#like no they aren’t living together. no they’re not getting married. no they’re not having a kid

[bunisher]

might be the aro in me but i think one of the reasons i don’t ship mattfoggy is because i enjoy the idea of platonic intimacy and friendship without romance. i enjoy them as best friends, because their friendship is not any less than romantic love or needs to be. especially for characters like them, i think it’s important that they have friendships that are not inherently romantic. matt, because he has severe abandonment trauma and avoidant attachment, where all of his romances have ended in some form of tragedy. he has trouble feeling comfortable with people, he feels like he has to perform in many aspects, and does not with foggy, at least not anymore. trust is a hard earned thing with him, but it’s not just about trusting with being a hero, but trusting to be himself. in regards to foggy, because he also has his own issues regarding family and not feeling accepted. he needs that friend who provides the motivation, validation, and feeling of being good enough just for being him. his insecurities often come from being underestimated, being awkward, not fitting in, and with matt he can just be. they’re able to have a relationship with each other that has rupture and repair, knowing eventually after time it’s them against conflict and not them against each other. they set the standard for each other in how romantic relationships are. they provide that safe place for love that doesn’t have the weight of being someone’s everything or partner. they’re already partners! they’re best friends. i personally am a little in love with all of my friends, and i am utterly devoted to them. i will be affectionate and supportive and loving and i am not dating them. so yeah i see how stuff could be read romantic, i understand why people enjoy the ship, i get it, i do. but it’s more powerful to me when it’s not. romance is not the end all be all and that’s why i am obsessed with their friendship without it being this stepping stone for romance or there being no other explanation.

[monkee-mobile]

do you think if any of the monkees tried to actually kiss in the 90s special, everything would like glitch out for a bit and a lizard sunning itself of a rock would snap them out of it or would they be able to break free and show the kiss to the people?

[stinkrascal]

thanksgiving is so stupid. but at least this year me and bf made it very clear we aren’t going to any extended family outings and now both my family and bf’s family are keeping their thanksgiving to immediate family only which is somewhat a relief

[enviedear]

you ate me right up, you spit me back out

⤷ jacaerys velaryon

- ˏˋ 🎧 1.8k words, minors dni  ˊˎ -

“you shouldn’t be out at this hour.” the voice calling out is deep, and even though you turn in their direction, you aren’t able to make them out. a mere rough outline remains, shrouded in the moons shadows. still, you know who stands before you.

“i thought you a prince, my love. not a ward.” you wish the sun was shining, you’re sure he has his usual smirk on his face. both unbecoming and perfectly poised. as are all things with your prince.

jacaerys steps closer, pebbles and fallen leaves sounding under his boots, “my betrothed leaves dinner in haste. her chambermaids unaware of her location—tell me,” a pause from him, filled by his hands finding home at your waist, “have i upset you?”

“no. never that, my love…” you trail off, fingers blindly following the embroidery of his coat. “i fear i am plagued with utter happiness. this is a time of war, yet my days ring with joy. it feels immoral.”

he hums, the sound reverberating to your fingers at his clavicle, “it shouldn’t. you should know i pray for such, for your joy. i’m glad the gods answer my prayers.”

your breath hitches slightly, “you have far more to pray for, my love.”

he presses his forehead against yours, “such as?” his tone is sweetly sardonic.

“your life. your throne. your kingdom.” the reminders of duty ring heavy, but you have a feeling jace is smiling despite.

a soft kiss to your temple, “i pray for all of that too. perhaps the gods are proving how well they answer.” another kiss, “does that help?”

you breathe him in, hints of smoke, sea salt, and grasses flood your senses. the smell of dragonriding lingers on him, you assume as long as he lives he won’t be able to rid himself of it.

“yes,” you say after a moment. “i relent. i will remain happy.”

your words are met with another deep hum from him, followed by a soft chuckle that vibrates through his chest into yours. it's a warm sound that always exudes comfort. he pulls back just enough to stare at you, his eyes barely reflecting the silvery light of the moon. in night’s pale glow, they seem almost otherworldly—like two shimmering oceans of liquid silver. "my sweet girl.” he murmurs, reaching to deftly trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your shoulders.

a gust of frigid night air carries the familiar scent of saltwater and briny air so commonplace on driftmark. you shiver slightly as the breeze nips through your nightgown, but don't pull away from his touch or his gaze. moments of this kind are precious, even if they’re ill-advised. the palace guards must be searching for you right now, both of you, worried about where their young couple has wandered off to at this late hour. a possibility you should have considered before taking your leave.

"should we go back?" you whisper, breath warm against his neck.

he chuckles softly, pulling you closer. "do you really want to?"

you hesitate for a moment before shaking her head. "no, not really. i don’t want this day to end yet."

his hands trail down her arms, leaving a line of goosebumps in their wake. you tremble again, but this time it’s not so much from the cold. he leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "then i shall not allow for it. my beautiful bride, i only want you happy." he murmurs, voice low and smooth.

you hum at his praise, turning you face towards his. noses bump one another, and you fight a smile before leaning in. your lips met in a slow, tentative kiss. a kiss filled with longing—all the moments spend wishing to be alone together finally coming to fruition. still, you don’t let yourself get too taken by your betrothed’s saccharine lips. the both of you will have to retire and slip away to your own bedrooms soon. how you wish to share a room, to live as a married couple.

his hands move at your waist, pulling you closer still. you can feel the warmth of his body against your own, entrapping you against him. you’re sure you’ve never felt more at home. you card your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss. he groans softly, one hand moving up to cup your breast. his thumb brushing against your nipple through the thin fabric of the nightgown, eliciting a gasp to break from your mouth.

you seperate, panting slightly. you peer up at him, eyes alight with desire. jacaerys’ brown eyes mirror your own, his hand still on your breast. "perhaps we should return.” he says softly, voice hinting.

you nod, taking his hand. you make your way back to the castle, steps slow and deliberate. jacaerys sneaks the both of you back into dragonstone, his hands remaining interlocked with yours.

as you make your way back to the castle, his hand tightens around your own. his grip is like a vice, making your pulse race. looking up at him through your lashes, eyes heavy with want. he leans in, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. there's no activity in the halls aside from the two of you, but still, your nerves scream out. this is all so unlike the both of you. jacaerys has never been so outward with affection—if anything it only adds to your desire.

his tongue darts out, teasing your lips apart, and you whine when he deepens the kiss. he pulls you closer, hands roaming over your body. His member presses insistent and hard against you and An intense ache of need uncoils within you. he groans into your mouth, breath hot and heavy.

"come with me." he whispers, his voice low and raspy. "spend the night in my bed."

you hesitate for a moment, but the need coursing through your veins makes it nearly impossible to resist. you nod, and jace grins, taking your hand and leading you to his chambers.

once inside, he shuts the door behind you and turns to face you. his eyes are even darker with the hue of lust. jacaerys steps closer, slowly. you almost feel like one of the sheep offered up to his family's dragons, unassuming and naive. he stops right in front of you, hands gently dipping underneath your nightgown. he slowly undresses you, his hands shaking slightly as he slides your dress off your shoulders.

jacaerys always takes you like a man starved. in a way, he is. without the war, the two of you would be happily married—should be relishing in the joy of naive nuptials. but you aren't. so he kisses at your neck hungrily, lips leaving a trail of heat on your skin. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples. you moan, your head falling onto his shoulder as he continues his sacrilege.

he pushes you gently onto the plush bed, his body covering yours. he reaches between your legs. his fingers find you wet and ready, and he groans. "you're always so perfect." he whispers, breath hot against your ear. "do you want me, dōna ābrazȳrys?"

you nod, unable to speak, feeling the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, you feel drunken, as if you had consumed the entire castles’ supply.

"say it." he commands, voice rough. "tell me you want me."

"i want you." you manage, voice trembling with need.

with a growl, he thrusts into you, filling you completely. jacaerys moves inside you, his pace slow and deliberate. he watches you closely, his eyes never leaving yours. you can feel every bit of him, like an indelible brand. the heat and weight of his body on top of yours. each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back. you grab at him, his muscles clenching under your touch.

his hands grip onto your hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. an absolutely lurid scene. his breath is hot on your neck, teeth nipping at your skin as he drives you both closer to the edge. you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper inside you.

"you feel so good." he grunts, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "so perfect."

you moan as his thrusts pick up pace, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. the bed creaks beneath you, the furs beneath you tangling around your legs as you arch your back to meet his movements. the smell of sweat and sex fill the air, mixed with the faint scent of dragon smoke that clings to him. his hips slide against yours, pressing into you as he takes you deeper and deeper. your breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples pebbled from the cool air on your heated skin.

jacaerys's breathing becomes ragged, his mouth finding yours once more in a passionate kiss, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. he tastes of honeyed wine and seasalt, divine. jacaerys growls into the kiss, tongues dancing together as he drives harder into you. the bed thumps against the wall in time with your grunts and moans, echoing through the otherwise silent castle halls.

"jacaerys." you moan, the sound barely audible among the creaking bed and the panting of your breaths.

he grunts in response, his fingers dig into your hips as he desperately tries to hold back. the bed groans beneath you, the cold stone floor sharp with the sound. his fingers dig into your hips, holding you close, making you feel a part of him.

"so close, dōna ābrazȳrys." he growls out, his voice hoarse. "so fucking close."

you gasp, your orgasm about to break free. the feeling consumes you, spreading through your body like wildfire, consuming you in its wake. your nails dig into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. as the pleasure builds inside you, jacaerys pulls away from the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck and collarbone. you can feel the heat building in your core, every nerve on fire from his touch. you come undone with a loud gasp followed by your lover’s name, repeated like a prayer.

jace isn’t far behind and when he finally reaches his climax, you feel him tense inside you. his body shuddering as he releases himself deep within you. his hot seed pulses out of him, filling you completely before pulling out with a low groan. you gasp at the sudden loss of him, missing the fullness. with a loud sigh, he collapses on top of you, hearts pounding in unison.

he rolls onto his side carefully so as not to crush you under his weight and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your fingers ascend instinctively, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, your fingers lingering on his skin.

he looks at you with a satisfied smile, his eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure. as he moves closer, his body radiates heat and you feel his strong arms wrap around your waist. you lean into him, enjoying the comforting feeling of being held in his embrace. the sound of his steady breaths like a lullaby, and you sink into the blissful calm of slumber.

[leth-writes]

hotd x oblivious reader

I’m thinking about a reader who’s kinda oblivious. They aren’t super aware of everything going on around them, they’re just confused as to why no one is getting along.

You’re really close with both team black and green, to the point that they’re fighting over you, but you’re not even aware of the actual conflict; you just think it’s petty interpersonal drama.

They’re over in the corner threatening each other with dragons and swords and you’re just… hanging out with Helaena, looking at butterflies and asking to pet her dragon.

the second you express interest in the dragons, there’s practically a line; you’re the most nervous with Daemon and Aemond’s dragons, for obvious reasons given their reputation, but Luke has a pretty small dragon so you grow closer to him through that. Rather than the size of the castle, Arrax is about the size of a particularly large horse, or maybe a big bear. More manageable when you know they can’t swallow you in one bite.

This drives a wedge further between Aemond and Luke, with Aemond outright glaring every time he so much as catches a glimpse at Luke. Not only did he take his eye, now he’s taking a bonding opportunity out from under her?! He’s pissed and challenges him to a duel. You still think it’s all fun and games, and you’re cheering for both of them, and they’re both trying to fucking kill each other, it’s pretty intense.

no matter who wins, you’re ecstatic, and you hug them both and kiss them both on the cheek. The blush that blooms on their faces and the almost goofy smiles that stretch across their cheeks are perhaps the only thing they’ve had in common in years.

Aemond totally uses his injury to ingratiate himself with you. It makes you feel bad for him, and while he doesn’t normally want pity, he’s fine using it to his advantage. Once Luke is out of the way, he reckons, he’ll be able to reveal his true self slowly over time.

Daemon’s also pretty likely to get into physical fights, though he sues his silver tongue to make you blush just as often. He really is quite sly, and he’s the only one to outright proposition you. He’ll get Jace to take you out for a night in the town, slowly working their way to the brothels, trying to sully your reputation just far enough that you’ll have to marry him. It worked for Daemon, after all, and he just wants you connected to him. He’s fully aware that he’s not going to be able to live without you. Having you tied to Jace is just the perfect way to keep you close.

Rhaenyra is also taking advantage of your oblivious and gullible nature. She definitely tries to take advantage of the fact that you aren’t able to catch on to her true intentions. She’s convinced you to cuddle with her by telling you she’s too cold, and that Daemon’s too busy, and you felt so bad for her you were totally willing.

She’s more straightforward, pushing Jace to try to court you. He’s fighting off any of your various suitors, and anyone who is trying to take advantage of your obliviousness to secure a connection to the family.

You’re targeted by people from all over, mainly because of your close bonds to the various members of the nobility. Everyone has to work together to keep you safe when it’s announced you’re willing to court some random lord. You think you’re in love, they need to convince you otherwise.

Daemon immediately gets to work sullying the reputation of that lord. Then, he murders them. He’s not above paying a prostitute to seduce them in a place where you catch the two of them in the act, ravaging your heart.

Aemond and Jace both try to step into that void. Aemond, who takes a slightly more subtle approach, asking you to ride on Vhagar, fails; Jace, under the advice of Rhaenyra, takes a more direct approach and is able to begin dating you.

Alicent practically loses it, seeing her child so defiled by Rhaenyra’s child. She’s trying to convince you to marry Aemond or Aegon instead. Aegon shows up naked in your room; you can’t miss that clue, after all. It doesn’t work, you’re convinced he just mistook your room for his. Your rooms look nothing alike, but Aegon’s too charmed to even mention it.

Finally, Otto steps in to prevent Alicent from snapping and attacking someone. He’s not willing to let his precious grandchild fall into the hands of one of Rhaenyra’s bastards, after all.

Viserys is informed, even on his deathbed, that you should be married to Aemond. It’s to secure the familial line, after all, and your children will surely be strong and loved, the perfect combination.

So, he announces that you will be married to Aemond, breaking your relationship to Jace. Jace is heartbroken, Rhaenyra and Daemon are ready to burn the castle to the ground.

Thus begins the fight of the century.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | pregnancy special

you and Yoongi try to get pregnant, but it doesn’t go as planned, as the road isn’t easy. But he’s your rock, and he’ll stand with you through thick and thin 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, married!au, pregnancy!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 7.5k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mentions of blood because of SPOILER a miscarriage (there’s blood but know more detail than that), angst, anxiety/fear for the future and for a miscarriage again, pregnancy, raging hormones, drinking sorrows away, getting angry without course, yelling without course, OC is being rather destructive in this one but Yoongi is very sweet, understanding and supportive 👏 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (is this really a surprise? But please don’t be stupid irl, though they aren’t stupid here ‘cuz they’re actively trying for a baby); oral (female and male receiving), doggystyle over a table 😝, spanks, creampie, cockwarming, kisses (yes that is a warning because it’s sugary sweet 😘), multiple orgasms → Author’s note: hiya all you lovely people! I’m back at it again with another extra for friendcation and let me tell you, even though this is very angsty, I loved writing it a lot. I drew from my own experience (miscarriages), but I didn’t want to go into too much detail, so it’s very light. But it does affect OC and her mood, like she almost gets depressed over it 😢 But Yoongi is there to pick her up and support her, so don’t worry! It’s a sweet one, and of course it has a happy ending, because you know what’s gonna happen in the winter special that I wrote a long time ago! I hope you love it as much as I did! This one was honestly so fast for me to write, like a few hours! It’s so much easier for me when I write from my own personal experience. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, I want to give you a hug, and please know that you’re not alone, okay? 🫂 (author’s note2: I wrote this story in the beginning of August 2024) → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“There are two lines!” you cry out, bursting into the living room with a pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hand. You twirl it in the air like a magic wand, watching the realization spread across your husband’s face, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and wonder. He moves toward you, a smile breaking across his lips, and in one swift motion, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you close as he plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Are you really pregnant?” he murmurs, his voice soft yet trembling with excitement and a touch of fear. You hear the uncertainty beneath his joy, the way hope and anxiety dance together in his words. You’ve both dreamed of this moment, talked about it late into the night, imagining the tiny life you would create together. Ever since your honeymoon, where every whispered wish was laced with the hope of creating a new life, this has been your shared dream. And now, it’s real. The weight of it hits you all at once, and tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as the emotions of the moment overwhelm you.

He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin.

Neither can you. The joy is too immense to contain, so you schedule a doctor’s appointment, needing to hear it confirmed, to know for certain that your dream is taking root inside you. Yoongi is right there beside you, holding your hand as the doctor measures your HCG levels via a blood test and tells you the news you’ve been waiting for—you’re pregnant, and not just newly so. Eight weeks have already passed, and suddenly, the idea of this tiny life feels even more real.

Giddy with excitement, the two of you start to dream out loud, envisioning a life that needs more space to grow. The apartment where you built your love, small and cozy as it is, now feels too cramped for the family you want to become. You’ve always talked about raising your children just outside the city, where the air is cleaner, and the pace of life slower, where a bigger house awaits with room enough for your growing dreams. Yoongi smiles at the thought of a garage, where he can create and tinker, a space of his own.

You start house hunting in the suburbs surrounding Seoul, imagining nurseries painted in soft pastels, browsing baby clothes with tiny sleeves, and laughing over the choices. Each step feels like a dream in the making, a life slowly unfolding before you, full of promise and possibility.

But today has been long, and your body is weary. The excitement has worn you down, and as you return home, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the ache in your swollen feet. You glance around, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of your husband’s return, but the apartment is quiet. You open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water, hoping it will soothe your frayed nerves. The stress of your marketing job clings to you like a shadow, and all you want is a moment to unwind, to let go of the day’s tension.

As you set the bottle down on the counter, a sudden, sharp pain radiates through your stomach. Your hand instinctively flies to your belly, and you double over, gasping as the pain intensifies. It’s not normal, you think, panic rising in your chest. Something is wrong.

When you look down at the floor, a wave of horror crashes over you. 

Blood. 

Dark, vivid, and far too much of it. It’s pooling beneath you, seeping through your clothes, and it’s only then that you fully realize how soaked you are. 

Terror grips you, squeezing your chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes, your breath comes in ragged gasps as panic begins to set in. This can’t be happening—this much blood, it’s not normal, not now, not when you’re carrying life inside you. A flood of thoughts races through your mind: is the baby inside you still safe? Or is this the cruel end to a dream that had only just begun? 

You need Yoongi—his steady presence, his strong arms, his comforting words—but he’s not here.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, digging it out of your skirt pocket, and desperately pull up your husband’s contact. The phone barely rings before the door to your apartment creaks open, and there he is, stepping inside. Relief mixes with fear as he rushes to you, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the scene—the blood, your trembling form, the tears streaming down your face.

Without a word, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. His fingers, rough from years of work, trace gentle, soothing circles on your back, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the tremor beneath his words, the fear that he’s trying so hard to mask. His breath comes quicker, and though he tries to be strong for you, you can see the terror in his eyes, mirroring your own.

“Out of nowhere, the pain started,” you sob, clutching at your stomach, “and then the bleeding... so much blood.” Your voice breaks as the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving.

Yoongi pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but tender, “We need to get you to the doctor’s. Now.” His words are clipped, urgent, but his touch is all comfort as he guides you out of the apartment, into the elevator, and finally into the car. The drive is shrouded in a thick, suffocating silence, broken only by your muffled sobs. The fear that’s lodged in your throat is too heavy to put into words, and deep down, you’re terrified of what you might say if you tried.

At the doctor’s office, the cold gel on your stomach is a jarring contrast to the heat of your fear. The ultrasound screen flickers to life, and there it is—a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relief washes over you like a cool breeze, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. You dare not hope too much, not yet.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence, steady but laced with anxiety, “Why is she bleeding so much?” His eyes search the doctor’s face for reassurance, for something solid to hold onto.

The doctor hesitates, their gaze softening as they meet your wide, tear-streaked eyes. “It’s not uncommon to bleed in the early stages of pregnancy,” they explain gently. “Everything could be okay, but…” they pause, and the weight of that single word hangs heavy in the air, “it might be a miscarriage in progress. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.” The apology in their voice is almost unbearable, as if they’re sorry for delivering such uncertain news.

And so you wait, the days stretching out like an endless horizon. The bleeding continues, each drop a reminder of the life that hangs in the balance. Yoongi never leaves your side, holding you close through the long, silent nights. You curl into a ball on the bed, grief pulling you into its dark embrace, and you weep for what you fear you’ve lost, though no one has told you for certain. You cry yourself to sleep most nights, haunted by the thought that the heartbeat you saw was the last flicker of hope, slowly fading away.

You feel like a hollow shell, a prisoner within your own skin, drifting through the motions of life, performing tasks you know you should care about but no longer do. The days blur together in a monotony of routines—going to work, waking up, all the things that once held meaning now feel like burdens. The joy that once colored your world has faded to gray. Yet, Yoongi remains by your side, unwavering in his support, whispering words of comfort, promising that everything will be okay. But when the doctor confirms your worst fears, telling you that the life you carried is no longer, you don’t even cry.

It’s as if your tears have run dry, drained by days of sorrow, leaving you numb and empty. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, trying to shield you from the storm that rages inside. You feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

Back home, you slip off your shoes and head straight for the alcohol cabinet. The house is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of your grief. You reach for a bottle of red wine, the one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. With a shaky hand, you uncork it and pour the crimson liquid into a glass, filling it almost to the brim. You glance at your husband, managing a weak smile. “Do you want one?”

“It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. But you just shrug, raising the glass to your lips as if it could wash away the pain. “But I don’t mind drinking with you,” he adds, grabbing a glass for himself and pouring some wine. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

He settles beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you, and you lean into him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. The past few days have been a blur of tears and aching silence, and as you take a sip of the wine, the familiar burn in your throat offers a momentary escape. You know it’s not a solution, but today, you allow yourself this indulgence. Tomorrow will be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow is a new day.

Yoongi doesn’t say much; he simply kisses the top of your head, holding you close as you both drink in the quiet of the day. There’s a solace in his presence, in the way his arms encircle you, making you feel safe even as the world crumbles around you. The wine, the warmth of his body, the soft hum of his voice as he sings you a lullaby—it’s all a balm to your wounded soul.

Before long, sleep overtakes you, and you drift off with your head resting on his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair. When you wake, your head throbs with a dull ache, and your eyes feel dry and gritty. You rub them, groaning softly as you stretch. Yoongi isn’t beside you, but on the table, you find a glass of water and a couple of painkillers waiting for you. The small gesture makes your heart swell with love.

As you swallow the pills, Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His voice, still thick with sleep, wraps around you like a warm blanket. “How are you feeling, babe?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I have a slight headache, but I’m okay,” you reply, pouting playfully as you try to tame your unruly hair. “Thank you for indulging me,” you add, feeling a surge of gratitude for the way he understands you, even in your darkest moments.

He crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. “I’ll always be by your side, babe, you know that,” he says, his voice soft but filled with unwavering conviction.

You nod, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurts. Because you do know. And you love him all the more for it.

He disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and when he returns, he sits beside you again, his hand finding yours, his touch grounding you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with your fingers, feeling the weight of the words that hover on your lips. But you know that talking might help, that sharing the burden might make it easier to bear. So you take a deep breath and let the words spill out.

“I want to try to get pregnant again,” you confess, the hurt still fresh, but beneath it, a flicker of hope. Despite the pain, despite everything, you still want that baby. You still believe in the dream that once filled you with so much joy.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes soft with understanding. He nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s try again then.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

And so you try, again and again, in every possible way, in so many positions that it borders on the absurd. The weeks blur into months, yet each time you face the stark emptiness of a negative pregnancy test, hope crumbles a little more. You feel bombed, discouraged, like a balloon slowly deflating, the air of optimism leaking out with each failed attempt. You never imagined it would be this hard to conceive, and the disappointment weighs heavy on your heart.

Doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping its cold fingers around your thoughts. You begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with your body, some hidden flaw that’s keeping you from the one thing you want most. Why isn’t it happening? And yet, beneath the yearning, there’s a trembling fear—fear of what will happen when you finally see those two lines again. Fear of reliving the pain of another loss.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” Yoongi suggests one quiet afternoon as you both pick at your food, the silence between you thick with unspoken worries. “Maybe I should get my sperm checked,” he muses, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

You nod, though deep down you doubt that he’s the problem. It feels like the fault lies with you, that your body is betraying you. Isn’t there something about a woman’s fertility dipping after thirty? You vaguely recall reading that somewhere, and it haunts you now. But Yoongi’s right—there’s no harm in getting checked. Perhaps it will give you some answers, or at least a direction.

A few days later, you walk into your doctor’s office with leaden feet and little hope, convinced that age has already set its limits on your dreams. The tests are done, the waiting begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. But when the results come back, they reveal that everything is fine—your fertility is normal, Yoongi’s sperm is in excellent shape. So why isn’t it happening? The question echoes in your mind, relentless and cruel.

Frustration gnaws at you, its claws sinking deeper with each passing day. You find yourself snapping at your colleagues, the tension spilling over in ways you can’t control. Apologies tumble from your lips almost as often as the sharp words that precede them. At home, you manage to hold your temper, but you fear it’s only a matter of time before even Yoongi becomes a target, despite his unwavering support.

Making love, once a source of joy and connection, now feels hollow, reduced to a mechanical routine. The passion that once ignited between you has dimmed, replaced by a clinical determination to conceive. You know Yoongi feels it too; he’s always been attuned to your moods.

“I’m not fucking you when you’re not in the mood,” he says one night, his voice low but firm.

You scoff, anger flaring as you rise from the bed. “Just fuck me so I can get pregnant.”

“No,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “Not when your heart’s not in it.”

With that, he stands up, naked and resolute, pulling his clothes back on as you lie there, seething and tearful, frustration coursing through you like a fever. The anger isn’t just at him; it’s at yourself, at your body, at the unfairness of it all. You hear him in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a stark contrast to the silence that fills the bedroom. You pull yourself together, dressing slowly, avoiding the mirror because you know you won’t like what you see—a woman who feels trapped in a body that won’t cooperate, stuck between desire and despair.

But Yoongi isn’t wrong. Pushing yourself when your heart isn’t in it won’t help, you know that. You just can’t help the desperation that drives you to this point. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with regret. “I’ll do better.”

He hugs you back, strong and warm, and in that embrace, you find a flicker of comfort. You kiss, a promise unspoken between you, and you feel a surge of gratitude for the man who stands beside you through all the heartbreak and frustration. Whatever comes next, you know you’re in this together.

You immerse yourself in research, scouring every corner of the internet for vitamins, supplements, and rituals that might tip the odds in your favor. Each new discovery feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the relentless tide of hope and disappointment. But one day, after yet another fruitless search, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you—a weariness that reaches deep into your bones. You close your laptop with a heavy sigh and turn to Yoongi, the words slipping from your lips before you can second-guess them. 

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore,” you say, your voice eerily calm, as if stating a simple fact. But inside, you feel as cold and distant as the words sound. Yoongi’s head snaps toward you so quickly that you can almost hear the air shift. His eyes search your face, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in your resolve.

“We can just keep trying,” he replies, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation, as though he’s pleading with you—because he is. You know how deeply he longs for babies, for a family built on the love you share.

But the weight of it all crushes you, and the tears you’ve held back for so long finally threaten to spill over. “I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a sob catches in your throat. The exhaustion, the fear, the endless cycle of hope and heartbreak—it’s too much.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring. He pats your back, murmuring that it’s okay, that everything will be fine, even as he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to shield you from the pain. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you see the sincerity in them—the way he’s willing to let go of his own dreams for your sake. 

“We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want to anymore,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, making sure you know he means it. It’s not just a comfort; it’s a promise.

You swallow hard, the enormity of the decision weighing on you. Could you keep trying? Maybe. But fear coils around your heart, tightening with each passing thought. The future feels uncertain, and that terrifies you.

“Maybe,” you begin, searching for the right words, “we could still try, but not focus on it so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be this obsessed.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as relief softens his features. “Maybe we should rekindle our love,” he suggests gently. “Sex shouldn’t feel like a chore, and I hate that it does for you,” he adds, a pout forming on his lips as he looks at you with concern. “How can I make it better for you?”

You take a moment to ponder his question, reflecting on the love you share, the bond that has always been strong, even in the face of adversity. You realize that it’s not about what’s missing, but about what’s been neglected—the time, the attention, the simple joys of being together. Your hectic schedules have stolen moments that should have been yours, and now you feel the distance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

His chuckle is like music, sweet and comforting, warming you from the inside out. “Always,” he replies, intertwining his fingers with yours, his touch a silent vow of affection.

In the weeks that follow, you carve out more time for each other, stepping back from the rush of work to simply be together. You surprise him at his garage, sharing takeout in his cluttered office, laughing over greasy fries and soda. You catch late-night movies, stroll through the mall hand-in-hand, visit little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city. You do all the things you’ve missed, the simple, everyday joys that once made your love effortless, and already you feel lighter, happier.

Amidst this rekindling of your love, you stumble upon the perfect house just outside of Seoul. It’s spacious, with a large living room that echoes with the laughter of future children you haven’t given up on just yet. The garden sprawls wide, with enough space for dreams to grow, and the garage—oh, the garage is exactly what Yoongi has always wanted, a place to tinker and create. When you step inside for the first time, you feel it in your bones—this is home. It speaks to you, calls to something deep within you, and you see the same recognition in Yoongi’s eyes. 

The decision to buy the house is easy, almost instinctual, as if you’ve always known this was where you were meant to be. You celebrate with friends, toasting to the new chapter that’s about to begin, and their joy mirrors your own. The move won’t happen until summer, giving you a few precious months to pack up your life and prepare for the future. And for the first time in a long while, that future doesn’t feel so daunting—it feels full of possibilities.

It’s March, and winter still clings to the world with frosty fingers, the cold seeping through the cracks of the early morning. Yoongi holds you extra close as you stroll along the river, the chill in the air making you grateful for the wool scarf he wrapped around your neck with such tender care. Your hand finds refuge in the deep pocket of his coat, where your fingers intertwine, sharing warmth with each squeeze and caress. 

As you walk, you take in the quiet beauty of the morning. Couples sit huddled on benches, whispering secrets, some stealing kisses as if the cold gives them courage. Children chase each other across the dewy grass, their laughter like wind chimes in the crisp air. You savor these moments, these tranquil walks before the world wakes up fully and the weather softens into spring.

Yoongi tugs you toward a small coffee shop nestled by the river, and soon you’re cradling steaming cups of hot cocoa. The rich scent of chocolate wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you settle into a cozy corner. Across the table, Yoongi’s fingers dance playfully over yours, each brush sending electric jolts through your body. His touch warms you from the inside out, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, though you try to hide it.

Suddenly, he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got something on your face,” he teases, pointing at your mouth.

You fumble to wipe it away, but before you can, Yoongi leans over the table, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping out to clean the smudge of cocoa from your mouth. The simple act is intimate, thrilling, and utterly unexpected.

“Yoongi, we’re in public,” you stammer, your voice a mix of scolding and breathless surprise. The audacity of his gesture stirs a warmth between your legs, a desire that flickers to life like a spark catching flame.

“When has that ever bothered me?” he retorts with a mischievous grin, his boldness both shocking and endearing.

You stare at him, baffled by his audacity, but also deeply drawn to it. With a playful smile, you grab his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “Let’s get home before you get us kicked out.”

Laughter bubbles between you as you walk hand in hand, the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. By the time you step into the elevator, the tension has built to a fever pitch, and you find yourself unable to wait any longer. You pounce on him, surprising Yoongi with the fiery need in your kiss, your lips capturing his in a fierce embrace.

“I want you, Yoon,” you whisper breathlessly, your lips brushing against his ear as you tighten your arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His giggle is low and throaty, the sound reverberating through you as his back meets the steel of the elevator wall. “Hmmm, you’d like that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant, your breath hot against his skin. You lick your lips, eyes dark with desire. “You can decide how you want it. My birthday present to you.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, tenderly, as he murmurs, “But you already gave me a scotch, a new toolbox, and a house,” a kiss for each gift, each one lingering longer than the last. “You don’t need to give me more.”

“And sex shouldn’t really be a gift,” he adds, his lips quirking into a smile, but you nod, already knowing this. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want you inside me,” you counter with a wink, giving your own ass a playful slap. 

A low grunt escapes him, arousal thickening his voice as he grabs you, pinning you against the wall, his lips tracing a searing path down your neck. You moan softly, your body arching toward him, your pussy throbbing with need.

When the elevator doors slide open, he pulls you out, his grip firm as he leads you to your apartment door. He fumbles briefly with the key, urgency in every motion, and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, the world outside ceases to exist.

Shoes are discarded in a hurry, and in the blink of an eye, Yoongi has you in the kitchen, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. He spreads your legs, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Already, you’re so wet, aching for him, and you can see the primal desire mirrored in his gaze. 

He kneels before you, lifting the hem of your dress with a mischievous glint in his eye. “There’s a wet patch on your panties, babe,” he murmurs, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his gaze darkens with desire.

“Well, I want you badly,” you breathe, your legs parting in invitation, your body aching for his touch.

Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and slides them down your legs, letting them pool on the floor. His lips find your slick pussy, his tongue a sinful instrument of pleasure as it dances over your folds. He laps at you with fervor, his nose grazing your sensitive clit as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you. You moan, the sound almost foreign to your own ears, lost as you are in the ecstasy he’s drawing from you. It doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, your release shuddering through you as you come apart on his tongue.

He pulls back, his lips glistening with your essence, and he licks them slowly, savoring the taste of you. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with need.

You hum in response, wanting to tell him how irresistible he is, but before you can, he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you down from the counter and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he growls against your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “I want to fill you up, to lose myself in your pussy.”

When you pull away, his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “I want to take care of you first,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. I just need to be inside you,” he argues, his hands already unzipping his pants, freeing his hard, aching cock.

“No,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. “It’s your birthday, and I want to give you everything you desire.” You help him discard his pants and boxers, and as soon as he’s free of the fabric, you wrap your hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He groans, a needy sound that makes your own desire flare even hotter.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you say, your voice sultry and full of intent. You drop to your knees before him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. You always have this power over him, making him bend to your will with just a word, a look. So when you take him into your warm, wet mouth, he sees stars. You hold his gaze, your eyes locked on his as you slowly, sensually, begin to pleasure him. He thinks you look like a vixen, so full of confidence and allure, and sometimes he can’t quite believe that you’re his, that you belong to him in every way.

For a while, he lets you lead, your lips and tongue working him over with skillful precision. But soon, his need for control takes over, his hands tangling in your hair as he starts to guide your movements, thrusting gently at first, then deeper, harder. He knows you can take it, even when your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches. He knows you love it as much as he does. The sounds you make, the soft, wet noises of your mouth on him, fill the kitchen, and he moans your name, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

He can feel himself getting close, that familiar tightening in his core, and it takes everything in him to pull back, to stop before he loses himself entirely. When he does, a string of saliva still connects you, a testament to the raw, unfiltered passion between you.

“Was it too much?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek.

You shake your head, wiping the drool from your lips. “No,” you assure him, your voice breathless but steady. “If it was, I would have said something.”

“Good,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Because now I need to fuck you. On the table.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a playful glint in your gaze. “The dining table?”

He grins, wicked and full of promise. “Yes, the dining table.”

He nods, and you do as he says, feeling his presence close behind you, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air thickens with anticipation as you remain in your dress, a symbol of your desire lingering between the layers of fabric. When he turns you around to face the table and gently presses you down onto its cool surface, you know exactly what he wants, and the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. God, you love it when he takes you from behind.

He hikes up your dress, exposing you to the cool air, and his hands find your ass, groping and squeezing with a possessive reverence. “So pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with need.

You feel the heat of his cock teasing against your entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable. His hands spread your cheeks, and then you feel the head of his cock pressing into your slick pussy. Slowly, he pushes in, the stretch more intense in this position, but you welcome it, your body humming with pleasure as he fills you completely.

He grunts, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Yoongi—please, move,” you pant, your hands gripping the edge of the table, seeking leverage as he begins to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, your voice breaking as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that feels both punishing and divine.

His hands roam over your backside, caressing, gripping, pulling you closer with every thrust. “Ah, fuck. You always feel so fucking good around me,” he groans, his voice dripping with raw desire as he speaks your name.

“I love having your cock in me. Fuck me faster, please,” you plead, your voice breathless, every nerve in your body alight with want.

The table shifts beneath you, scraping against the floor with each thrust, but the sound is lost in the symphony of your pleasure. Soon, this place won’t be yours to worry about, but right now, it’s all that grounds you as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that makes your vision blur with bliss.

“Fuck! Right there!” you scream, your mind emptying of everything but him, your husband, the man you love so fiercely.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip that promises to leave marks, tangible reminders of this moment.

“Yoon—, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, your breath ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as the heat between you builds to a crescendo.

He rams into you harder, just like you wanted, and you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your vision goes white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body sags against the table, barely able to support itself.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. You clench around him reflexively, another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck,” he curses again, another slap, another burst of sensation, and you cry out, your body quivering under his relentless assault.

“Yoongi!” you scream, teetering on the edge of another climax, “I think—”

But the words are stolen from you as he continues to pound into you, the force of his thrusts driving the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, lost in a sea of sensation.

“Fucking shit. I’m so close,” he pants, his hand soothing over your ass before delivering another stinging slap, and your second orgasm melds into a third, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You cry out in pleasure, your voice raw as your world narrows to the feel of him inside you, the only anchor in the storm of your release.

His thrusts grow erratic, less controlled, until finally, he stills, his cock buried deep as he spills into you, the warmth of his release filling you up. A sigh escapes your lips, your body utterly spent, your mind adrift in the aftermath.

He collapses over you, his weight a comforting pressure as he keeps himself inside you, his hands caressing your body with gentle affection. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I love you so much.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of your love for him blooming in your chest. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, feeling his softened cock slide out of you as you turn to face him. “And I love you so much too.”

He smiles, tender and full of adoration, before capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of gratitude and deep, unwavering love. “Thank you for this lovely birthday,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

You smile back, letting him take your hand and lead you to the bathroom, where he gently cleans you up, his touch as tender as his heart. Later, you fall asleep nestled in his arms, the world outside forgotten, lost in the cocoon of your shared warmth.

You stare at the test in your trembling hands, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness. Three minutes—those eternal, cursed minutes—dragging you back to that moment in the forest when the thought of pregnancy filled you with dread. But now, everything is different. Now you want it, crave it with every fiber of your being, yet fear still lingers like a shadow in your heart, whispering what-ifs.

Your phone vibrates, breaking the silence, signaling that the time is up. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and then you look. 

Two lines. 

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink, hardly believing it. 

Two lines.

You rush to show Yoongi, his eyes lighting up with pure joy as he sees the result. He’s elated, grinning like a child, and his happiness is contagious. You’re happy too, truly, but beneath the surface, that familiar fear curls, a silent specter reminding you of the past, of the heartbreak you’ve been through before. What if it happens again?

But the weeks pass, and you pack your life into boxes, preparing for the move as summer blooms. Now, four months pregnant, you find yourself with Yoongi wrapped around your little finger. He’s doting, tender, doing everything for you as if you were made of glass—cooking your meals, helping you dress, even braiding your hair with surprising care. He indulges your every craving, runs to the store for cake and candy at odd hours, holds your hair when the nausea takes over. His protectiveness borders on overbearing, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. It’s endearing, really, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s as sweet as the candy he brings you.

On moving day, Yoongi insists you don’t lift a finger, so you supervise, directing your friends on where to place each box in your new home. It still feels surreal—this beautiful house is yours, truly yours. You rest your hand on your growing belly, not yet feeling the strong kicks you’re longing for, though you’ve sensed some faint fluttering. Perhaps it’s just gas, but still, the anticipation is almost unbearable.

After a day of grocery shopping, stocking the fridge and freezer with essentials, you find yourself craving ice cream late at night—the one with Oreo bits swirled through it. The craving grips you suddenly, fiercely, and you know there’s no ignoring it. You need that ice cream.

“Yoongi?” you call out, drawing his name in that sweet, almost sing-song voice he knows all too well.

He chuckles, already predicting your request from the way you’ve drawn out his name. Your cravings have become a nightly ritual, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it—loves you more than words can express.

“Yeah?” he answers, laughter in his voice, as you hesitate, almost shy to ask for something else after all the shopping you did today.

“I’m craving ice cream…” you murmur, unsure how he’ll react, knowing full well you’d already stocked the freezer just hours ago.

He sighs, but it’s a soft, amused sound. “The one with Oreo bits, right?”

Your eyes fill with love and gratitude, tears pricking at the corners. “Thank you!” you whisper, your heart swelling as he’s already up, grabbing his keys without a second thought.

You watch him go, overwhelmed with love for this man who would move mountains just to see you smile. When he returns, ice cream in hand, you greet him with a kiss, diving into the tub with abandon. Fifteen minutes later, the tub is empty, and you glance at him with a sheepish smile, wondering if he’ll have to make another trip. That’s when he decides to always buy extra, stashing it away in the freezer, ready for your next craving.

He’s your snack patrol, your guardian of midnight desires, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy, to keep that radiant smile on your face. After all, you’re carrying his tiny miracle inside you, and for him, indulging your every whim is the least he can do.

One evening, you stumble through the door after a long, grueling day at work, exhaustion clinging to you like a heavy shroud. All you want is to collapse into the soft embrace of your bed, to let the day melt away into dreams. But hunger gnaws at you, demanding attention, so you drag yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find Yoongi bustling around, preparing dinner as usual. Yet, the air is absent of the familiar, comforting aromas that typically greet you, and instead, you find Yoongi lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“Didn’t you make dinner?” you snap, frustration bubbling up before you can contain it, the weariness in your bones making your temper short.

He glances up, confused, his lips parting to speak, but you cut him off, the anger spilling over. 

“You dick! You know I expect you to make dinner when I get home late,” you huff, the irritation morphing into something sharper, more biting. But before the anger can fully take root, it unravels into sobs, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, as if your exhaustion has found a new outlet. You’re crying so hard that you scare yourself, and Yoongi, too, who tosses his book aside and rushes to your side, wrapping you in his arms, his touch gentle and soothing.

“There’s leftovers, remember?” he whispers softly, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, his voice steady and calm, grounding you in the moment. 

And just like that, clarity washes over you. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The realization of your misplaced anger makes you feel foolish, small. Lately, you’ve been snapping at him over the smallest things, calling him names in moments of frustration, but he always meets your outbursts with a patient smile, never holding your forgetfulness or emotional swings against you. He’s a gem, a steady rock in the midst of your storm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he returns it with such tenderness that you know, deep down, everything is going to be okay.

The months in your new home pass like pages turning in a cherished book, each one filled with milestones and memories. You’ve hosted a housewarming, celebrated your baby shower, and now, winter has settled in once more, December’s chill creeping through the air. Maternity leave is just around the corner, and you can’t wait to have the time to focus entirely on Yoongi and the tiny miracle growing inside you.

“I’m so fucking tired, Yoon,” you sigh, sinking into a chair, every breath feeling like an effort, exhaustion etched into every part of you.

“It’s okay, take a break. I’ll finish up the painting. Why don’t you go change clothes?” he suggests with a reassuring smile, but the frustration within you bubbles up again, spilling over before you can stop it.

“I look so ugly,” you cry, tears welling up as you take in your reflection, emotions surging in a wave. “I’m so fat, and my stomach feels like it’s dragging me down. I’m swollen everywhere, and I just look so ugly.” Your voice breaks, the tears falling freely, and Yoongi drops his paintbrush immediately, rushing to comfort you.

“You’re not ugly, babe,” he says softly, wiping away your tears with his paint-stained fingers, his eyes full of love and sincerity. “Those extra pounds just make you even sexier,” he adds with a playful smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Please don’t speak ill of your body. I love you, and I love everything about your body.”

You sniffle, his words washing over you like a balm, soothing the insecurities that have taken root in your mind. You know he’s right, and you decide to believe him, because why else would he stick around through all your emotional ups and downs? “Thank you, Yoon. I love everything about you too.”

The nursery is ready, painted in a soft shade of lilac, filled with carefully chosen furniture. You’ve both decided that your baby girl will sleep in your room at first, so the nursery remains more symbolic than functional for now. But it’s been a labor of love, preparing for this new chapter in your lives.

As you gaze out the window, watching the snow pile up on the street, a sense of quiet anticipation fills you. Soon, so very soon, you’ll meet your miracle baby, and the thought sends a warmth spreading through you, cutting through the cold of the winter night.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

*if this fucking taglist doesn't work... I don't know what to do with myself. Hopefully you'll find it even though tumblr will probably be a bitch and not let it work...

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I hope it wasn’t too angsty 🥹 This was largely inspired by the song ‘Pregnant’ by Phlake. You should really give it a listen, it’s very explicit and cute, lol 😝 Please let me know what you think in a reblog, comment or ask. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage— here’s an extra hug for you 🫂

[hughes86-43]

“Wifey” | J.Hughes

warnings - none! just some grammar mistakes!

The off-season had just started a little over two weeks ago, with everything from getting stuffed packed to trying to get everyone in at the same time, you and Jack were finally able to get everybody around for an end of season party at the lake house.

That morning you got everything ready for the day with getting the food that was being catered that day correct to Jack setting up extra table and chairs with Quinn and Luke. You easily had at least 50 people coming tonight. With family members coming and everyone’s friends coming, you had to make sure everything was perfect.

Ellen and Jim arrived earlier in the day to help set everything up. It was around 5pm, when several people began showing up. Trevor, Cole, and Alex showed up with extra beer and wine. Your parents and brothers showed up closely after. Soon enough, there a good mixture of your family and friends and a bunch of hockey players that the guys knew were around and that were their friends.

You were sitting on Jack’s lap in the backyard talking to Trevor, Cole and Alex. Jack has his arms wrapped around your waist and playing with a loose string on your crop top. You had one hand wrapped around his neck while also drinking a few sips of your beer with the other.

“Dude! I had no idea the lady was even right there! I just bumped right into her!” Trevor says while recounting a story about how he accidentally bumped into a lady causing her to spill her drink everywhere.

Cole’s laughing at him. “Did you at least pay to get her another drink?!”

“Yeah, yeah I did. Although, she could’ve at least said she was behind me so I didn’t bump into her!” The whole situation has you and Jack in a complete laughing fit.

Trying to catch your breath, you say, “Or she recognized you and planned it all along so that she could talk to you!” Trevor all of a sudden gets wide eyed which causes the boys to laugh even more.

“You know, I think you’re right! She kept looking at me up and down like she was checking me out!”

“Trev, you were literally wearing the weirdest outfit combination…. Sweatpants with your suit jacket and a button up shirt!” Cole says, causing even more laughter.

Deciding that you needed to check on everyone else to see if they were okay, you get up off of your boyfriends lap. He gives you a pouty face as you do. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back I just want to check up on everyone else and also use the bathroom.” You run your hand through his hair.

He gives you a nod and squeeze to your thigh. “Okay, just don’t be long! I can only be around Trevor for so long!”

“Hey!”

“Oh, you know I only joke!” Jack says to a pouty Trevor. “She’s my wife, of course I’d want her around more than you!” You just laugh and tousle his hair again when he calls you that.

“She’s not your wife yet! You two aren’t even engaged.” Trevor says trying to lift his feelings up.

“Well, she will be soon enough! We live together, we may as well be married!”

“Okay, boys,” You say trying to calm them down. “You two continue arguing, Cole and Alex I expect you two to stop them from fighting, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Let me know if you need me, wifey!” Jack says with a smirk, while also turning to see Trevor’s reaction. He just shakes his head.

You couldn’t help but to laugh to yourself as you walk into the house to talk to everyone.

While your gone, Trevor and Jack have stopped arguing for a bit.

Trevor asks Jack, “So, you’re going to ask her to marry you, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. I asked her dad earlier tonight while she was busy. It seemed like the perfect time to ask him since everyone is here and she wouldn’t notice. I have the ring hid in the back of my closet under some hockey stuff.”

The boys are smiling so big at him. “She’s definitely the one for you Jacky.” Cole says while patting his shoulder.

“Yeah, she’s the only that has ever laughed at your jokes, even when they’re so bad!” Alex jokes.

“Oh, shush! Just don’t say anything or be suspicious about it. I still don’t know when I’ll fully ask.”

“Ask what?” You say when you made your way back onto Jack’s lap.

Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he smiles, “Oh, just when I’m going to ask Luke if he has a crush on that one girl he has been talking to.” He hopes he played that off well.

“Oh yeah! He’s totally into her, you should see them inside!” Seeing that he played it off well, he lets out a breath and lays his head on your shoulder, laughing at your story of Luke and his seemingly new crush inside.

[kakiastro]

Astrology Observations: Aries Edition

Aries Suns actually have no problems expressing themselves because the sun is exalted in this sign. Contrary to the belief, Aries Suns aren’t really that hot headed. They’re actually pretty chill because they’re in there natural element. They don’t mind going there with you and cuss you out if you pushed them enough. They may end up having children who are very active , hot tempered or very independent.

Aries Moons are the hot tempered ones lol. There anger is soo intense chile, yall remind me of taz from loony toons. The crazy part, yall tempers come quickly but it goes away just as quick. They may come from families that’s always in some type of conflict. They can be very Emotionally impulsive if they haven’t learned to deal with it in a healthy way. Some sort of physical activity like boxing can help, gotta let off that steam.

Aries risings- truly embodies the energy of Mars. I notice every Aries rising has a prominent head and it’s shaped like a helmet, no shade yall😅. Yall heads remind me of a warrior helmet. Aries rules the head too. Aries , especially in there youth was always the leader in a group. Usually the front man or the one who always steps up to call the shots! Lawd, don’t let a Capricorn be in the group lol, 2 leaders right there😅 maybe it’s just me but Aries rising are always hot no matter the temperature lol. Yall don’t like to wear that many clothes either, if you can walk naked , you would 😅

Aries Mercury folks got into lots of trouble as a youth due to having a smart mouth 😆. They may have struggled with superiority especially with male teachers growing up. Could be the oldest sibling or the sibling that takes control. Aries can be brutally honest but their tone can get them into trouble. They love sports or muscle cars and prefer to drive them.

Aries Venus fall in and out of love to easily. They love hard at first but get bored too quickly! They need to learn to slow down savior in the connection. They go all in too fast and their candlelight goes out. One they learn to slow down and take in the connection, they can have a long term relationship. These are some ride or die lovers, they guard you with their life. They don’t play when it comes to there lover.

Aries Mars thrives better when they are physically involved into whatever they’re interested in. They’re very much hands on type of people! If it involves creating something from scratch, they love it even more! They’re dominant lovers in the bed and not afraid to show you a thing or two. They’re just as intense in the bedroom as scorpios but there is more fiery.

Aries Jupiter people manifesting prayers can come quickly!! I also notice people with this placement loves traveling to very active, hot places.

Aries Saturn people master their identity as they get older. At some point you stop carrying about the societal pressures and you start living life. Also every decision you make affects you long term.

Aries NN are breaking away from the “I’ll be a good teammate” to “okay so as your leader, here’s the plan.” This is a lifelong lesson so you’ll get there.

Aries SN are born soldiers in this lifetime, they may have scars or a noticeable birthmark on them that stands out.

Asteroid Juno Aries people will have such a busy marriage life. Your partner and you will always be doing something together! Yall will be the hot couple too. You may end up married quickly in your relationship as well.

Asteroid Pallas Aries get there greatest ideas when they are moving around. Pallas is known as the “genius “ asteroid.

[yournightmary]

i need bsf!ellie whos secretly inlove with reader.. maybe even childhood bestfriend!ellie RAAAA i will preach the friends to lovers agenda till i die!

Bsf!Ellie HCs

content warning:: fem!reader, jealous!Ellie maybe?, modern!AU, mentions of drinking and smoking

AN:: Friends to lovers is so underrated.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s the type of friend to jokingly call you her wife/girlfriend. Probably has your contact saved as ‘my wife💍’ or something similar.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s always very cuddly and clingy. Cuddles you to sleep during sleepovers… that’s just what good friends do, right?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She was such a loser when she was younger oh my gooddd. Her first kiss was you when you both decided to ‘practice’ kissing as friends. Totally did not feel butterflies in her stomach and her heart didn’t ache, what are you taking about?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I can see her not really knowing that she was in love with you, you know what I mean? Like, she’d think that you’re just her platonic soulmate- that’s why she feels the best when she’s around you… and why she gets jealous whenever you start getting along with other people.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Made the mistake of being jokingly flirty at first and then you mistook each and every one of her attempts as just her being her usual silly self.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Buys you valentines gifts and says that that’s just what best friends do.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Definitely the type of person to force herself to date someone just so she could take her mind off of you. She couldn’t.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Maybe like a cat and mouse sort of situation. Like you’d get into a relationship with someone so she’d start looking too, but then once she gets into a relationship you’d break up yours. Am I making sense?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Probably did some stupid shit just to impress you when you were younger. Always ended up with bruises and tons of scratches, maybe even detention or getting grounded.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jokes about you guys getting married if you don’t find anyone before turning 30. Then gets happy like an idiot when you agree.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Slept over at your place so much when you were younger that your parents started giving her chores and inviting her to family vacations. When you got older it turned into her having her own drawer of clothes and helping you out with every single task you do. Going grocery shopping? She’ll tag along. You have to fill out some important paperwork somewhere? Yeah, she can come with you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I have a teeny tiny feeling that’s she’d try to sabotage your dates. You’d be at a restaurant with this new person you met and she’d call all panicked and upset about something, saying how you need to come see her right now. And you’re her best friend, so of course you’re muttering apologies to your date and leaving immediately.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Most of the people that aren’t your friends think you’re dating. Then when you tell them you’re just friends they’re like ‘righhhhttt…’ (no one believes it)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ In high school she told people you already have a prom date (you didn’t) just so they wouldn’t ask you. Then she’d swoop in and say that you should go as friends, since you both didn’t have a date.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’d compare herself to all the people you’ve dated all the time. And if you’ve never been in a relationship she’d do the same with your crushes, celebrity or not.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves to have multiple days sleepovers because it kind of feels like you’re a happy couple living together.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ FOR SURE would read articles like ‘How to tell if your best friend is in love with you’ when she was younger. Sprinkle in some ‘How to tell if someone’s gay’ if you’re feeling like it.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Asked you to fake date in early high school because ‘some guy kept bothering her’ (he did not wtf)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You were with her every time she did something for the first time. When she got her first period, when she first drove a car, when she first smoked and drunk alcohol, when she had her first kiss… maybe even more. That’s what best friends are for, am I right?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’d say she likes someone and when you asked about it she’d do the whole ‘You know this person really well�� thing OH MY GODDD.

I love women

[bullet-prooflove]

The Maybe Girl: Colton Shaw x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @inlovewithcharmers @mckinleysbones @rex-the-dino @ahoodgirl

Companion piece to:

Stay (NSFW) - Colter can never ask for you to stay.

Sometimes Colter dreams about you. His hands running through your hair, his lips chasing all over your skin as your head tips back and you say his name. Those are the mornings he wakes up with a hard on he has to take care of in the shower because those dreams, they’re memories, ones that are scored upon the surface of his heart. He jerks off to the image of your mouth encircling him, that sinful look in your eyes when you know he’s close, so close he’s about to…

There’s the other dreams, of course, the ones he would never reveal to a living soul. A white dress and a cabin in the woods, a couple of dogs. You’re both too fucked up for a traditional relationship and children aren’t on the cards but it doesn’t stop Colter from hoping that maybe one day you’ll both settle down together. He can’t see it happening anytime soon but eventually, when you both get your shit together.

“I’m your Maybe Girl…” You had said one night when you were laying on your stomach in his bed. He was doodling patterns across your skin, connecting the constellations of scars when you’d finally spoke.

“Maybe Girl?” He’d questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as he tilted his head to read your features.

“You know…” You say, meeting his eyes. “The one you tell yourself you may have a future with so you can avoid any other commitments.”

“That’s not…” He trails off, pursing his lips together when you give him that knowing look. “I don’t think of it as a maybe.”

For Colter it’s an inevitability. He’s been in love with you for years at this point and he’s confident you’re in love with him. It’s why you tell him your secrets by the light of the campfire, the things you’ve never told anybody else

“Oh.” You say, looking troubled. “Colter, I can’t give you anything more than this…”

“I know.” He’d whispered, his thumb tracing lightly over the apple of your cheek. “But maybe someday you can.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, he knows that now. Sometimes he gets so caught up in you he can’t help but express his feelings but you, you’re like a skittish animal. You need to be approached carefully, with caution because for you commitment is entrapment.

It’s marrying a man your father chooses for you at the age of fifteen, one three times your age and an elder of the cult he joined because your mother died and he can’t cope with his teenage daughter. It’s hunting in the woods for survival to feed children that aren’t your own, ones that you can never have because that first time was so violent that  it ruined you.

You don’t even bother to slip out when he’s asleep that night. You just get up, gather up your clothes and go.

He doesn’t follow because he understands that urge to escape, especially when you feel overwhelmed. That’s why his father called him The Restless One.

When you appear outside his airstream tonight he doesn’t expect it. It’s been six months since he last laid eyes on you and he’s parked in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the next reward to come through.

“I can’t be your Maybe Girl,” is the first thing you say to him, the rain pouring down as you stand outside, soaking wet.

“How about you be the girl that comes in to get dry?” He suggests as he steps out of the way revealing the warm glow of the airstream. “The girl I make tea for because there’s a chill in the air and I’m terrified of her catching hypothermia.”

You step inside, leaving a trail of wet clothes that leads directly to his shower. He sighs as he picks them up, hanging them up to dry over the cupboard doors in the kitchen before he goes through his slender wardrobe and picks out the shirt you like to wear. It’s a soft faded grey, one he’s had since long before he bought airstream. The only reason he hasn’t thrown it out yet is because he knows how much you like it.

“Are you going to join me?” You call from the bathroom and he envisions you naked underneath the water, the droplets trailing over your skin. He lays the t-shirt down on the bed and he wonders if you’ll stay tonight or if he’ll find that it neatly folded on the table were he eats as if it had never been worn.

“Yea.” He calls through, pulling off his own shirt and tossing it in the hamper. “Just give me a sec and I’ll be right there.”

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[steddieas-shegoes]

forgiving is easy

for @steddielovemonth prompt “love is an endless act of forgiveness’

A HUGE thank you to @sidekick-hero for putting this event together! This was so much fun and it kept me writing even when I wasn’t sure I’d be able to ♥️

rated t | 617 words | tags: established relationship, doubts about relationship, they’re so soft, so in love, fluff

🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Eddie looked down at the broken picture frame. El made it for Steve as a birthday gift last year and it held a picture of all of them at the kids’ graduation. Steve cherished it more than just about any other possession he had.

And Eddie broke it because he was rushing to try to clean up when Steve called to tell him he was on his way home early.

He’d agreed to clean up the living room and kitchen since they were hosting Will and his new boyfriend this weekend, and he’d just…forgotten.

And now the picture frame was broken.

Steve would hate him. He’d break up with him and scream at him about how he’s so forgetful and this never would’ve happened if he just took his time.

The front door clicked open and Steve’s voice rang out.

“Hey Eds!” The door closed and the jingle of keys being hung on the hook filled the entire lower level of the home. “Where are you?”

“In here,” Eddie’s voice wasn’t loud, but he knew Steve would hear him.

Footsteps came from the hall to the living room and then stopped right behind Eddie.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I-“ Eddie turned around and held the four biggest pieces of the frame in his hand. “I broke it.”

Steve’s eyes widened and then closed for a second. He stepped closer to Eddie and took the pieces from his hands.

He pulled Eddie’s hands forward, kissed his knuckles, and set them against his chest.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “I broke your favorite picture frame.”

“I see that, honey. Did anything hurt you? Glass or any of the ceramic?”

Eddie was dumbfounded. Didn’t Steve want to yell at him?

“No. But aren’t you mad?”

“I mean I’m upset it’s broken, but the picture can just go in another frame until El can make another one,” Steve shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

“But it’s important to you.”

“It is. And it makes me a little sad that it can’t be fixed. But it was an accident, right?”

“Of course it was.”

Steve leaned in to kiss his lips. “Then it’ll be okay.”

“How are you so calm?” Eddie asked, almost mad that Steve seemed so fine with this after spending the last ten minutes thinking Steve would lose his shit.

“Because it’s just a picture frame. It’s special, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. I remember that having a lot more destruction,” Steve smirked.

“But it’s broken because of me. I was rushing to clean up and wasn’t careful.”

“And you’re clearly more upset about it than I am. You didn’t mean to break it. It’s alright.”

“You aren’t gonna break up with me?”

Steve blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“You aren’t gonna yell?”

Steve’s face fell, suddenly understanding what was going on. He cupped Eddie’s face in his hands and smiled.

“Eds, I love you. I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. It was an accident. I’m not gonna be mad at you over an accident.”

Eddie’s body relaxed for the first time since he saw the frame fall to the floor. He rested his forehead against Steve’s and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist.

“I love you, too. Sorry I panicked like that.”

“It’s okay. But you know I love you so much it’s disgusting, right? One broken picture frame isn’t gonna send me packing,” Steve’s thumb rubbed along Eddie’s cheek. “I’m in it for the long haul with you. We bought this house together, we’re gonna get married someday, have kids. You’re gonna be stuck with me for a long, long time, Munson.”

“Promise?” Eddie’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Promise.”

[sky-fishhhh]

Day 7 of genmuiweek2024! This took me the longest to make and I have so much to say about it, so feel free to read all my rambles below the cut!

This drawing is part of my “Genmui adopts a cat AU”. They’re both in their early-mid twenties and are living together (NOT married but wouldn’t we all love that?). Ginko is so done with their lovey dovey shit but genmui aren’t bothered by it lol.

I adore sopenation’s archer Genya hc so much I had to draw it. Go check out their fic Be A Good Sport About It u fw archer Genya.

I was looping Luxury, You and Cappucino by shikisai the whole time cuz I felt it really fit domestic genmui and it just helped to me get in the groove (I was super demotivated to draw until I discovered this song and next thing I knew I was speed drawing this over the weekend).

Anyways what a ride it’s been. I’m really proud of all the art I’ve made so far and it’s nice to do something for myself even if that’s drawing my silly little ship. For now I’d like to take a break and focus on other projects. To my new followers, I hope you stick around to see more art from me and follow along my journey!

[kjhbsies]

PT II: Flowers of Despair

Ellie Williams x fem!reader (wc: 3, 248)

Synopsis: Will a love bloom even if your marriage is not real? Will Ellie Williams find a way to open her heart again?

Warnings: part II of the Waiting Room fan fiction. ellie is an asshole. major angst??? mixed signals??? not proofread and may have grammar errors. there will be a last part of this fic. happy reading!

pt. i pt. iii

In the first week you two moved into your dream house, you were beyond nervous. You did not expect for this to happen so quickly. Your father insisted that Ellie and you should get together for the meantime, while preparing for the wedding. Ellie agreed, saying that there was no problem, so who you are to decline such a wonderful offer.

This was your dream home; it was perfect. It was a fairly huge house with big doors and a great garden. You specifically bought this months before, and was staying here every now and then. It was near the farm, so it was serene and beautiful. You loved the landscapes here since you liked to paint everywhere. 

But now, you aren’t sure how to feel.

“This is my room.” You said, pointing out the bedroom on your right as the both of you ascended through the second floor. “I’m sorry if it’s somehow messy, I just did not have the time to fix it up.” You smiled. “Your bags are already in there, but the maids will arrange it in the closet for you when they’re finished cleaning up the living room.”

“We’re not sleeping in different bedrooms?” Ellie scanned the whole area. “Or you insisted that we’ll get to share the same bed?” She looked at you with her stoic face.

Ellie watched as the color of your face drained out. You became pale when you heard her say that. Ellie has no problem sharing a room with you. Hell, she can’t even remember how many girls she has on her bed every night. But, the problem is, Ellie just wanted to taunt you because, well, she can be an asshole sometimes.

“Oh! I-I did not- I thought that’s what married couples do, you know, share the same bed.” You rambled, heart beating fast. 

This is so humiliating, you thought.

Ellie chuckled. Heart warming up as she looked at you. You were so fucking…

Cute?

“But, we’re not supposed to be like those normal married couples, aren’t we? I thought we had an agreement, babe. Don’t fall in love with me.” 

“Then don’t call me babe.” Your face scrunched up at her. “You don’t have to remind me every single day about our arrangement, you know? I’m not an idiot. I can hear you loud and clear.” You gulped. Ellie’s jaw tightened.

Am I an asshole? You looked sad, and something inside me hated it. She thought.

You looked up at her with soft eyes. “Well, it’s been a stressful evening. Let’s just rest. I’ll call one of the maids so they can bring your clothes to your room. You can just pick any bedroom you’d like.” You said before quickly going inside.

You hated it. 

You hated how she’s just in front of you, but you can’t even touch her.

You hated how she’s just within your reach but you can’t get her. You will not get her.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

One month.

One month is all it would take until you and Ellie will be married. And then, you can get your inheritance. Ellie would still endure a few weeks with you. After she gets the money, you and her can get a divorce, and if it’s possible, Ellie will get Dina again, and the three of them can live as a happy family.

But what about you?

Nah, it’s fine. Ellie doesn’t really care.

“You can cook?” Ellie asked surprisingly when she saw you in the kitchen. She is walking straight beside you. She ignored how you looked great in your sundress and floral apron. There it goes again, the bows in your hair look adorable. She shut down her eyes, mentally scolding herself when she caught herself looking like a fucking creep.

You glanced back at her. Your heart skipped a beat when she settled beside you, leaning her back at the counter while her tattooed arms were folded in her chest. She’s just wearing a plain slim fit shirt and a pair of black trousers. Her auburn hair was tied in a bun and her freckles looked really good in the sunlight. “Yeah. I make really good pastas. Guess you can say that it was my specialty.”

“I thought rich girls can’t cook.” 

“And I thought we shouldn’t bother each other. So, why are you here?” You quipped back.

Ellie looked at you in amusement. Good catch. Damn. “I was… bored.” Even she was not convinced with her statement. To be honest, Ellie doesn’t even know why she went up to talk to you. She’s just intrigued when she smelt the aroma of the food and was surprised when you were the one making it.

When she first tasted the pasta, you were looking straight at her, waiting for Ellie’s comments. And it made her uneasy. To say, your gaze made her nervous. So, she’s slowly devouring the food in front of her, chewing it gently. And damn, you really are a great chef.

“Was it good?” You asked, curiously.

“Yeah. Fuck, I was surprised that you can cook because, you know, you’re a ric-”

You shook your head, looking at her unamused. “Please don’t say rich girl.” 

Ellie laughed. 

Ellie fucking laughed for the first time. 

Oh, this arrangement will fuck you up so bad.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

On a Sunday afternoon, Ellie found herself in the garden, sitting in the grass, while holding her guitar. You, however, would usually be at the same spot while painting. When you found Ellie there, you decided to quickly walk away from her.

“You can sit with me, you know.” Ellie said when she sensed you around. 

“Uh…” You hesitated, the grip on your easel and canvas became strong. “Sure.” You gave in immediately.

You settled beside her as you began setting your art materials up. You looked at Ellie while trying to strum her guitar. Well, you’ve known that she has the skills because you’ve always seen her playing that. And it shocked you to the core, but Ellie has a beautiful voice.

“This is the first time that I picked this thing up.” Ellie blurted. “I swore that I wouldn’t play guitar again since…” She stopped talking. And you have an idea of what she might've been talking about.

“Do you still like her?” You asked, gripping on the paint brush as tight as you can, fingernails digging through your palms. 

Ellie’s mood turned sour. “That’s none of your fucking business, princess.” 

“I was just asking.”

“Well, you shouldn't. Don’t ever bring her up again. As a matter of fact, we shouldn’t even talk with each other.” Ellie said before standing up while grabbing her guitar. 

Your eyes drop as you can feel lumps in your throat when you’re holding your tears back. 

Ellie did not know why she became so defensive. When anyone brings up Dina, her mind automatically flashes back to everything they’ve done. And as much as she tries to conceal or hide it at the back of her mind, Ellie can’t seem to get away from it. 

She looked back and found you staring down at your lap when guilt started flooding her brain. Ellie wanted to apologize then and there but her pride made her walk away. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The argument happened three days ago. You never talked to Ellie since the incident, and she didn’t even try to spare a glance at you either. The house has been eerily quiet and cold since that happened. Martha, your maid seemed to sense the tension between you two. 

Every day, you’re always the one who wakes up earlier to make and eat breakfast for the two of you. You did not want to eat three times a day with her, and Ellie also felt the same way. 

Did she?

I mean, to Ellie’s surprise, she’d wake up with food on the table everyday. And even though she tried to deny it, she’s always fascinated with how you cook and how delicious those meals are. It is obvious that you try to avoid her every day. And Ellie did not know whether she would be grateful or annoyed. Well, why would she even get annoyed, right? She asked for it. And now that you’re giving it to her, why is she always catching herself trying to find you every day?

To make it short, she’s an idiot. 

Now, both of you were at Jackson to try wedding dresses. Your mother insisted that she knows the best tailor in town and that’s where the both of you were. 

“Ok, twirl.” Your mom said when you stepped out of the changing room.

“I don’t like how it fits me. I can’t breathe.” You said while looking at your figure in the mirror.

“Try another one, mija. We have so many dresses here.” The old lady smiled at you and you nodded. Going back to the same changing room to try the dress that captured your eye.

Ellie passed by and your mom called her. “Ellie! How’d the fitting go?”

“It went well and faster than I expected.” Ellie chuckled.

“Well. Sit here and watch your future wife. I think she’ll like the last dress.” Your mom patted the seat beside her and Ellie hesitated for a second before she nodded and sat down.

You walked out of the changing room while wearing the first wedding dress that caught your eye. It fits you like a glove, and it is really flattering. Your steps halted when you saw Ellie staring right at you.

“Do you like it?” The owner asked happily. “It really brings out your beauty.”

Ellie silently agreed. She can’t keep her eyes away from you and how stunning you looked. Her mouth gapes, trying to find a word that best describes you at the moment but how her heart fluttered made her weak. Both of you are staring at each other’s eyes and you can’t seem to look away.

“Doesn’t she look great, Ellie?” Your mom asked Ellie.

She wasn’t even supposed to talk to you. Both of you shouldn’t even interact, let alone stare at each other like this. But there’s no choice. 

“Yes.” Ellie gulped. “You look… great.” She cursed at herself. Great? Idiot, she’s more than that.

You try to fight off a huge smile so you look down, afraid that you just look like a stupid highschool girl at the moment. You turned your back at her immediately before nodding to the tailor.

“Yes I’ll get it since my wife likes it too.” 

God, both of you were supposed to be mad at each other, right?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Throughout the preparation for the wedding, both you and Ellie were always at Jackson. Your morning routine consisted of you waking up at 7:00 in the morning to cook and eat breakfast, and read a book for an hour before Ellie woke up. And when the clock strikes at 9:00 AM, it is your time to stand up to go into your room, take a long bath and get ready.

Ellie will meet you outside, in the car, to go to Jackson. And it is awkwardly silent and painful. Jackson is a 30 minute drive and the two of you weren’t even letting out even a small quip, nor glance at each other as the two of you agreed. 

Well, you wanted to apologize to Ellie for bringing Dina up in that conversation, three weeks ago. But you can’t seem to find the courage to talk to her. You did not know how much Dina really meant to Ellie up until now that even though it’s you that she shares the same house with, she can’t seem to forget her. This thought haunted you every night, but you can’t really blame Ellie. Dina is her soulmate, and you’re just a huge hindrance. 

Besides, both of you almost never agree on anything. You loved the shades of pink and blue for your wedding, and Ellie will say that it is such the corniest color. While trying to make the perfect wedding invitation, Ellie would go up beside you to propose something really annoying. Ellie loved carrot cake but you hated the hell out of it that almost caused a huge fight in the shop. When things get heated between you two, you will just shut up because you can’t create a huge scene, especially that both of your parents are around.

Today is your break from her since after the wedding tomorrow, you would be tied to her. Not forever, but maybe months, or years, even. Ellie and you decided to have a girl’s and guy’s day before the wedding. You two would stay here at Jackson for the night – in her old house. 

“We’re here.” Ellie said. You nodded and opened the door and she waited for you to get out before stepping outside. Ellie smiled widely as she saw her friends. Everyone of them started hugging and clapping each other’s back.

“Yo, man! I never thought you would be married.” Jesse said happily.

“Was that an insult?” She asked before playfully smacking him.

“Oh, hey, Y/N, if Ellie did something really shitty, you can just go at me. I’m really good at comforting pretty girls.” The masculine girl went up at you, grinning, while holding out her hand. “I’m Julie, by the way.”

“Uh…” You hesitated before looking at Ellie who didn't really look pleased. And seconds later, she is hitting Julie’s head hard. 

“That’s my wife, you shit.” 

Jesse and Julie shared the most obnoxious laugh. 

“Okay, guys, I’ll just leave you all.” You smiled. “Ellie, I’ll just meet up with the girls. I’ll see you at your house later.” You said, waving at them.

“Wait, wait, where’s Ellie’s kiss?” Jesse asked.

“Dude shut up.” Ellie immediately answered.

“Come on, guys. You don’t kiss?” He asked again. “Ellie, what happened to your game, dude?” He taunted.

“It’s fine.” You looked at Ellie reassuringly before tip-toeing to kiss her in the lips. It was sudden, and it was just a quick peck but your heart hammered and you felt like it would come right out of your throat. “Bye.” You whispered softly before turning away.

Ellie felt frozen at the moment. Shit, she can still feel your lips at her. The scent of your lip gloss lingered at her and it’s all that she could smell right now. What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing to her?

Ellie watched your figure as you were walking through your friends. She was so glad that you quickly went away without looking at her, or else Ellie would be caught dead right there and then.

You’re so fucking confusing. 

Ellie hated it.

Ellie hated you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You were staring at Ellie’s bedroom, scanning every little thing in here. Joel said that this has been her bed since she was nine years old. An old guitar was sitting near her windows, as well as a pile of books about spaces, science, dinosaurs, as well as a couple of ‘No Pun Intended’ books in different volumes. 

You were shocked that she knows how to sketch when you found some sketchbooks on her desk. Some were filled up until the last page, but there are some who weren’t even touched. When you opened one, you saw that her sketches mainly consisted of horses, Joel, and Dina. She draws her beautifully, making her a goddess, just like what she sees in her eyes. Dina is her muse, and both of them can create a masterpiece. Somewhere in your heart was pierced as you were thinking about it. Ellie probably stopped sketching when she left, and has never touched a pencil ever since. 

The door opened. And it showed a drunk Ellie. You sat up, quickly walking away at her desk and releasing the grip on one of her sketches.

“The fuck are you doing?” Ellie immediately walked up to hide her arts.

“I’m sorry. I just got carried away looking at-”

“Why are you here, anyway?” She looked at you angrily.

You sighed heavily. You did not want another fight with her. “Where am I supposed to be?”

“At your friends or something?”

You laughed sarcastically. “You really do hate me that much, huh?” Slowly, you were walking towards her.

She grinned. “Yeah. I guess you can say that you’re not my favorite person.” 

“But you’re marrying me. Tomorrow.”

She stepped forward, looking down at you with a taunting gaze. “Guess I would just deal with it.” Ellie started grabbing something on her dresser. “I’m sleeping on the floor. You can have my bed.”

You stood there, feeling ridiculous. “This is what you called ‘dealing with it?’ We’re about to get married tomorrow, and you are still a coward.”

Ellie laughed loudly. She can feel her drunkenness start to wash away from her veins as you keep on talking. Yes, both of you shouldn’t even be arguing and she could just be the bigger person and ignore you but she just physically, and mentally can’t.

“What did you just call me?” She said, looking at you with squinted eyes.

“You’re a coward. I thought you brought a lot of girls here before, so why can’t you stand sharing a bed with me?” You asked, challenging her. 

Ellie’s jaw tightened while she’s looking at you. Fuck, she can’t even say something back at you because you are making a lot of sense. 

You rolled your eyes at her when she just stood there, frozen. Slowly, you went to her bed and covered yourself under the blanket. 

There’s a nightstand beside you. In this, there’s a small lamp, a lot of toy figurines, coins, and a portrait of Ellie. She’s smiling at the camera, her auburn hair is tied in a bun and she’s wearing a tank top – revealing her muscles. You figured out that it was when she’s 19 – where she’s still a handsome girl you first admired. If you told your 16 years old self that you are marrying Ellie Williams, she would be beyond happy. She might faint, really. But right now, Ellie isn’t the girl you thought she’d be. 

Everyone was right. She’s an asshole. 

You sighed heavily as you felt the mattress beside you moved. Ellie lifted the blanket and settled herself under it. You and Ellie were sleeping both at your backs to avoid facing each other.

Why are you still wasting your time with her? Ellie wouldn’t love you no matter how hard you try. Maybe it is the time to accept the fact that she wouldn’t be yours here, or maybe in another lifetime. 

She wants Dina.

And you’re not her.

“Is this a good idea?” You asked her suddenly. “We always fight and I hate it because I’m not made for it.” You shut your eyes tightly as tears started streaming down, wetting the bed underneath. “I just want to love you.” You whispered, confessing your feelings for her. 

Ellie gulped, trying to remove the lump on her throat. “I told you not to fall in love with me.” She said, softly. She can feel a familiar ache in her heart. Like the same thing when her mom left her, when Shimmer died, and when Dina left. She tried so hard to avoid those, protecting her feelings so hard that she even forgot that she still had a heart.

Until you came. 

You smiled sadly. “Too late, Ellie. I have loved you since we were sixteen.”

[lexithwrites]

what r ur wolfstar/jegulus/rosekiller hc’s?

You’ve opened a can of worms enjoy:

Wolfstar:

- Sirius does the talking for the both of them

- Sirius is more aggressive verbally but Remus is more physically aggressive

- Remus is just as kinky as Sirius if not more he just never talks about it

- Remus is the only person Sirius can go non verbal around (autistic/adhd Sirius rise)

- They shower together and it’s usually not sexual it’s just to save time

- Remus is the cook/baker of the relationship whilst Sirius is the cocktail/drink maker

- they host a lot of dinner parties

- they bicker constantly but never fight

- Remus’ safe word is butterfly and Sirius’ is cantaloupe (he thought it sounded funny)

- Remus had a big breeding kink but it’s less about actually getting someone pregnant and more the intimacy of it, being that connected to someone gets him going

- Sirius has tics like twitching his head and drumming his fingers

- Remus has black coffee and Sirius only drinks iced lattes filled with caramel syrup

- Sirius has a motorbike and Remus has a car (Sirius is a passenger princess and Remus is a backpack)

- they get married asap

Jegulus:

- they take weeks off every year to stay at the potter’s holiday home (probably somewhere like Italy)

- regulus insults everyone BUT James

- James can’t cook very well but he loves making regulus breakfast in bed because he always forgets

- it took regulus a long time to be comfortable with sex due to past relationships but James is so patient and legit doesn’t care about sex unless his partner is interested

- personal opinion don’t hate me, but James is a service top and I’ll die on that hill

- regulus is a power bottom and likes having control most of the time (he loves tying James up)

- it’s rare for James to bottom but when he’s in the mood regulus uses all their toys on him

- they have three cats (all siblings because James didn’t want to separate them)

- effie and Monty have biweekly dinners with them

- regulus has a j behind his ear and James has an r on his thumb

- they have promise rings but aren’t too fussed about getting married but they talk about it

- a lot of pride flags in their apartment

- James taught regulus how to drive

- James has to remind regulus not to have dairy because he’s lactose but that doesn’t stop him

- regulus exclusively drinks matcha and James is a hot chocolate boy

Rosekiller:

- they’ve never said they’re dating but they’re together duh

- barty has evan’s bite marks tattooed on him

- evan has a b tattooed on his left ass cheek

- they live in a studio and it’s basically a hot box room

- neither of them drive

- when they go out drinking barty gets beer or cider and Evan only drinks spirits with a mixer

- barty has a pet rat called Rosie

- evan loves him

- barty and Pandora are best friends and Evan has seen them painting the others nails

- evan does Barty’s hair for him, he’s never gone to a hair salon

- barty loves pain, like a lot, so they’re very kinky

- evan is usually in charge and Barty is usually tied down in some way, or gagged, or blindfolded

- evan had quite bad panic attacks at night and barty is the only person who calms him down besides pandora

- evan has a cockwarming kink and barty is more than happy to participate

- evan has a cooperate job whilst barty works in some gross bar

- they host the house parties

- barty has been arrested about three times

- evan is more possessive out of the two

- barty does his own piercings and tattoos

[infiniteeight8]

Ironstrange prompt: Stephen gets a concussion and when Tony comes to check on him, Stephen flirts with him thinking they’re married (pre relationship)

FRIDAY alerts Tony when Stephen wakes up. Tony drops what he’s working on and hurries out of his workshop and down to the medical wing. All indications had been that it was a moderate concussion, but Tony knows better than most that even moderate concussions can have serious repercussions. It’s the brain. There’s nothing worse than possible damage to the brain.

When Tony steps into Stephen’s room the sorcerer is sitting up, a grimace on his face as he rubs his forehead. “Hey, Stephen,” Tony says, crossing the room and hitching one hip up to rest on the edge of Stephen’s bed. “How do you feel?”

Stephen looks up at him, confusion flickering across his face before he breaks into a smile. And what a smile. Tony catches his breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Stephen look like that. “Better now that you’re here,” Stephen says warmly. He covers one of Tony’s hands with his.

“That’s good,” Tony says, a little distracted. Stephen doesn’t let people touch his hands, but he’s holding Tony’s. 

“Can we go home?” Stephen asks, brushing his thumb across the back of Tony’s hand. “I think I’d recover better.” His smile takes on a teasing edge. “Assuming you’re willing to play nurse.”

Home? Play nurse? Tony hesitates. “Stephen,” he says carefully, “we don’t live together.”

Stephen frowns. “But… we’re married. Aren’t we?” He lifts his hand and rubs at his forehead again.

“We aren’t,” Tony says gently. “I think you’re a little confused.”

“You rushed in here,” Stephen explains, sounding a little out of it. “And then the way I felt when I saw you, I thought—” He drops his gaze and pulls his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

Tony’s hand feels cold without his touch. Those few moments… Tony almost wishes he hadn’t corrected Stephen. “I’m not sorry,” Tony says. “Maybe we can work on the married thing. Usually you start with a date, right?”

Stephen shoots him a startled look and then laughs. “Usually, yes.” His smile is just as gorgeous the second time. “I suppose playing nurse will have to wait.”

“Just a little,” Tony grins.

[eideticmemory]

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

You and your husband are house hunting together! :) It sucks! :)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning/Includes: Husband!Matthew, Dad!Matthew, HusbandYouCan’tStopBickeringWith!Matthew all with a happy ending.

Inflection points are real. When you open one of those cheesy books like Before You Tie the Knot and What to Expect When You’re Expecting, they all mention it. Cohabitation and marriage and children, they’re decisions in your life that take you down a completely different direction from which there is no coming back. And on top of this insurmountable and self-inflicted change is the subtle implication that these are the last decisions you will ever make on your own. Which…sucks, which is different, which takes some adjusting, but it’s never been this hard. It has never been so hard for you and Matthew to band together, put your pride aside, and work as a team to make everybody happy. But this isn’t about something small like marriage or children. This is about a house.

This is serious.

When Matthew said that he was willing to pack up everything and move from California to your home state, you were so happy that you could’ve vomited. Your entire body vibrated with excitement and gratitude and peace. You tore his clothes off right then and there, you were so happy. You were so happy that you were going home and that your daughter would grow up riding down the same streets, that she would never know what LA traffic was like and even more so happy that Matthew didn’t suggest Vegas. You love him, you hate the desert.

And it is with this excitement that you crawled into bed that same night and started scrolling on Zillow. Nuzzled into Matthew’s side, giggling, giddy. Your eyes landed on a house and you clicked it, asking, “What about this one?”

And at the same time, you exclaim, “It’s so cute!” Matthew scrunches his face, saying, “It’s terrible.”

You turn to look at each other, very slowly, making eye contact with just the tiniest bit of fear. But, that was just the first house. You both assumed that it would get easier. That there would be some homes you could heart and save for later. But that never happened.

It just got harder.

Because for whatever reason, four walls isn’t enough for Matthew. No, it’s got to be just like his little lodge with all the nooks and crannies and secret trap doors and stupid spiral stairs that you have slipped on at least three times in the past month. It’s not that you don’t love it here but it is abundantly clear that Bachelor Matthew bought this and it is perfect for Bachelor Matthew, maybe Married Matthew and his Married Wife, but now there’s toys everywhere and a play pen that takes up the entire living room and you do not find it as charming as when you first visited. Nor do you want another house just like it.

You like victorian houses. You like the creepy attics and the creaky floors, stained glass windows and narrow, wooden stairs. You find one on Zillow and you’re so excited to show Matthew, but instead of smiling or hell, even just pretending to show interest, he taps the screen and scoffs, “Four bedrooms?”

And you nearly slap him across the head but married people aren’t supposed to do that. So instead you suck in a slow breath and exhale, “Yes…four bedrooms. What’s wrong with that?”

“So, our room, Rory’s room, guest room and room for…what, one other kid?”

“Who…who is the other kid?”

“Our other kid. Our other kids. Where are they gonna sleep?”

You stutter, shake your head to rescramble your brain, “How many kids are you trying to have, Matthew?”

“Well, I was raised mormon so anywhere between ten to twenty is ideal,” he smirks.

“You being funny? You trying to be funny right now?”

“At least with five bedrooms, we could throw in bunk beds.”

You turn to leave and Matthew grabs your hand, pulling you back into him, “Wait, wait, wait, okay, okay, okay. I think…five bedrooms. Minimum.”

“Oh, are you sure that will be enough for our multiple litters?”

“[y/n],” he laughs.

“Matthew, this house is gorgeous. It’s old and well kept. It’s in a great area, the primary bedroom is stunning, they already have a nursery staged, and you haven’t bothered to look because…because, what? Because we might have ten million children? I mean, we won’t. But what the fuck?”

“It’s not speaking to me. We agreed the house should speak to both of us.”

“Oh, okay, well, let me translate. This house is saying…” you pick up your phone and wave it in his face, “Good luck with those other kids, Matthew. I wonder who you’ll have them with.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” he says as you storm off. “That’s hilarious.”

When he approaches later with a house of his own to show you, you’re patting Rory to sleep on your chest and it kind of annoys you when she wakes up to the sound of Matthew’s voice.

“Look at this one, babe,” he takes a seat beside you. “Five beds, five and a half baths, look,” and you sit quiet, let him scroll through, a subtle nod to the patience he lacks. But, still, quiet, your face says it all and he asks, “Why are you making that face?”

“It’s…” you glance at him. “Boring…”

“What? Boring? It looks like a castle.”

“On the outside…the inside is completely modern. And where…” you tap the screen, “Is it? Oh, no, I don’t want to live at the country club. My daughter will not get mowed down in the street because she was on the back of some corporate heir’s golf cart.”

Matthew tilts his head at you, his jaw dropped in genuine confusion.

“It happens!” you whisper.

“Babe…”

“It’s not speaking to me, Matthew, I’m sorry? What about you, Rory, huh? Is it speaking to you?” And your baby girl babbles, smiling, reaching out for Matthew and it makes him forget that you’re insane for a little bit. “I don’t think it’s speaking to her.”

Matthew takes her into his arms and holds her close, her head instantly falling on his shoulder. “This is about that tiny victorian house, isn’t it?” he asks you.

“Well…” you stand up. “It certainly wasn’t boring…not like you would know.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair…” he nods. “So…you do? Like this house, or…no?”

You roll your eyes and walk off, turning the baby’s sound machine on as you exit the room.

Immediately mediation is necessary. So the two of you decide to hire a realtor and poor Maci, there’s only so much she can do.

“Do you know what zipcode you’d prefer?”

“I personally love the downtown area or the northwest area?” you chime in. “Near the children’s museums and aquatic centers, y’know?”

Maci glances at Matthew but you’re quick to assure her, “Oh, he doesn’t know where anything is here. He’s western.”

And for some reason, that just sets him off? He furrows his eyebrows at you and says, “Well yeah…but I’ve been here plenty of times before.”

“Oh? You’ve visited? Did you grow up here?” you tilt your head at him. “Oh? No? Okay.”

Poor Maci, it was so uncomfortable. At this point, it’s her and Rory looking at each other to cut the tension. And she jots down all these must haves that the two of you fire at rapid speed. Like, for Matthew, it’s a three car garage and at this, you mutter, “Jesus…”

And he goes, “What could possibly be wrong with a three car garage?”

“Nothing! Nothing! We just…only have two, but whatever,” you shrug.

Like, you’d prefer an all brick house and at this Matthew scoffs.

“Oh, you want the wind to blow it down?” you snip.

“Ah yes, the only possible housing options…brick, plastic and straw.”

“There’s nothing wrong with an all brick house. It looks better.”

“So you say.”

“So it is,” you snap, tilt your head at him.

“I’m gonna take Rory outside for a bit,” he stands from his chair.

“Oh, good. Try to find a third car while you’re out there,” and the door shuts behind him.

Maci lets out a tense breath and you smile shyly at her, “So…yeah, brick. Let’s go with brick.”

By the time you get back to your hotel, Rory’s tired and full enough to fall right asleep in her pack and play and it’s perfectly quiet because Matthew hasn’t said a word to you.

“So,” you grumble. “You’re just…not gonna talk to me…forever? You don’t like me anymore?”

“You embarrassed the hell out of me in front of that lady.”

“Ditto.”

“Okay, well, I need you to be okay with me disagreeing with you sometimes. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I love you!”

And he says this with so much conviction that you feel your guard drop. “You love me?”

His face softens, “Yes…c’mon. Be serious. I love you more than anything. You’re just…ugh,” he pushes his hair back. “Easy to disagree with.”

Guard: back up. “Easy to disagree with?” you repeat after him, ennuciating every word. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he shrugs. “Exactly that.”

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment and can’t even look directly at him as you say, “Yeah, don’t talk to me anymore.”

He gives you the most passive aggressive thumbs up to ever exist, “Sounds good.”

You take a nice, long, long shower and when you come out of the bathroom, Matthew and Rory are watching Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood on the TV. They give you the exact same look when their heads whip around, definitely related, definitely happy to see you. Her tiny hands reach out for you and Matthew, with his face neutral, lifts the blanket to let you in. You crawl into bed and land in the crook of his arm because that’s your spot. Your head falls on his chest and it’s okay because, technically, he’s not speaking to you.

Maci lines up exactly five houses for you to tour on your next visit. She figures, surely, one must be a common ground. Out of them all, the right one must be there.

Poor Maci.

Two zipcodes. Brick. Plaster. Grand great rooms. Kitchen islands, sometimes two. Libraries. Bay windows. Basements. Each house sings its own special song. Some, you hear clear as day, calling you home. They speak to you. They don’t speak to your husband. Unfortunately, that matters.

In the last house, you follow Maci around until the dreaded, “what do ya’ think?” question in the kitchen.

“I love it,” Matthew grins. And that grin sinks when he sees the pout on your lips. Your arms across your chest. “[y/n] doesn’t.”

“Oh, don’t speak for me,” you roll your eyes.

“But you don’t like it, though.”

“It’s…boring.”

“Okay,” he sighs. He can’t hear you say that one more time. “Babe, no one knows what that means.”

“Um, I think Maci knows, soooo must just be you.”

The glare you two give each other, on either side of this luxury island, is intense enough to make the entire 3,000 square feet house feel small. Very, very small.

Rory is with your parents and without her, the drive back to the hotel is very quiet. Very tense. Matthew rushes into the bathroom as soon as he can and you plop down on the bed with a heavy sigh. When he emerges from the bathroom, he’s shirtless and pouting and moody and broody and you can feel it. You can see it in the way he stomps around and rummages through his suitcase.

He says, “So,” without turning to you. “Not one winner today?”

“Ugh!” It flies out of your mouth before you can contain it. You literally pull at your hair in frustration and Matthew watches with his mouth agape. You rip your shirt off your body and the cool air from the fan hits you immediately. Now you’re both shirtless and pouting and moody and broody. You don’t need to talk about it.

“Do we have to discuss it right now or can we postpone for like…an hour or so?” you ask. You insist. You are begging, tilting your head at him.

And his first thought is: no way she’s trying to fuck me right now? But you are. He can see it in your eyes and the way they lower as he walks over to you. Your hands plant themselves on his waist and you lean into his touch as his palm engulfs your cheek.

“Make it two hours?” he runs his thumb along your lip.

You shrug, running your hands up his waist, “Make it as long as you’d like.”

He nods, “Okay,” and pushes you back onto the bed where you land with a quiet ‘oof!’ before he crawls on top of you.

It kills a lot of time. Lot of tension to work out.

Your body is relaxed like never before as you lay there naked against his chest, with his lips peppering soft kisses on your sweaty shoulder. As you catch your breath, it’s the most comforting silence you’ve shared in a while.

You touch his lips and he kisses your fingertips, holds your wrist in his grasp. “Not one winner, huh?” he whispers, holding to catch you at peace.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head and cover his mouth. “Not yet.”

He nods, nibbles on your wrist, “Fair enough.”

Your both in such a good mood when you go to pick up Rory. She crawls over to you at lightning speed and babbles excitedly and you coo over her like you’ve never met her before. You missed her.

And this joy is misinterpreted in a way that someone says, “You two are happy, did you find a house?” so your smiles drop.

“No,” you say in unison.

As Maci embarks on her next hunt, she’s opted for sending you virtual tours. She sends them in groups of four at a time and they are very useful. You can lay in bed, curled into Matthew’s side as he clicks around on his laptop and the serenity of it makes it harder to bicker.

Doesn’t make any of the houses suck any less, though. Doesn’t stop the annoyed sighs and smacking of teeth and the abrupt ‘whatevers’ to change the subject and the screen.

The very last of the bunch, you have your hopes up. The exterior is promising. The number of bedrooms, bathrooms. Matthew opens the view of the entryway and you just stand up, “I’m done. I’m going to shower. Goodnight.” And he, just as disappointed, shuts the laptop quickly.

It was nice to at least be on the same page with that one.

And poor Maci, she’s trying so hard. The two of you are stressing her out, but it’s hard to say what the outcome would be without a realtor equally as stubborn. Because when she thinks - no. When she knows she’s found the one, she calls your phone at midnight and leaves a voicemail saying - I am so sorry to call you so late but there is a house and I want you and Matthew to come see it as soon as possible. [pause] How soon can that be?

It’s soon. You make the trip back out there but it is done with very little enthusiam or optimism. You suspect that Maci knows this and she’s opting for suspense to lure you in. This is a blind viewing. She’s driving. You just have to wait and see.

“The country club?” is your first impression as she drives you into the neighborhood.

“Is this not one of the zipcodes you picked?” Matthew asks you and you roll your eyes.

“Yes. It is, I’m just making an observation. Damn.”

“You can opt in or out of being a member at the club,” Maci chimes in. “Completely voluntary.”

“Is this where we’re gonna live, Maci?” Matthew laughs.

“I think so,” she nods. “I really think so.”

Because all you and Matthew wanted was to know. To not have to think, but to see it and know. To see a house that was, at first sight, yours. To know.

And when you slowed down upon the house on the hill, you both knew. You both gasped. You looked at each other.

The driveway is gated and is almost like a rollercoaster up the hill. This rollercoaster ends at nothing other than a three car garage on an all brick house. Brick stairs leading the front door which lead to an entryway where you feel it. You know, with one step on the hardwood floor, this house is yours.

Maci goes into full tour mode, “So this is the foyer and all you walk in, you have your formal dining room on the left…” and you are holding Matthew’s hand. You are holding his hand and wrapped around his arm and the two of you are walking and staring at this house and Maci’s voice just sounds like “blah blah blah blah blah…”

There’s two islands in the kitchen. A large sunroom right beside it that gives entry to the lush backyard. A center fireplace in the living room. Built in bookshelves. A guest room, a guest bathroom.

It all just flows.

The main bedroom is upstairs and it has two closets. You nearly faint in each other’s arms - two whole closets!

There’s 4 additional bedrooms on the upper floor and so, yes, should it be that you have multiple litters of children, there’s room. Just in case.

Way below is the basement where there’s not only plenty of room to lounge but a full wet bar lined with green tile and neon lights lining the walls. You exit the basement and plant your feet in the driveway, coming full circle to Maci’s car. She turns to you both, her smile as wide as yours.

“So?” she asks anxiously.

You look at your husband and he’s already looking at you. “Speaking to you?” he grins.

“Yelling at me,” you laugh.

He giggles and can’t help but kiss your cheek. He turns to Maci and nods, “You were right. This is it.”

The paperwork and red tape is the last of the bullshit and that itself feels very short in comparison to the past few months. It’s the easiest. It’s the happiest. So far. By the time the two of you are alone in your car, you take a full minute to breathe. Then you look at each other and the words come rushing out.

“Is it really over?” you ask.

“It’s really over.”

“I love it. Do you love it?”

“I love it!”

“Me, too! Aw, I wish Rory had been there. I wish she had seen it.”

“She’ll see it. She’ll love it.”

“She will!”

And with the sweetest laugh ever, Matthew grabs your face and kisses you. You’re giggling so much that it’s not a true, proper kiss but it does its job. You get the message.

“Do you know what this means?” he says.

“Yes, now I won’t have to smother you in your sleep.”

“No no, you’ve still got plenty of time for that. Besides that, do you know what this means?”

You chuckle, kiss his nose, “What?”

“Furniture shopping!” He cheers.

You gasp, you tear yourself away from him just to buckle your seat belt. “Oh, my god. You’re so right. So true.”

He laughs as he buckles himself in, holding your hand in his, kissing your knuckles. He asks, “Are we friends again?” with a pout on his face and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

You bring his hand to your face and kiss his knuckles in return, “Best friends.”