enough, his parents only live a few streets away so you both planned to meet his parents as well, maybe even have a mini get together.

as you get into the elavator, excitement buzzed in your veins. the thought of finally having to spend some time with your boyfriend is something you wanted for a while now. studying in different universities was hard. he was majoring in science while you in buisness. due to having finals around the same time. you couldn't meet each other for more than two weeks. yeah of course, messaging and facetiming was a thing but being in your third year really put your head in the books for the last two months of the final semester. and now, you say that it payed off in the end, because here you are with a smile on your face, content with how the exam went.

you walk into your place with open arms, wanting to hug hoon as soon as you saw him, but to your knowledge he wasn't there. not in the living room, or the kitchen, or the bedroom. with a slight pout you turn to the bathroom to see if he was there and bingo, he was. looks like he just finished showering.

after he comes out, for some reason, he doesn't see you when he walks past you, into your shared bedroom, humming a random tune. you let out a small pout and follow in his footsteps.

"Hoon, I'm home. did you not see me?"

he gets lightly startled upon seeing you, "i thought you were coming late 'cause of your exam..."

"well, they let us out early," you reason as you watch him retrieve the hair dryer from the dresser, taking a seat on the floor in front of your full length mirror.

"how did the exam go, love?" he pulls you towards him, causing you to loose your footing, making you fall on top of him, your turned into a giggling mess and sunghoon couldnt help but also laugh, dimples making a display.

"it went really well. I'm happy."

"that's good to hear."

you hum as you take the electronic device in your hands, plugging it in and and getting comfortable on his lap. you dry his for him, brushing your fingers through his locks gently. he sighs in contentment before wrapping his arms around your waist more tightly pressing his chin to your chest before looking at you in the eyes.

"you're beautiful."

he always knew how to make your face go red. he loved see you in that shade.

"shut up hoon."

"thank you beautiful." he says after you finish blow drying his hair.

and you both spent the rest of the night, having some take out, maybe even a little it of making out, ending the chill night with some much needed cuddles.

a/n - tysm for reading guys! i honestly dk what the point of this drabble is, I smth in my mind but it did not work out. I've been sick to the point where i couldn't walk properly, heh- anyways tyvm for reading and again, requests are open!

networks. @hyfenet

perm taglist: @jak-ey , @snoowhore , @hsgwrld , @seungiesluv , @1-800shutthefuckup

[teddyeyeseddie]

To Hell I Go

Part One: Cheyenne

Bull Rider Steve Harrington x Reader

masterlist

(a/n: if im one thing im obsessed with cowboys so writing bull rider steve has been so much fun for my californian turned southern heart. also ,everyone say hello to @lofaewrites when you see her in this fic hehe! Also, if you can spot the zach bryan mentions throughout this series, ill kiss you bc I love that man)

Now Playing: Open The Gate

"Now I ain't never feared nothin

that was four legged and buckin

throw me on a hurricane

and I'll ride it til the coast”

He was a Harrington and if Harrington’s did anything, they earned their keep. Steve Harrington grew up on a ranch in eastern Texas, his dad never giving anything to him.  Summertime was filled with breaking horses and shoveling hay, Steve never knowing the fun in summer vacation. Winter brought cold mornings, Steve cursing his father at the crisp hour of 6am as he fed the horses. Harrington men were tough, their name well respected in the town. 

That was until Steve had something to do with it. While Steve earned his keep on the ranch, he was a wild one off of it. By the time he graduated highschool, Steve had sought out any and all adrenaline highs his small town had to offer. There weren’t enough cliffs for him to jump off of, there wasn’t a dirt bike that went fast enough, and there wasn't a horse that bucked hard enough to tame the fire that bloomed in Steve’s veins. 

He was 18 years old the first time he rode in his first rodeo. He lasted 6.6 seconds earning him a score of 72 . He came in second, going home with a medal and a gift card to the town’s local steak house. Once he started, he was hooked. The high he felt when he rode couldn’t touch any other feeling in the world. 

From the moment he came in first in his first competition, he was set off in a whirlwind of bulls, dirt and blood. He worked his way up the ranks, becoming the top bull rider in the country, going for 95.7 points to win the PBR national championship. 

“And here to present the awards for Jefferson’s Junior Rodeo, Steve “The Mudslinger” Harrington!” 

Steve takes the microphone, hand on his belt buckle as he begins to announce the scores and winners for the teenagers. 

The crowd cheers when Jamie Bounds is announced as the first place rider, he had become Steve’s protege, the two of them training when Steve was actually home. 

The Bounds family was intertwined with the Harrington’s, their families doing business together for several years. Jamie worked on the ranch in the summertime, Steve getting to watch him grow up into a well rounded 17 year old. 

“You did good out there, bud,” Steve’s hand comes to clasp Jamie’s shoulder, the smile on his face wide as the two walk towards Steve’s pick up. 

Steve drove a 1984 Chevy K10, he had fixed it up nice when he was 19. Despite his rise to fame in the bull riding world, he stayed humble, still driving and fixing up his beloved truck and even living with his family on their Ranch. When he was home, he worked the land and helped with the business aspects of running the largest ranch in northeastern Texas. 

Steve drops Jamie off at home, deciding to head home early instead of going to the local bar. He crept into the main house on the ranch, being careful as to not disturb his mother and father. He slips into his bedroom, immediately toeing off his boots and stripping himself of his dirt ridden clothes. His belt buckle hits the floor with a thud, Steve wincing at the loud sound. 

He pads into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping down his face and back of his neck. He contemplates a shower for a moment but decides it can wait until the morning. He brushes his teeth before making his way back to the bedroom and slipping into bed. 

The next morning, he showers and quickly gets dressed. He tucks in a plain black t shirt into his blue jeans, adjusting his belt and placing his hat on his head. He makes his way downstairs, the smell of coffee wafting into his nose. He approaches his kitchen and finds his mom and dad sitting at the kitchen table. Steve takes a seat beside his mother, reaching for the coffee pot as his mother pushes a mug in his direction. 

“Mornin’ Momma,” Steve leans over and places a kiss to her cheek before pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“Dad,” Steve simply says, his dad responding with a low grunt. He rolls his eyes, getting up from his spot at the table to grab a plate and dish up what his mom had cooked for the morning. 

The workers got there at 6 in the morning, Mom always having a hot meal ready for them every Saturday. It was a simple skeleton crew on the weekends, the real hard work coming during the week. 

“Are you going to watch the amateur rides today at the summertime rodeo?” his mom questions from her place at the table. 

“I’m thinking about it! I’m gonna go visit Eddie and Charlotte and then maybe I’ll head over there,” Steve responds as he leans against the counter, devouring the toast on his plate. 

Steve finishes his breakfast, bidding his mom and dad goodbye before making his way out to his truck. He loads up, peeling out on the gravel as he makes it onto the main road.

He pulls into Eddie’s driveway, a small craftsman that Eddie and Charlotte put a lot of love into. The front garden had just been redone, the two of them bickering over what flowers to plant this year. Steve had finally had enough and picked the flowers himself the day he came over to help. 

His boots thud as he walks up the stairs, softly knocking on the door. Charlotte answers shortly after, a baby on her hip as she swings the door open. 

“Harrington! I didn’t know you were back in town,” she exclaims, drawing him into a hug with the arm that isn’t supporting Crue. 

Steve ruffles Crue’s hair as he walks through the front door. 

“Lottie babe, who is here this damn early?” Eddie shouts from the living room, Steve rounding the corner, coming into Eddie’s view. 

“Well I’ll be damned, Steve “The Mudslinger” Harrington! In the flesh!” Eddie gets up from his place on the couch, extending his hand to Steve in order to pull him into a bear hug. Eddie pats him a few times on the back before pulling away. 

“What brings you into town? Weren’t you just down in Tampa riding in a competition?” Eddie questions as he directs Steve to the couch, the two of them sit down, Lottie’s eyes silently telling the both of them to not put their dirty boots on her coffee table. 

“Yeah, I don't have another competition til next month. Riding in Cheyenne’s “Daddy of em All”.” Eddie nods, looking to lottie. 

“Honey, could you bring me and Steve here some sweet tea?” he bats his eyelashes at her. She hands Crue off to him before turning on her heels towards the kitchen. 

“You talked to your daddy about taking over the ranch?” Eddie asks as he tries to distract Crue from pulling on his hair. 

“No, don’t really want to yet. I’m at the top of my career and there’s no way I’m slowing down or settling down, no offense,” he says, motioning to Crue. 

“None taken, but how much more exhilarating can it get? I mean one time on Ajax and I was good. Half the bulls you ride would have killed me. ” Eddie says as Charlotte comes back in with two glasses of sweet tea. She takes Crue back, trudging back to his room in order to put him down for a nap. 

“Wanna go to nationals again, won’t turn down the invite to worlds this time if I win,” Steve reveals, taking a sip of his sweet tea. His eyebrows raise as it touches his tongue, looking to Eddie. 

“Right? Lo makes the best sweet tea in Jefferson,” Eddie says as he takes a whopping gulp of his own drink. 

“Anyways, regionals this year. To Hell I Go is going to be there,” 

“To Hell I Go?”

“That’s the name of the bull,” 

Eddie and Steve fall into easy conversation after that. They talk about how Eddie’s job at the Ranch has been. Steve got in late Wednesday and spent all day Thursday preparing Jamie for his competition that night, he barely had time to even say hi to Eddie. 

The two finish their sweet tea, Steve checks his watch and sees he has been visiting with Eddie for 2 hours. He decides he better leave if he wants to make it to the start of the amateur competition. He bids Eddie and Charlotte goodbye, stepping out into the blistering Texas sun. 

It’s times like this where Steve wishes his pick-up had air conditioning. Steve gets in his truck, rolling down the driver side window and backing out of Eddie’s driveway. 

He makes his way into town, the wind blowing in his hair as he hums along to the radio. He pulls up to the corral in less than 15 minutes, pulling into a grass lot where volunteers are instructing cars as to where to park. 

That’s when Steve has to slow down. Right ahead of him, walking towards his truck is a girl he’s never seen before. Her sundress skims her thighs, glowing skin glistening in the sun, hair kept up by a pair of raybans. His stomach does flips when she laughs, his mind short circuiting as he drives. As fast as she appeared she was gone, mixing in with the group of spectators that were walking towards the event center. 

Steve pulls into a spot beside a jeep, jumping out of his truck before making his way to the corral. He knows the people working the ticket booth, the pair allowing him to walk right in without paying. He stuffs a 50 in their tip bucket, smiling at them as he walks inside. He gets stopped a few times on his way to his seat, little boys and dads in awe when they see The Mudslinger in person. He takes a few photographs and signs a few baseball caps before he is set free by the group of children and men. 

He watches as 15 men try their hand at lasting on their respective bull. The ride of the night being Big Tex. He lasted for a whopping 8 seconds on the bull Ajax, a known rough rider around Jefferson. Steve had once lasted for 10 on the same bull but who's keeping track? (He is) 

He meets up with Big Tex after awards, Steve slapping him on the back as he pulls him into a hug. 

“That was some great riding out there, Franklin.” Steve says with a sly grin. 

Big Tex puts him in a headlock, Steve groaning as he tries to get out. The two roughhouse for a bit until they finally calm down. 

“You’re back in town so soon? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your big win?” Big Tex asks as he takes off his gloves, throwing them down on the bed of his truck. 

“Had to get home. Got a big business meeting coming up with the Bounds, had to be there for it. Plus, didn’t wanna miss the summertime rodeo,” Steve jumps up on the bed of Big Tex’s truck, reaching behind him in a cooler in order to pull out a beer. 

“Wait wait wait, for old times sake?” Big Tex stops him, holding up his key in a silent suggestion. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” Steve agrees. Big Tex hands Steve his key, Steve puncturing the bottom of the beer can, tilting it up so as to not spill any of the contents. Big Tex does the same, the two of them carefully knocking their cans together in a “cheers” before expertly shotgunning their respective beers. 

Steve gets home that night thanks to a buddy who stayed sober, the man dropping him off at his front porch. Steve stumbles in, loudly opening the screen door, it ends up slamming shut behind him, he prays it hasn't woken up his parents. Steve finally gets the door all locked before he makes his way upstairs, his boots clunking up each step. 

Steve sleeps peacefully that night, the alcohol running through his blood aiding in his slumber.

[moonchildstyles]

fic announcement and sneak peek!

hiiiii besties!!!

I said a while back when I announced columba that I would be coming back with another series for both Tumblr and patreon this summer and that time has come :)))))))))))

for the last four years Ive had this idea in my head for a super special h that ive just let build a home in my heart that kept growing and growing and growing! now ive finally had a chance to write it all out and make him real with a fun story and lots of little details to make him who he is!

I don't want to spoil too much about him just because I want there to be a little mystery for him and theres so many fun details that I think will be really fun to put together when you dont' know what he's up to!

so, starting on June 30th, Rosemary will begin being posted with a new part every friday here on Tumblr! Patreon will be getting early access with the first part being posted on June 16th, and every friday after! an extended sneak peek is also up on my patreon rn!

If you are interested in reading the new story, please wait until June 1st to sign up so you only get charged once at the beginning of the month and theres a full 30 days before the next charge!

you can also check out the Pinterest board I made for the fic!

let me know if you guys have any questions about anything! im sooooo excited and cannot wait for you all to read!

under the cut is a sneak peek :)

—————

"Thank you, Harry!" 

The bow girl's chirping gratitude only had Harry looking at her stiffly with a grumbled Yeah falling from his lips. Just as she had done the last couple of months since she made herself a presence during his shifts, she only gave him a smile before bouncing away with her basket only containing a carton of banana milk and her favorite cookies. She was no longer perturbed by the standoffish responses he gave her. Harry couldn't decide if he liked that or not. 

It was like this at least a couple of times a week. She never did a big shop, only stopping by at the later times to pick up individual ingredients for a dinner she had chatted to him about, or little snacks she couldn't seem to go a day without. During at least one of her trips, she found an excuse to talk to Harry; she asked him about his day if she was close enough to feel comfortable starting a question (Harry never gave her a good answer, honestly), she told him about her own day and what she was shopping for if there was anything specific she had in mind. She almost always had a bow pinned her hair, fluttering behind her and matching whatever soft piece of clothing she had cinched around her form. Harry had even began fishing out a pack of her favorite cookies from his boxes if he was stocking that aisle, just to make it easy if she came in and asked him for assistance. It made the interactions quicker and less bothersome—at least that's what he told himself. 

He knew more about her and her routines than he had any of the hundreds of people he'd met in the last handful of years since he started moving around. Even if that did make him feel a bit guilty knowing that she didn't have a clue about who exactly she was sharing these parts of herself with; she didn't know the mess she was tiptoeing around every time she interacted with him. 

Tonight was no different, her leaving a rattling in Harry's bones that he wanted nothing more than to ignore like every other part of his life. If he was superstitious, he would think she could have cast some kind of spell on him with the way she and her little bows lingered in his brain long after she had checked out and gone on her way home. 

That rattling followed him as he made his way into the backroom, his empty box needing to be replaced. An exasperated sigh fought to leave his chest when he saw almost half of the overnight team huddled in the area, puttering about as they chattered and pretended to work. He didn't like being roped into their conversations, and that almost always happened when he ran into more than two of them at once. 

Harry didn't say a word as he broke down the cardboard box on his cart, pushing it off to the pile of the other flattened boxes before he reached for another. The conversations had quieted some when he walked in, but he could still hear what sounded like Brett and Fawn flirting in the back corner with a cart of refrigerated items that needed to go on the opposite end of the store, and Theo talking to two of the other guys that Harry didn't bother to remember their names. 

"Busy night, huh, Harry?" Theo started, dropping whatever topic he had been rambling his friends about just a moment before. 

"Yeah," Harry answered, voice stiff. It wasn't any more busy than any other night as far as he was concerned. Besides, he had other things he needed to worry about to be making conversation with a coworker he barely knew. There was still a pearl colored ribbon tying his stomach in tiny knots that he needed to fix. 

Soon enough, a silence fell through the backroom when the others made their way out. Only Harry and Theo were left, Harry doing his part to semi-organize his chosen box before heading out on the floor again. 

Maybe it was the rattling in his bones, or the vision of a peach colored bow that he saw every time he blinked, but something in Harry felt a little reckless when he peeked over at Theo focusing on his own box. 

"That girl," Harry rumbled, feeling odd in his skin as he spoke, "The one with the bows in her hair... She comes in a lot." 

Theo looked taken aback for a moment, his eyes wide with furrowed brows as he looked in Harry's direction. He even glanced over his shoulder as if there was anyone else there for the conversation to be aimed at. Harry had to keep from scoffing, dropping his gaze back to his working hands. 

Floundering over his words, Theo tried to catch up once he realized Harry was voluntarily talking. "Um, the one with bows in her hair?" 

Harry hummed in response. "She's in a couple of times a week." 

"Ohhh," Theo sounded, familiarity touching his tone, "You mean (Y/N)?" 

Harry swallowed at the sound of her name. He'd never asked for it himself. "If that's her name, yeah." 

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Theo nodding his head some. "She comes in a lot, yeah. She's not good at keeping a list and always forgets stuff if she tries to do big shops, so she just comes in when she wants something or runs out." 

Though he didn't want this information to mean something to him, Harry felt a part of himself slowing being fulfilled the more details he learned. She didn't tell him these kinds of things when she rambled about her dinner choice for the night. 

Keeping his gaze tacked to his hands, Harry kept his words measured and calculated. "Oh," he started, "Is she from here?" 

"She's lived here forever, yeah. Why?" 

A beat passed as Harry opted to ignore the second part of Theo's response. He didn't need to have any details as to why Harry was asking after someone after working together for five months with only a handful of interactions. Even if he did want to share that, Harry didn't have any answers to that why, anyway. 

"Does she... What does she do?" Harry asked, the phrasing of his words feeling awkward falling out of his mouth. He was lucky he was so used to shielding his emotions and staying stoic, otherwise he would have cringed where he stood. 

"Like for work?" Theo asked, his eyes warm on Harry's profile. 

Lifting his shoulders, Harry only shrugged in response. It was probably a good idea to keep his mouth shut. 

"She—uh—she works at the bakery. She and my sister work there together," Theo told him, acting as if Harry was supposed to know what bakery he was talking about and who his sister was. "(Y/N)'s pretty nice, though." 

"Right," was all Harry offered by the time he finished organizing his box. He didn't bother to give anything more in response or wait for Theo to say more before he was walking out on the floor again. Even when he could feel his eyes stuck to his back.

No doubt would this interaction make its way to the rest of the team before the end of the shift. 

It was harmless curiosity, Harry argued. He just had to believe the harmless part. 

—————