#only peace and love from me 💜

[vintagebuckybarnes]

In Vino Veritas

Pairing → Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Lab Assistant! Female! Reader

Total Wordcount → 3.5K

Summary → It all started when you and the Avengers enjoyed drinks during the afterparty back at the Avengers Tower. There, Tony revealed one of your deepest secrets, and even though you wish it had never come to light at first, you’re glad it did when the man you love stands on your doorstep, ready to start the rest of your life together.

Tags & Warnings → Semi-canon compliant, Avenger! Bucky Barnes, Female! Reader, Tony’s Lab Assistant! Reader, Bucky’s past as TWS is mentioned, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, some cursing, and explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Grinding, begging, some dirty talk, praise, teasing Bucky, protected sex, cowgirl position.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author’s Note → This story is beta'd by the wonderful @late-to-the-party-81, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I hope you'll all enjoy my story, which is filled with some angst, lots of fluff, and some smut to top it all off! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandom-free-bingo Bug Edition → “There is no us.” | Riding | In vino veritas | “Touch me.” @fandom-free-bingo Medical Edition → Crush at first sight @julybreakbingo Post-JBB → Being confronted about their feelings for another

Tags List → If you’d like to be tagged in my stories, you can add yourself to my tag list here.

The evening starts fine, good, even. But it all takes an unexpected turn when the man you work for - Tony Stark - reveals your secret. A secret that you’d only recently revealed to him.

Earlier that day, you’d spotted Bucky as he was working out and from that moment on your mind has been with him instead of your usual work and tasks.

“Hello, Y/N? Anyone home in there?” Tony asks as he lays a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. You look up at him with a worried look while he smiles back at you with a kind expression. A soft sigh escapes your lips as the thoughts in your head wander off again, specifically how his back looked underneath the tank top he wore in the gym while doing squats. Not only that, but you also can’t stop thinking about the way his ass looked in the sweatpants he wore. In a word, magnificent.

“Is everything okay with you? You’ve been a bit off your game today.” As Tony sits next to you, you put down the screwdriver you were holding - the one he asked you three times to pass to him - before turning to face him, your gaze focusing somewhere on the wall behind him. For a moment, there’s a silence between you as you gather the courage to tell him what’s been on your mind.

“Well, uhm- There’s something, or someone, that I can’t stop thinking about, and it’s taking over my mind every second of every day. It- It’s Bucky,” you say almost in a whisper. For a few seconds, Tony is completely silent as he lets the thought of you having a crush on one of his fellow Avengers sit in his mind. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he reaches out for your hand and takes it between his warm ones.

“You know that I’ll always support you in everything, right? I supported you when you expressed your desire to halt your life as an Avenger and retrain as my lab technician, and I supported you when you moved out of Avengers Tower to have your own home with more peace. This is not going to be any different. All I’m hoping for is that he will make you the happiest and best version of you, as you deserve nothing less.”

Tears brim at your waterline as Tony tells you this, and even though you deeply appreciate him, his words, and everything he has done for you, you can’t help but still feel a bit… odd about the fact you told him you’re having a crush on Bucky. That you have a crush on the man who was once the most feared assassin in the world under the hands of HYDRA.

“Now, can you hand me that screwdriver before your thoughts wander off to him again?” your boss asks in a teasing tone, making you smile as you grab it and hand it to him. Somehow, he always seems to know the right thing to say, and it's exactly why you enjoy spending time by his side while learning everything there is to know about his lab and what's going on in there.

Just as you’re about to get comfortable with another drink in your hand, you meet the gaze of the man you’re crushing on, and you feel heat coursing through your veins. The lines around his deep blue eyes intensify as he smiles at you, his attention making every last thought in your brain disappear. You’re so captivated by how Bucky looks at you that you miss your seat as you sit down. However, before you fall, you’re caught by a pair of solid arms that prevent you from hitting the floor.

“Careful there, Little One,” Thor says in his deep voice, his accent always making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. Even though you’d known Thor since you were young, you couldn’t help but get a little flustered by the nickname, and he smiled at you as you were finally sitting on the chair you intended to use.

“Thank you, Thor,” you whisper before sipping your cocktail. Around you, the conversations are starting to become a little blurry as you focus on Bucky and everything he has to say, his lips forming around the words effortlessly. When you suddenly feel a little shove against your arm, you yelp, making everyone go silent as they look at you.

“What did you do that for?!” you ask Thor in a low voice, but all he does is point to Tony, who obviously has something to say as he’s waving for everyone’s attention. There are moments when you enjoy the fact that alcohol can bring out people’s true feelings or thoughts, also known as in vino veritas, but not now. Oh no, now you wish you could disappear as you listen to the words coming out of Tony’s mouth.

“Guys, you really shouldn’t say this to Bucky or Y/N, but they’re having a massive crush on one another!” Tony says in a loud whispering tone, but what he fails to notice in his inebriated state is that you two are sitting right across from one another, enjoying the afterparty just like everyone else. Or at least, you were enjoying the afterparty until your secret got out.

The glass you were holding falls out of your hand before shattering into pieces on the floor, and your feet carry you as fast as they can away from the party and away from your worst nightmare come true. The music behind you fades away as you turn one corner after another, tears burning in your eyes as the event repeatedly replays in your mind. Your lungs start to burn as you keep running, the stinging feeling in your side increasing as you run out of the Avengers Tower into the night.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s world feels like it has taken a 180-degree turn. Mere minutes ago, he could only fantasize that you could have feelings for him, but now? A wave of disbelief washes over the super soldier, his expression showing pure surprise as he takes the moment in. For him, it was a crush at first sight from the momentyou walked into the training room on your first day. Over the years, his feelings have intensified, although he has only told Steve about his crush - or rather his now deep-rooted love - for you.

And yet, now that the pair of you have been confronted about your feelings for one another, he doesn’t know what to do. He has replayed the moment he’d confess his feelings to you more times than he can count in his mind, and in none of those versions, this is one of the scenarios that had appeared. It’s only when Steve grabs his arm and pulls him away that he seemingly comes back to reality again.

“Bucky, how does Tony know about your crush on Y/N? I mean, I’m, of course, fine with you sharing it, but-”

“I don’t know, Steve, I don’t know, and it kills me,” Bucky says as he runs his fingers through his cropped hair.“Fuck- I was planning on telling her this week but… but now it’s ruined, and I didn’t even get the chance to talk to her, and-” It’s all Bucky can say as he fights the urge to punch the wall with his metal fist, both hands clenched by his side as he tries to regulate his breathing. Without warning, Steve pulls him into a hug, and Bucky’s arms snake around his best friend's waist as his fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Steve whispers, though he’s not entirely sure that’s true because he knows as well as anyone that things don’t always go back to how they were before. Still, Bucky decides to believe him as they stand there for a little while longer, and he soaks in every bit of comfort he can get for now. Lord knows he’s going to need it.

The past few days have been strange, to say the least. You haven’t been to the Avengers Tower since Tony revealed your now not-so-secret crush on the super soldier. You’re afraid of what will happen if you do. This also means you haven’t seen Bucky in a few days, and you miss him. You miss hearing his laugh, and you miss seeing how his mouth turns slightly upward as you hand him one of your baked goods, but most of all, you miss how his arms feel when he pulls you in for a hug.

Just as you’re about to make yourself a cup of tea, you get pulled from your thoughts by a soft but familiar knock on the door; only one thing can make that sound: Bucky’s metal hand knocking against the wood. For a moment, you contemplate your actions, but decide to give him at least a chance to talk, especially as it wasn’t him who laid out your feelings in front of everyone.

“Bucky, hi,” you say softly as you take in his appearance, your heart sinking as you do. It’s evident he hasn’t slept at all the past few days. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he doesn’t look as healthy as usual—more disheveled. The struggles he’s facing are apparent in his entire demeanor, and all you want to do is wrap him up in a warm blanket and cuddle him until the end of time.

“Hi,” he says hoarsely, and you step aside, allowing him to enter your apartment. He’s been here a few times already, and usually there’s a warmth radiating from you and every inch of the little place you call home, but ever since the party, it hasn’t been the same. It isn’t just the apartment, either. You feel different.

“Would you like some tea before we talk?” you ask to break the tension. “I was about to make some.”

He nods at you before wandering further into your apartment, and you head to the kitchen, picking out another mug for Bucky to use. Once he’s caught sight of your couch, he immediately takes a seat, a soft groan audible as he does. There aren’t many places more comfortable than the large couch that’s standing right here in your living room.

When you emerge a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies you baked fresh this morning, Bucky can’t help but smile at you. He gladly takes the tea with one of the cookies, as they’re his favorite, and when you sit down next to him, it feels just like it always has, as if nothing has changed. But you both know it has, and that’s why the super soldier’s now in your living room.

“So…” you start, unsure what to say now that he’s sitting on your couch. Bucky’s eyes are trained on the steaming tea in his hands, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he’s thinking about what he wants to say - other than confessing his love for you.

“So… uhm, we missed seeing you around the Tower,” Bucky starts, though you both know it’s mostly him who has missed seeing you there. You have always been a staple there during his mornings as you make him a cup of coffee, and during movie nights, you were always the one he could sit next to and enjoy the movie, but now that you’re not there, it’s like a piece of soul has left the Tower with you.

“I mean, yeah. It’s been a bit awkward for me to go back after what happened a few days ago,” you tell him, and a shudder of horror runs down your spine at the thought of having to face Tony again. A smile tugs at the corners of Bucky’s lips as he thinks back to what happened that night, a happy memory of your first meeting resurfacing in the back of his mind as he does.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve made some chocolate chip cookies, if you want some. However, I should warn you, Tony’s been on the prowl since I took them out of the oven, so I’ll advise you to be quick,” you say with a glare towards Tony, who has been eyeing them up since he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. For the first time in a long time, Bucky showed something akin to a smile, and everyone looked at each other to ensure they saw it, too.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, grabbing one of the smaller ones on the plate, followed by a cup of coffee, before swiftly leaving the kitchen to spend more time in his room. Before Bucky even left the kitchen, Tony was on the cookies as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and this time you let him.

“Can I- Is it okay if I tell you something? Because if I don’t say it now, I don’t know if I ever will,” Bucky says softly, and you nod before repositioning yourself so that you’re facing him. His gaze is still trained on his mug as he thinks carefully about his next words, afraid he might accidentally say the wrong thing.

“Tony was right. He is right, actually. When he said, we’re crushing on each other. I’ve been crushing on you since you offered me those chocolate chip cookies when Tony threatened to eat them all before anyone else had a chance to get them. It was like a switch flipped inside me back then, and I haven’t been the same since,” Bucky says, his mouth now in a line as he tells you about his feelings.

“Each time I look at you, it’s like I’m seeing an angel, and every time I hear your voice, it’s like a little piece of my soul is healing, too. I find myself drawn to you in every room and wonder what life has in store for us. But deep down inside, I know there is no ‘us’ yet. But I want there to be us. I want you, Y/N. I want you to be mine, in whatever capacity you’ll have me. If you want to stay friends, that’s okay with me, but if you want more, I’ll happily accept every bit of love you’re willing to offer me.”

Once Bucky’s done, you’re unsure what to say. What to think. What to do. You want to say that the feelings between you are mutual, that you’re in love with him and that you want nothing more than to be his, but something inside you is stopping you. So, instead of saying anything, you place your hand over his flesh limb, and his eyes slip shut at the feeling of your soft fingers against his rough hand.

“Bucky.” His name is a whisper on your lips, but it’s enough to make him look at you, to meet your gaze.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, Bucky carefully put his tea on the coffee table before hauling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your waist as your lips interlock in a passionate dance. He can’t get enough of your soft mouth slotting together with his and the way his tongue fights for dominance with yours as your fingers dig into his neck. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt a strong connection with someone, and you’re happy to explore it with Bucky.

Your hips grind over his growing length of their own volition,your body looking for any bit of friction it can get. Without warning, one of Bucky’s hands slides lower until he’s cupping your ass, making you gasp into his mouth as a result. Bucky can’t help but smile into the kiss as he pulls you impossibly closer, your legs spreading just a bit further as you sink against his muscular body.

“Hmm, I’ve been wanting this - you - for so long,” he says between the kisses trailing your jaw towards your ear, his teeth nipping on your earlobe as your head lolls to the side. With every passing second, your thoughts are melting away more and more, and all that’s left inside your mind is Bucky. Soon, his other hand joins the first as he helps you grind onto him, a groan falling from his lips as he sets a perfect pace for you both.

“B-Bucky—" his name sounds more like a whine than anything else. “I—I want you.”

“But you already have me, pretty girl, ‘m right here,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice, his hands continuing to help you grind until you’re a complete mess for him. Your shorts are ruined, your arousal soaking through them and onto the bulge in his black jeans, much to Bucky’s joy. He was wondering what it would take to get you to this point, and it turns out it won’t take much.

He smiles against the skin of your neck, where he’s taking his time to mark you with hickeys and small bitemarks, all of which leave you a bit more of a moaning, begging mess on his lap, much to his pride. When one of your hands moves away from his neck and down his torso, he quickly catches on to what you’re doing. “Someone’s a little impatient today, huh?”

“Yes, oh god, yes! I need you to touch me, Bucky. I want to feel you inside me as you make me fall apart on your cock, and I need you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow!” Your voice sounds more breathy than usual, but every care you thought you had has gone out the window. All you want is Bucky and his cock to ride, until you’re orgasming so hard and long you can’t remember your name.

“Okay, I will. Don’t you worry about anything, okay? Let me take care of you, and I’ll give you everything you need and more,” he reassures you in a shushing voice. You nod before kissing him again, which immediately deepens before he gently helps you get up, allowing you to take off your panties and shorts, and he can take off his pants and boxershorts, too. As soon as you’re both freed from your last pieces of clothing, you hand him a condom you retrieved from the side table drawer while he took the time to undress himself.

“Hmmm, looks so thick,” you tell him as you look at it with wide eyes, wondering how he’s going to fit inside you as you’re positioning yourself on his lap once more, your legs bracketing his thicks thighs as you get comfortable.

“I know, but I’m gonna go slow. Wouldn’t want to hurt you and your perfect, sweet little pussy.” He smiles as he holds his cock in place, your pliant body sinking onto him slowly as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. Your hiss of pleasure is audible and your face contorts at the slight sting of him stretching you, but just like he promised, Bucky is taking it slow to ensure you’ll both have the most amazing first time.

As soon as you’re fully seated on his lap, your body goes limp against him, your face tucked in the crook of his neck as you adjust to his girth, and Bucky places soft kisses on your head while praising you through it all. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. Such a good girl for me, letting me take the lead and giving you exactly what you need.”

A small smile appears on your face as you look up at him with big, doe-like eyes, and he can’t help but smile back as the back of his fingers gently caress your cheek. He may have thought you were beautiful before, but nothing compares to this moment. 

“I love you, Y/N, and I promise to take care of you with every fiber of my being,” he whispers, his lips sealing his promise against your cheek. Your eyes fall shut at his words, and his hand moves down your side until it’s on your hip again, ready for you to let him know when you’re good to go. Your bodies work in complete sync with one another with every rise and fall of your chest, and his hands guide you beautifully as you slowly sink and rise on his length.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, and it doesn’t take long for both of you to find your highs for the first time, and they’re serving as a promise of everything else that’s still to come in this lifetime. A few days ago, you and Bucky didn’t even know you felt the same about one another, but now you’re sharing the start of the rest of your lives, and it’s all thanks to Tony. Because without him, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the man of your dreams how much you love him.

Masterlist → Bucky Barnes

GIF: Source → All the other graphics you see are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

[purploozi]

Cared by | Lee Ji Hoon

Pairing: bf!Jihoon x Reader

Genre: fluff

Warning: reader has headache, and let me know if there's something else

Summary: Jihoon arrived home late at night only to find you with a high fever. Determined, he started to take care of you. W. Count: 540

The moment Jihoon saw your face—he knew something was wrong. He arrived home late at night, all his movements slow and careful in an attempt not to wake you up. He could picture you in his head…all curled up in the bed, covered by the soft blanket you loved and with the pillow you used when he wasn’t around between your arms. You’d be comfortable and peacefully sleeping—or at least, that’s what he thought. 

When he opened the door, he was met with the sight of your sleeping form…but, it wasn’t like he had imagined. You were sleeping just like he knew you would be, covered and hugging the pillow, but your expression wasn’t peaceful. It was pained. The frown on your face was a clear indicator for Jihoon that something was wrong, without wasting a second he walked to your side of the bed and crouched beside it, with a gentle, but firm, touch of his hand he nudged your shoulder to wake you up. “Love, wake up” he whispered, slowly you stirred from your slumber and, with difficulty, you managed to open your eyes—only to find the face of your boyfriend inches away from yours. From this distance Jihoon could see a few drops of sweat on your forehead, instinctively he lifted his hand to check your temperature and—you were burning.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He pushed himself off the ground and turned on the light on the nightstand before heading to the bathroom. You could tell he was worried from the way his shoulders tensed and his steps rushed. “You are busy…” you muttered to yourself, thinking he wouldn’t hear, but—”I’m not busy for you”. His answer was sharp and unwavering, he placed a glass of water and some painkillers on the nightstand before sitting carefully beside you to clean your forehead with a damp handkerchief. “Have you taken any medicine?” his tone was gentler now, and you took a moment to admire him. The soft glow of the nightstand light made his face look…ethereal, his kind touch on your skin with the damp cloth was soothing and you felt yourself drifting off again. “I took one at 10pm…”

Jihoon looked at the watch on his wrist, you couldn’t take another one yet. It pained him to see you like this, burning up and shivering…he just wanted you to be feeling better already “Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of you”. He could see that you were struggling to keep your eyes open—those eyes he loved so much, the ones he wished would always look at him. “Could you hug me…?” you asked in the sweetest voice he’d ever heard, and only then did he realize that you weren’t hugging the pillow anymore. A smile tugged at his lips and he nodded before turning off the light. He crawled to his side of the bed and slipping under the blanket, he spooned you…with one arm around your waist and the other carefully placed under your head. The still damp handkerchief found your forehead again, easing a little bit of your discomfort. Your hands clutched his arms, hugging them like a pillow—and like that, in your boyfriend’s embrace, you felt cared and loved.

I wrote this while having a fever (totally self-indulgent) and it healed me a little so I hope it can heal everyone too~💜

[borathae]

Lunch Break | MYG x f.Reader

“Min Yoongi is many a thing in your life. Coworker, superior, best friend and beloved long-term boyfriend. Yes, that’s right. You are dating your boss. It’s a lot easier than it sounds. You get to live together, get to go to work together and get to spend lunch break together. Problem is, Yoongi decided to wear his pretty blue button-up today and this shirt has a rather lethal effect on you. Thankfully, he has his own private office.“

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: coworkers!AU, established relationship!AU, office romance!AU, Smut

Warnings: office worker!yoongles in glasses <3, soft boyfie!yoongles who is shy about pda <3, secret cuddlebug!yoongles, unapologetic flirting by OC while he blushes, spending lunch break in his office, sub!Yoongi, soft Domme!Reader, a quickie in his office chair, clothed sex (he only takes his dick out and she keeps her skirt on), blowjob, handjob, a lil bit of edging, unprotected penetrative sex, kissing, slight dirty talk, lipstick stains all over his lips and neck, finger sucking (m.giving), not a lot of kink is happening tbfh she is horny and he can't say no to her cause he is also horny but would never confess it jdfjsa, this is cute and sexy (just like yoongi)

Wordcount: 5.5k

a/n: yet again, this is an idea from kinktober24 which didn't make it on the official list but which i NEEDED on my blog <3 subby office worker!yoongi is my secret weakness and this yoongi is just so dreamy 💜 ps: happy birthday boongs, i really miss you :(

“Have you seen my glasses?” he asks, busy with packing his bag.

“They’re on your head, baby”, you tell him, putting on lipstick.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Always happy to help.”

You finish. Yoongi swerves in behind you, running his hand over your waist innocently. Your body communicates with him easily, moving out of the way so he can use the hallway mirror next.

He makes sure that his button up sits correctly, while you put on your heels and jacket. He glances at you over the brim of his glasses.

“Wait. Let me”, he offers, helping you slip it on.

“Thank you.”

He kisses your cheek and steps back, picking up his thermos of coffee and the car keys.

“Are we ready to go?”

“Wait, last check. Yup, we’re ready.”

You and he live on the fourth floor, taking the elevator down to the apartment complex’ parking garage. You hold hands as you walk to your car together and you hold his thermos while he drives. He rubs your knee each time you stop at a red light, while you hand him the thermos so he can enjoy his morning coffee.

You and he don’t talk a lot, sharing silence which a podcast fills. The two of you have become obsessed with listening to a music podcast together. It’s been your background noise while you cook, clean and wash up at night and while you drive to work together. It is a really nice tradition because you and he have so much more to talk about.

If this story didn’t make it clear up until this point, you and Yoongi are together. You met at work seven years ago and fell in love two years later. He asked you if you wanted him as your boyfriend on your fourth date and last year in June, you asked him if he wanted to look for a shared apartment.

Dating him is easy because he is the most lovable person ever and disagreements between you and him are beyond rare. And if they happen, they are always healthy and calm. He makes you feel loved daily and ever since you and he moved in together, you feel settled in life. As if he is truly it for you. The one true love you will always have.

Dating him is also incredibly fun and exciting. He is quiet and calm on most days, but sometimes he gets really hyper and dorky and it always makes you laugh when he goofs around.

In return, Yoongi constantly finds himself with an aching belly from laughing too much with you. Just as much as he feels at peace. Being with you feels safe and as if he is finally where he always belonged.

Dating however, also means that you are in love with your co-worker and you have to act professional at your workplace. Which is sometimes very difficult to do because you are basically obsessed with him.

Your other colleagues know that you and he are together, your higher ups know too. It was a little bit of a scandal at first, but they simply had to learn to live with it. You and Yoongi are a thing which will keep being a thing. So it isn't like you and he are a secret, but Yoongi is also very shy about public displays of affection. Especially when it comes to PDA in a professional environment. The touchiest thing you will get from him is a cheeky shoulder rub or getting your hand held in the elevator to your office.

He also holds it on your way to your desk, greeting your shared colleagues as you pass them.

Yoongi has been at this company three years longer than you and works in management, which naturally makes him superior to you in hierarchy. It also means that he gets his own private office, while you have to share an open space office with some of your colleagues. You don’t mind because the people you work with are, thankfully, all very sweet and being so separated during work also gives you and Yoongi a sense of still being independent adults living their individual lives.

Like every morning, Yoongi leaves you by your desk.

“See you at lunch break”, he says his goodbyes, rubbing your shoulder.

“Yes. See you then.”

And then he already makes his way to his office while you get ready for the next four hours of work.

You take a short coffee break two hours into your morning shift. You do a little stretch upon standing up, then make your way to the shared break room. It is empty, safe for Yoongi who is making himself coffee. He rolled up the sleeves of his button up by now. You have to fight every single fiber in your body not to bite his lower arm. Or slap his butt for that matter. He has a really great butt.

“Well hello there handsome, fancy seeing you here”, you greet him.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder, “oh, hey. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m making it.”

You close the distance and back hug him, resting your cheek against him. As expected, Yoongi tenses up.

“We’re at work”, he says.

“I know and it’s just the two of us right now. I’m just really needy for you today.”

“Hush, keep your voice down”, he whispers, turning in your arms. He looks panicked. “Don’t be so dirty.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, doofus. I just think that you’re really handsome in your button up. Blue is really your colour.”

“Oh. Thanks”, he mumbles and looks to the side shyly.

“Mhm yeah” you say, gazing at him with love drunk eyes.

“Okay uhm”, he shimmies out of your hug and turns to the coffee machine. It is so obvious to you that he currently feels shy.

Which is so endearing to you. It is one of the reasons why you fell for him. In the beginning phase where you still tried to fight the tension, he was so lovably clumsy and nervous with his words whenever he talked to you and it charmed you beyond repair.

These days, one of your favourite pastime activities is flirting with him just to get him shy. He always blushes when this happens and it is so adorable.

You join his side, leaning against the counter and looking at his face. The faintest of pink adorns his cheeks. Cute.

“How’s it going?” you ask him.

“Good. I need to go through grant applications today.”

“Oh, sounds important.”

“Yeah, it is. And you?”

“Good too. I spend most of my time thinking of you.”

Yoongi glances at you for a brief moment and looks away again. He stays silent, but the blush grows.

You snicker, reaching out to give his upper arm a tender rub.

“Sorry, gosh I’m bullying you today, aren’t I?”

“A little. I don’t know how to react.”

“Sorry, I know I know. I’m already stopping. It’s your shirt, it makes me like this.”

“Why? It’s a shirt.”

“It’s a sexy shirt.”

He glances again and frowns.

“Fine, this was the last flirt, I promise”, you give up, chuckling.

Yoongi stays silent, handing you the cup of coffee. He turns to face you, leaning his hip against the counter.

“Gosh, you’re so handsome.”

“Baby, you said no more flirting”, he whines, pouting.

“I’m not flirting, I’m being honest. You’re so handsome.”

Sadly for you, a few of your co-workers enter the break room. Yoongi uses the opportunity to flee the situation. Not because he doesn’t want to spend time with you, but because he can’t take any more of your very amazing flirting.

“See you at lunch.”

“Yes, see you. Lunch. Very soon”, you say, following him with your eyes dreamily.

“So, I finally asked Mingyu for his number”, your colleague says, pulling you into a conversation about her love life. Yoongi is gone for now, but not forgotten. Of course he isn’t. The image of him in his blue button up with his sleeves rolled up will haunt you for the rest of your morning shift.

Your company is insanely generous with the amount of lunch break you are getting. A full hour of paid lunch time is part of the contract. Just like on most days, you are one of the last people to leave for lunch. Most of your colleagues leave the office to eat at some of the many restaurants in the neighbourhood. You will also leave, but have to get Yoongi first. He would forget that it was time otherwise because he always works so hard.

You greet your big boss as she passes you on her way to her lunch break and your way to Yoongi’s office. She soon disappears behind a corner.

You knock on his door.

“Come in!”

You enter the room, closing the door behind you.

“On a scale of one to ten, how hungry are you?” you ask him.

“Uh…I don’t know. I ate a granola bar twenty minutes ago, so four-ish? Why?”

“Good”, you say and lock his door.

“Why are you locking my door?”

“So I can do this and not have someone walk in on us”, you say and close the distance in big steps.

You pull him out from under his desk and turn him to you.

“Wha-”

Yoongi gets no time to complain or process what was happening and then you are already on his lap, claiming his lips in a needy kiss.

He squeaks in surprise. You get to kiss him for a good two seconds and then he breaks it. He touches his lips, gawking at you scandalized and flustered.

“What are you doing?”

“Making use of our sixty minutes. The ramen bar across the street needs five minutes to make ramen, you and I need around twenty minutes to walk over there and eat. Which gives us a good thirty five minutes extra.”

“Okay and?”

“And I’m gonna use them well.” You falter for a moment. “If you’re down too, of course.”

“No, of course I’m not down. We’re at work. People could hear us or see us”, he is whispering, eyes widened in urgency.

“We’re all alone. Even Mina left for lunch.”

Mina was your big boss and she won’t be back until three o’clock because of meetings.

“But still, I say no.”

“Ugh fine. Whatever you want”, you say and climb off his lap, “but then I wanna go somewhere else. Maybe sushi?” you suggest, turning your back to him to leave.

Yoongi ogles your butt in the skirt you are wearing. He is internally panicking. He didn’t expect you to actually accept his no so easily (which makes no sense because you always accept his no without argument). He secretly hoped for you to try and convince him, because let us be honest for a moment, Yoongi is also obsessed with you. The skirt you chose today is one of his favourites and your unapologetic flirting really made his blood boil. You are also wearing his favourite perfume and when he snuck a glance at you as you got dressed, he got a glimpse of lace panties. Yoongi loves lace panties.

“Wait, okay fine. I’m down too”, he reveals his lie.

“Really?”

He blushes and looks to the side, nodding his head.

“Oh my god, yay!” you exclaim and climb on his lap again. You cradle his face, turning it to you so you can kiss him.

He kisses you back for a little while, but then breaks it again.

“But only if we’re quiet. Please, we really have to be quiet.”

“We’ll be quiet. Just come here, you”, you promise, attacking his neck with hungry kisses.

Yoongi feels his eyes roll back and shivers run down his spine. He drops his head against the backrest of his chair, parting his lips.

“God you smell so sexy. I love this cologne on you. God, you. Mhhhm god”, you babble between your hungry kisses, driving him crazy in the process.

“Also no marks please”, he begs.

“Promise. Now relax and stop worrying.”

“Wait. Actually.”

You sit up.

“We should set a timer.”

You chuckle. He is such an awkward bean sometimes.

“Good idea, let’s set a timer.”

“I’ll do it.”

You watch him fondly as he fumbles with the timer on his watch. His lips and neck are covered in lipstick marks. His hair is a little ruffled. God, you could honestly eat this man. He is so yummy.

“Okay, timer set. Wait. You locked the door, right?”

“Yes baby, I locked the door.”

“Okay, okay. Now I’m good.”

He leans back and shifts his eyes to you.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just really like you”, you say and lean down to kiss the other side of his neck. “You’re just so perfect, Yoongi baby.”

“A-ah. Mhmmm.”

His eyes roll back and close, his lips part. His neck is so sensitive and your kisses feel incredible.

You and Yoongi started off today a little worked up. It may have been your fault because you woke up horny after a sexy dream about him and therefore engaged Yoongi in a sleepy make out session. Said session only lasted five minutes and then you both needed to get up for work. You and he tried not to address what said session did, but it definitely haunted you throughout the morning.

“Shit, baby”, you break away from his neck to whisper against his ear, making him dizzy in the process, “all I want right now is your dick in my mouth.”

He throws his hand over his mouth, gawking in shock. You snicker, fluttering your lashes playfully.

“Please be more quiet”, he whispers.

“You’re so cute”, you chuckle and kiss his ear. You slip off his lap and between his legs, making him gasp.

Your eyes meet. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are widened.

“Is this okay for me to do?”

He nods his head, breathing the shiest “yeah”.

“Thank you. God seriously, I dreamed of blowing you and it’s been driving me crazy”, you finally confess, fingers busy with opening his pants.

Yoongi’s chest lifts and sinks in a quick rhythm. He is so excited and at the same time, terribly nervous. You and he never did it at the office before. Or in public for that matter. He feels like a criminal, grasping the armrests of his chair as support.

The zipper of his pants opens quickly. You slip your hand into the front of his slacks and boxer briefs, then take out his cock. He is still only semi-hard.

“Oh god”, he croaks, shifting nervously.

“Everything still okay?”

“Yeah just. You really locked the door?”

“I did. Promise.”

“A-and you’ll be really quiet?”

“Yes, very quiet.”

You decide to take his mind off of his nerves by kissing the tip of his dick. You use your hand to massage the base and get him worked up.

Yoongi sucks in air and throws his hand over his mouth.

“Oh god”, he murmurs.

“I love your dick. You’ve got the cutest dick ever. Mhm love it so much.”

This wasn’t a lie. Yoongi has indeed a very cute dick. Now don’t misunderstand, his dick game is insane. This man knows how to make you see stars with just his cock. It’s perfect in length, in girth and in shape. There is genuinely nothing missing and also nothing which is too much. And yet, you still think that it is so cute. Just like his elbows and knees, it easily flushes pink and when you play with him just right, it leaks and twitches. When you get him really fucking worked up – to the point where he curses and spits the dirtiest words – his dick becomes veiny and oh so swollen and when you make him cum, it trembles oh so needily.

It is just such a perfect dick and right now, you take it inside to get him fully hard.

Yoongi drops his head against the chair, scrunching his face as he grinds his teeth.

This feels really good. Really, really good and if you two were at home, he would moan. But he can’t. Not here. He has to be quiet.

You are a little louder, purring in enjoyment as you suckle on his tip.

“Please not too hard”, he begs, breathing heavily.

“Mh-hm”, you assure him, rubbing his thigh and massaging his shaft. He should feel good and comfortable.

You are aware that this is something totally new and that Yoongi is very private about PDA and especially sex. The last thing you want out of this is for him to finish with a bad feeling in his tummy.

You know that you could be louder and rougher because the office is genuinely empty, but you keep it gentle for Yoongi’s sake. Sex is – after all – most enjoyable when both parties involved are totally into it.

“Is it okay how I do it?” you ask and continue the rhythm. You focus your attention on his first two inches, suckling on them while swirling your tongue around his tip.

“It’s…good”, he breathes out and chokes down his moan. It is more than good, it is amazing. Yoongi really wants to be at home right now so he can be loud.

“Yeah? Good?”

“Good…”

“Just tell me when you want something changed.”

Yoongi hums, nodding his head. He shifts in his chair, gasping for air because you sink him in as deep as you can go. His armrests croak as he tightens his fingers on them.

You purr and suck, moving your head up as you do. You increase the suction when reached his tip, swirl your tongue and sink down again. With the new rhythm asserted, you begin your hungry feast. He is so fucking delicious, throbbing between your fingers as you work him up to his potential.

Yoongi groans quietly, throwing his hands over his face for just a second before he drops them again, grasping the edge of the chair. He loves oral sex. Now granted, he loves giving it more than he does receiving it. The thing with Yoongi is that getting his dick munched on really – really – gets him there fast. He just can’t hold on for long before he is already close.

And you are really working hard today to ruin him.

“Fuck”, he chokes out under his breath.

The word fills the room with its meaning. You got him cursing.

You slip off his dick to run the tip of your tongue along his veins. He throbs needily, messying his tip more and more because you aren’t sucking it off anymore. You will have such a yummy surprise once you take him back in. 

What you are doing right now feels so intense. You are very precise with your tongue and because you are using the tip of it, the stimulation is strong and tingly. Really tingly. So tingly in fact, that Yoongi has to squirm in his chair and arch his back. 

Your tongue glides over his tip. You stop. 

“Mhm?” You look at his dick. “Oh my god, you’re so wet.”

Yoongi whines quietly, face feeling on fire. It’s so embarrassing to be called out and it makes him even wetter.

“Oh god, baby. Oh god”, you chant as you lick and suck the yummy surprise off of him. 

Yoongi tastes really good. And you aren’t saying that just to be nice. Oh no, in your past you were not afraid to tell your partners if they needed to take better care of their dicks. Yoongi genuinely tastes so good. He takes hygiene very seriously and leaks the yummiest pleasure. It’s just a little salty, but most of all it has a sweetish taste to it because he loves eating cranberries (to make his dick taste good). He is very cute. And perfect. And yummy. And fuck, you are so hungry for him. You growl quietly, sinking him back into your mouth just to suck the very soul out of his dick.

“Ah! Shhiii- Ah!” he squirms helplessly, suddenly feeling on fire. “A lot. A-a lot.”

“Mhm”, you agree as you get sloppy with his dick. You drool all over it and smear lipstick everywhere. Your hand works overtime to jerk off what you can’t fit and your left hand runs up his torso to rub his nipple over his shirt. You are insane for him. Completely starved and hungry.

Yoongi puts his right hand on the nape of your neck.

“I have to cum”, he tries oh so hard to be quiet, “I’m almost there.”

His words motivate you to focus on his tip. This always gets him there. He is so, so sensitive. And pink. And leaky. And yummy. Oh so yummy. 

“I have to cum in your mouth. Is it okay?”

You nod your head. Yoongi whimpers quietly, biting his lower lip. His fingers tighten on your head, his legs tremble. His stomach is so tight, his cock feels on fire. One more suck he is going to burst. He scrunches his nose, eyes glassy because he refuses to close them and therefore stop looking at you. You flick your tongue over his favourite spot. This was it.

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut and drops his squirming hips. 

“I’m cum-”

You purr and suck him aggressively as you slip off, squeezing your fingers around his base to stop his orgasm. His poor, flushed cock throbs, weeping in agony. He gasps and exhales heavily, hips rolling up to chase the decreasing pleasure. His eyes open, glistening sadly.

“That was mean”, he murmurs, pouting. He is squirming and pouting so, so much. As if you broke his hopeful, trusting heart.

“Sorry, you pouty”, you chuckle, kissing his shaft as an apology.

“That was so mean. It hurts”, he complains in a shaky voice, sounding close to tears. He always gets like this when you edge him. Which is why you love doing it because he is so cute when he gets sniffly in desperation. And Yoongi loves being edged. Just maybe not today. Because he is so, so, so, horny today and now his balls ache and his dick is sensitive and everything just feels too intense for the place he is currently at. Yoongi shouldn’t feel so needy in the office, but now he does and he has to sniffle and pout because of it.

“Please can I cum?” he begs you with glistening puppy eyes.

“Soon. And not in my mouth. Can I sit on you?”

He nods his head vigorously, rubbing your neck. “Please do, please.”

You stand up. Yoongi instantly reaches for you, rubbing your hips and gazing up at you with needy eyes.

“Do you have a condom?” you talk to him as you take off your panties.

“No. Why? Sorry, I don’t. I didn’t know that I had to. We agreed that we don’t have to fuck with condoms anymore because being clean and being on birth control and all that.”

“It’s fine, I don’t blame you. I don’t have one either. Guess I just have to let it run into a tissue afterwards”, you say, climbing his lap. You keep the skirt on. Yoongi loves that you do, feeling unable to stop looking at you.

“I can clean it with my mouth”, he offers.

You laugh, gazing at him.

“Or that. God you. I’m mad for you”, you say and sink down on him, swallowing his moan as you kiss him.

He bottoms out within a second and you pick up a quick rhythm. You have no time to waste. Time’s running out and you’ve got to make most of it. You’re so wet that you can easily ride him passionately.

Yoongi feels as if you just punched him in the gut. This is so fucking intense and you gave him no time to get used to it. If he didn’t have the control of a champion, he instantly would have climaxed. 

Now all he can do is gaze up at you with a pleasure contorted, flushed face and a turning head. Your lips are messy from the lipstick, your skin is radiant and your eyes are half-lidded in pleasure. He feels in presence of a goddess. The only goddess he will ever pray to and it makes his heart race as much as it makes his dick throb.

“Fuck, you feel so good”, you pant, grasping his hair at the nape of his neck.

“___”, he moans, looking up at you with an agape mouth and droopy eyes behind tilted glasses. His big hands are on your hips, holding on for support.

You fix his glasses then grab his hair again. You slow down for just a moment, sending Yoongi’s heart into overdrive when you lean down to rub the tip of your nose against his’. 

He loves nose kisses, squeezing his eyes shut as he trembles in an emotional whimper.

“Mine”, you whisper and kiss the tip of his nose. Then you straighten up and pick up where you left off.

“Ah-nhn”, he wanted to yelp, but stops himself in the last moment, opening his eyes wide and his mouth even wider.

“Do you like this?”

He nods his head, pupils dilated and fingers dimpling your hips. 

“Good. Love it too. You’ve got the best cock. So perfect.”

Yoongi’s heart is hammering against his ribcage. He feels so giddy and star-struck and so totally, completely, entirely yours. Also so sensitive. Holy fuck, he is so sensitive. He has to close his eyes otherwise the connection would have thrown him over the edge.

You caress his cheeks and ears, talking to him in a soothing, yet sexy, voice. You know that he is struggling and that he needs your voice to help him hold on.

“It’s not gonna take me long. I hope that’s okay.”

“So okay. So sensitive. Ah…”

“Always so sensitive. My cutie.”

Yoongi whimpers quietly, claiming your lips in a sloppy kiss.

Nobody would ever think this about you and him, but the two of you have such a high sex drive. Now, when you walked down a street side by side or come to work together, the public will never figure just how horny you are for each other. You are sure that most people would describe you and Yoongi as the boring couple. But this is so okay for you and him. The two of you know that you are far from boring and also way too horny for your own goods.

You have so much sex. And you have it often. So often in fact that you have perfected the art of the most satisfying quickie ever because sometimes before work, you just need to let some steam off.

Truly, you and Yoongi are masters at having quickies these days. They are so deeply satisfying and leave you and him with a good tingle in your tummies for the rest of the day.

This right now is going to be a quickie too and, man, is it fun.

The chair croaks slightly under you and Yoongi, the sounds of your heavy breathing and needy kissing fills the room just as much as the wet squelching of your bodies connecting does. You just can’t get enough, pressing yourself closer to him.

Because you only took out his dick and kept his slacks on, the fabric of them rubs against your clit. It’s rough and provides the perfect amount of pressure. It is exactly what you need now that he is running through your veins.

“I’m so into you. Yoongi, fuck.”

“___, I wanna be loud.”

“I know. Me too. Wanna be so nasty with you.”

He mewls softly, dimpling your butt. His eyes burn a little because you force tears to the surface. It feels insane. He can’t help but cry a little.

“Wanna be home.”

“I know, baby. Me too.” You whisper, running your thumb over his lips. “But you’re home. Yeah? You’ll always have a home inside me.”

Yoongi loves being loved by you. It is exactly what his tender, romantic heart needs. You are so deeply in love with him and you want all of him. Yoongi always dreamed of this kind of love and it felt unrealistic until you came around and you say stuff like “he will always have a home inside you”, which is so sexy but also so romantic and Yoongi feels gone.

He whimpers your name, taking your thumb inside his warm mouth. His eyes widen in submission as he sucks on your thumb instinctively.

“Yoongi, fuck”, you press out, grabbing the back of his head with your other hand.

He mewls around your thumb, tongue pulsing as he eagerly sucks.

The view ruins you. His pouty doll-lips are messy with your lipstick and now they are also stuffed with your thumb. His cheeks are flushed and his teary eyes are so, so submissive. The view of him is enough for you. It truly is.

“I’m so close. Are you ready?” you tell him, hips stuttering on his lap. He slips off your thumb, talking in a shaky voice.

“Already holding back. Please…”

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. What a good boy”, you rasp, pulling him into a kiss as you make yourself climax on his cock.

You reach heaven not long after, feeding him your ecstatic moan.

Yoongi whimpers, trembling and tensing up. He croaks, squeezing your ass. His high hits him. Of course it does. You are so tight and warm and your orgasmic throbbing is his weakness. He uses your mouth to keep himself quiet as he rides the waves and paints your walls white.

It is difficult to breathe afterwards. You and he are glued together, sharing air and resting your foreheads together.

“Are you okay?” you break the silence.

“Yeah, dizzy. You?”

“Dizzy too.” You exhale deeply, then kiss his cheek.

Yoongi leans into it, heart racing like crazy. He giggles, setting you off which ends in you and him having a secret giggle fit in his office.

“Why would we do that?” you say as you wipe the lipstick from his neck and face.

“I don't know. We’re so bad.”

“We’re awful. Oh my god. It was so much fun though.”

“It was. But it can’t be a regular thing.”

“Yeah. It’s probably for the best if we controlled ourselves.”

“Yes, it is.”

The timer goes off. Yoongi switches it off, meeting your eyes.

“Perfect timing.”

“Urgh god”, he drops his head back, “you’re actually so bad for me. Why would you make me do that in public?”

“Hey, it takes two. If you didn’t want this too, you would have said so. Don’t blame me.”

Yoongi whines and pouts, because he knows that you were right. You snicker, pecking his cheek.

“Now about food. I think I’m taking the tissue because it’s faster and I’m hungry.”

“Sure. Here”, Yoongi gets it for you and helps you off his cock without making a mess. He even wipes for you, which is deeply intimate and makes you love him more. He hands you your panties.

“Thanks, my love.”

“Yeah.”

He throws the tissue away, wrapped in another tissue, while you put on your panties. And as you use his office mirror to fix yourself up, he stuffs his cock back into his slacks and fixes his clothes. He stands up, closing the distance to you. His arm slings around your waist, his hand rests on your side. He runs his other hand through his hair.

“You’re so handsome.”

“And you’re beautiful”, he retorts, meeting your eyes. “I won’t be able to look at our outfits normally ever again.”

“Me neither. I might get tingly each time you wear this shirt from now on.”

He smiles cutely, resting his cheek against your arm as he hugs your middle.

“Me too with your skirt”, he murmurs and giggles.

You melt into him, giving him your most adoring smile. He is such a cuddly bean in private. It is the most adorable thing about him.

“Gosh you”, you ruffle his hair, “you’re so cute.”

“Yaah love, I just fixed my hair”, he whines.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry. Here, let me. Although, I think that messy hair suits you.”

“Well, not at work. I’m supposed to be proper. Do I still have lipstick somewhere?”

“You’re fine, you shy baby. Am I proper?”

“Yeah, you’re pretty. You should put on more lipstick though, it’s gone.”

“I’m doing it after lunch. Just gonna eat it all off anyway. So ramen?”

“Yes, ramen. You’re paying, for seducing me.”

“Wow okay”, you laugh, “says mister Adonis himself in his blue shirt. It’s your own fault for being so sexy.”

He snickers cutely, holding your hand as you leave the office.

“I’m kidding. I’m paying.”

“No, it’s alright. I can pay.”

“No, I’m paying”, he insists and puts your arm around his waist so you are holding him.

“Fine. Gosh, you’re so cuddly right now. I love it”, you say, holding him happily.

[magic-shop-stories]

hiii i really like reading your work, it’s always so detailed and precise (and sososo accurate) i was wondering if you could write an OT7 headcannon/imagine about them seeing you for the first time after they finish their military time (pls make it fluff)

💌 Reply:

hiii there💜 first THANK YOU for this unbelievably sweet ask, and for loving the details I pour into these worlds. 🥺 your words mean everything to me... i’m so sorry this took ages - I really needed a break. However Hobis concert had me vibrating and seeing all the members together and AHH SEEING YOONGI gave me such a boost (and i definitely didn't cry like ten times ahhh). I tried to channeled all that emotion into these reunions, praying it’s what you wanted... if not feel free to ask again! anyway... we almsot made it! — c —💜

BTS Seeing You After Military Service

Pairings: BTS(solo) x reader Rating: R Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance Warnings: Military Trauma, PTSD, Anxiety Attacks, Nightmares, Emotional Repression

KIM NAMJOON (RM)

THE DAY HE RETURNS

Public Facade

stands stiffly at the press conference

uniform far from starched

his knuckles whiten around the mic

reporter asks

“Was it lonely?” “Soldiers don’t get lonely...” 

he lies to the press

his eyes scanning the crowd for you (kinda hoping you're not there, not having to deal with ARMY that came although they told not to) - [I' m sorry but I ahd to write this, I was soooo mad...]

FIRST NIGHT HOME

his place is dark when he enters

no fanfare, just the hum of the fridge

he drops his duffel by the door

combat boots echoing in the stillness

moonlight stripes the floor where you stand

you're clutching a pot of sikye (sweet rice drink)

steam curling like a ghost between you

His Reaction

Physical

he freezes

rigid posture drilled into him for 547 days collapses

shoulders slump, head bows

a tremor runs through him

Verbal

broken whisper

“You… waited.”

Action

stumbles forward

boots abandoned mid-step

crushes you to his chest

face buried in your neck

he doesn’t cry (yet)

he shakes, silent and violent

= like a dam cracking after years of pressure

“They yelled… every night. Said I moved too slow. Thought too much.” 

his grip on you tightens

“I counted stars in the trenches to stay sane. Named one after you.”

UNPACKING

you sit cross-legged on the floor as he empties his duffel

each item carries weight

a notebook

= filled with poems scratched in margins

“DMZ Dawn: Fog like regret / Gun oil and frost / I dreamt of her laugh.”

ration chocolate

unopened, expiry date passed

“Saved it… for you.”

smooth, grey stone

lifted from the ceasefire line

places it in your palm

“Held this when the nightmares came. Felt like… holding us.”

CONFESSION

he can’t sleep

you find him on the balcony, staring at Seoul’s skyline

“I forgot how to be Kim Namjoon...” 

voice raw

“Just Sergeant Kim. Orders. Silence.���

you pull his military jacket from shoulders, wrapping him in the hoodie he had left for you

His Breaking Point

he turns, eyes glistening

“I heard ARMY’s cheers today,,, finally, althogh they should not be there. Thought of your voice…” 

a tear finally falls

“That’s when I remembered, I’m not just a soldier. I’m yours.”

HEALING

Small Acts of Reconnection

Morning

you brew coffee

he watches, mesmerized

“I dreamed of this smell.”

Touch

flinches when you brush his hair back

too used to rough hands

seeks your fingers, interlacing them like a prayer

Words

reads you new lyrics at 3 a.m.

“Peace isn’t the absence of war / It’s her hand in mine / And the stars inside our walls.”

KIM SEOKJIN (JIN)

DISCHARGE DAY

salutes with a flourish

winks at cameras

grabs the mic before officers can stop him

“Worldwide Handsome is back! Did you miss this face? Be honest...”

reporters eat it up

only you see how his hand trembles holding the bouquet

PRIVATE MOMENT

Car Ride Home

leans back in the passenger seat, eyes closed

“Ahhh… civilian air! Smells like… freedom and my skincare routine.”

suddenly serious

grabs your hand

“You didn’t date anyone, right? I had spies. Six very loud spies.”

Arrival at His Apartment

kicks off military boots dramatically

“Never. Again. Do you know they made me use generic shampoo? It was a war crime.”

spots the feast you cooked: samgyeopsal, kimchi jjigae, a cake shaped like his face

“YAH! Is that me?! Am I delicious?!” 

cackles, then hugs you so tight your feet lift

“I missed your cooking. And… you...”

UNSPOKEN STRUGGLES

you catch him staring blankly at his uniform hanging on the door

You: “Was it hard?” Jin: “Psh! Hard? I charmed generals. Taught them TikTok dances!”

but when you touch his shoulder, his smile wavers

“…Okay, the beds were rocks. And the snoring! Ugh, louder than Jungkookie.”

rolls over at 3 AM

voice muffled in your hair

“Sometimes I’d look at the stars and pretend ARMY’s lightsticks were under them. Silly, right?”

before you answer, he fake-snores

“ZZzz… military discharge ZZzz…”

RE-CLAIMING OF JOY

First Morning Home

wears silk pajamas and a gold eye mask

“This is a uniform! Hydration, skincare, me time.”

dances to “Super Tuna” while flipping pancakes

PLANS

For ARMY

“SEOKJIN DAY” Concert

free live stream with actual tuna gifts thrown to fans (plushies)

“Safety first! Virtual tuna!”

Jin Joke Book

“101 Ways to Survive Military Service (by a Guy Who Didn’t).”

Mukbang VLIVE

eats 10 packets of jin ramyeon

“Unrationed! Uncensored!”

For You

Revenge Spa Day

books a couple’s massage

“They dared to give me calluses! Fix them!”

Private Karaoke Night

sings trot songs until dawn

“Louder than the artillery!”

Future Dreams

“Let’s adopt a real super tuna uhhh... puppie dog, and teach it to high-five!”

Extra:

you catch him quietly tracing your face at breakfast

“What?”

he grins, eyes crinkling

“Just memorizing. In case they drag me back for ‘Worldwide Handsomeness Duty.’”

pancake burns

he doesn’t care

MIN YOONGI (SUGA)

[pls idk how to do Yoongi for the first time because I have no idea what his service was like... if he says something next week I might write a new post on this]

DAILY GRIND

His Reality (Pre-Reunion)

Location

community center in Mapo-gu, Seoul

filing paperwork, teaching elderly citizens digital literacy

Constraints

curfew = home by 10 PM, no exceptions

uniform = scratchy polyester badge he hates touching

public scrutiny:

paparazzi sometimes staked outside the center

your monthly visits were tense

= coffee-shop meetings with guarded hugs

“Felt like a zoo animal at that place...” 

THE LAST DAY OF SERVICE

he hands in his badge

walks past reporters without a word

texts you first

"Done. Door unlocked. Don’t bring takeout... I am cooking."

REUNION

you find him in his studio

not the living room, not the kitchen... the studio

it's his sanctuary

he’s wearing soft gray sweatpants and an old BTS hoodie

sleeves frayed, smelling of lavender

no more uniforms, no more badges

later moves to the kitchen to make promised dinner

His Reaction

Physical

doesn’t turn when you enter

keeps chopping kimchi

his shoulders relax

subtle drop of tension held for 18 months

Verbal

“Took us long enough.”

he pauses

“...Missed you.”

Action

turns, knife still in hand

sees your tears and sighs

“Yah. Come here.” 

pulls you into a one-armed hug (left shoulder still stiff)

face buried in your hair

he doesn’t cry

tho his grip is desperate

fingers clutching your shirt like you might dissolve

“Hearing ARMY scream at Hobis concert last week…”

his voice cracks

“Fuck. Forgot how much I needed that sound. Forgot how much I needed you.”

THE UNWINDING

Ritual of Return

Hoodie

“Stole it last winter. Smelled like you. Only thing that made that fucking uniform bearable.”

Playlist

hands you aux cord

“No more community center elevator music. Play something real.”

Silence

sits you on his studio couch

kneading your hand like he’s reassuring himself you’re tangible

“Talk. Or don’t. Just... stay.”

EMOTIONAL RELEASE

plays the demo for BTS’s comeback album first track

raw piano, no vocals

stops mid-chord

“They treated me like glass. ‘Don’t lift that, Min-ssi! Don’t stress!’” 

he mimics a high-pitched voice, scowling

“But hearing ARMY say ‘we’re back’ yesterday…”

meets your eyes, vulnerability stark

“Felt like I could breathe again. Like me again.”

HEALING

Small Acts of Reclamation

Curfew Broken

stays up until 3 AM watching Train to Busan with you

“Just ’cause I can.”

Touch

lets you massage his stiff shoulder without flinching

“...S’nice. Do that thing with your thumb again.”

ARMY Love

scrolls through comeback hashtags

grumbling

“...these kids are too loud”

tho liking every post

JUNG HOSEOK (J-HOPE)

THE DAY HE RETURNS

at the base gates...

he marches out in perfect formation

posture razor-straight, expression unreadable behind aviators

"Sergeant Jung, dismissed!"

the moment his CO barks the command, his shoulders drop a fraction

cameras flash as fans scream

he offers a flawless salute, jaw tight

"Yes, sir! Proud to serve!"

his eyes dart through the crowd like searchlights

"Where is she?"

FIRST MOMENT

you’re waiting under an old oak tree at the edge of the base

= his request

"No cameras, no ARMY. Just us."

he spots you

His Reaction

Physical

tremor runs through him

his polished drill-instructor composure shatters

Sound

choked gasp

then a broken, high-pitched "Yah...!" 

drops his duffel and sprints

Action

collides with you so hard you stumble

his arms lock like steel bands

buries his face in your neck, sobbing

gog tags dig into your collarbone

"You came..." 

voice muffled against your skin

"I dreamed of this. Every. Damn. Night."

UNPACKING

back at his apartment, he kneels on the floor

unpacking his duffel with trembling hands

each item tells a story

Neatly Folded Letters

every one you sent

edges frayed from rereading

"Read them during night watch. Your words kept the dark away."

Miniature Whistle

= his drill sergeant tool

presses it into your palm

"Used it to call ‘attention!’... but really, I just wanted to scream I miss you!"

CONFESSION

startles awake at 2 a.m.

gasping

haunted by phantom shouts

you find him in the kitchen, chugging water

knuckles white on the counter

"They called me Sunshine Sergeant..."

whispers, voice raw

"But nights were… dark. So dark."

What Breaks Him

you touch his back (just a light brush)

he crumples

"I had to be hard, jagiya. But I cried in the showers. Every. Single. Day."

tears streak his face as he clings to you

"Forgive me? For not being… sunshine?"

HEALING

Morning

cooks ramyeon

burning it spectacularly

Touch

flinches when a car backfires

tangles your fingers with his

thumb rubbing your knuckles like a lifeline

Dance

in the living room

pulls you close

no music, just swaying

"Missed this. Missed you. Let’s never stop moving."

BONUS

puts on his old "Hope World" hoodie

grabs your hand then drags you to Han River Park

"Let’s feed the ducks! And…" 

pulls a tiny box from his pocket

it's matching necklaces

"So everyone knows you’re mine."

when you laugh, his smile finally reaches his eyes

PARK JIMIN

THE DAY HE RETURNS

he exits posture razor-straight

face carved into stoicism

press cameras flash

he offers a flawless salute, jaw tight

but when a reporter shouts, "Any message for ARMY?" his composure wavers

eyes darting through the crowd

he rasps:

"I... just want to go home."

FIRST NIGHT HOME

you wait at his dimly lit apartment

heart pounding

keys rattle in the lock

he steps inside, hair regulation-short

skin dry, shoulders broadened by combat training

his eyes find you instantly

His Reaction

Physical

agasp tears from him

his duffel bag thuds to the floor

Movement

crosses the room in three strides

not running, but an urgent march

Breakdown

collapses against you

arms locking like steel bands

he doesn’t just cry, he shatters

sobs wrack his body

hot tears soaking your shoulder

"I dreamed of this..." 

he chokes

"Every night in the barracks... your smell... your voice..."

What You Feel

ridged scar on his knuckles from training

the tremor in his hands as they fist your shirt

the way he buries his face in your neck

= breathing you in like oxygen

UNPACKING

you kneel beside him as he empties his duffel

A Faded Photo

you laughing, tucked inside his helmet liner

water-stained at the edges

"Looked at this during night watch... made the stars feel closer."

Black Stone

"Held it when they yelled... imagined it was your hand."

His Dog Tags

presses them into your palm

"Carried you against my heart. Every. Single. Day."

NIGHTMARES

he jolts awake at 3 a.m.

gasping, drenched in sweat

instinctively, he scans the dark room, assessing threats

you ouch his arm gently

"Jimin-ah. It’s me. You’re home." "They broke us down" 

he whispers, voice trembling

"Made us scream, crawl through mud... called us weak." 

he turns to you, eyes haunted

"I never cried there. Not once. Saved it all... for you."

THE HEALING

Small Acts of Reconnection

Touch Therapy

craves skin contact constantly

presses your palm to his cheek while making coffee

"Just... need to feel you're real."

Voice Relearning

sings "Promise" to you at dawn

voice rough from disuse

stumbles over the high notes

"Sorry... out of practice." 

you join in softly

he cries again

= healing tears this time

Extra:

he traces your face with roughened fingers

"They tried to erase Park Jimin, but you? You remembered me back to life."

KIM TAEHYUNG (V)

THE DAY HE RETURNS

he descends the base steps in sunglasses hiding tired eyes

flashes a Boxy Smile at cameras

blows kisses to ARMY

his fingers tap nervously against his leg

reporter shouts: “What’s first after discharge?” 

he grins

“A nap… and a kiss from my wife.” 

crowd swoons

only you see the tremor in his hands

FIRST NIGHT HOME

you expect chaos

= confetti, champagne, his loud laugh echoing off walls

instead, you open the door to silence

apartment is transformed

= fairy lights drip from ceilings, velvet drapes pool on floors, a vintage record player spins “Fly Me to the Moon.” 

Taehyung stands in soft linen pants, barefoot, holding a single gardenia

His Reaction

Physical

he doesn’t move

just drinks you in

= the way you clutch the doorframe, the tears already spilling

slowly sinks to one knee

not to propose again but to breathe

Verbal

“I practiced this speech for months, now I… forgot it all.”

Action

rises and crosses the room in three strides

cradles your face like porcelain

“Wife.” 

the word is a prayer, a promise, a homecoming

CONFESSION

Midnight Honesty

you find him on the balcony

he plays a jagged, aching melody, something raw and new

“Wrote this after night patrol.” 

voice rough

“Saw Orion’s Belt… remembered how you’d trace it on my back.” 

he turns, eyes glittering

“Military Taehyung was fine. But he wasn’t… me. Not without you.”

HEALING

Small Acts of Reconnection

Morning

makes you dalgona coffee, but badly

“Forgot how to whisk! Forgive me?” 

licks foam off your nose

Touch

keeps a hand on you at all times

= your waist, your ankle, your pinky hooked in his

“Need to remember you’re real.”

Art Therapy

paints your portrait at 3 a.m. 

“Vintage filter... because you’re timeless.”

JEON JUNGKOOK

THE DAY HE RETURNS

strides off the military transport

posture razor-sharp, beret low, gaze shadowed

cameras flash as he salutes, jaw clenched

answers media in clipped syllables

“Honored to serve. Focused on duty.”

a reporter shouts: “What’s first thing you’ll do as civilian?”

his eyes snap to the crowd

“Hug someone...” 

he rasps with a smirk

but mic catches the crack in his voice

FIRST NIGHT HOME

you wait at his house, heart hammering after an instant police call

scared after somoeone tried to break in

then the door clicks open

he stands framed in darkness

broader shoulders, new tattoo on his shoulder, knuckles scarred, birn marks on his arms

His Reaction:

Physical

drops his duffel

takes one step

two...

then crashes into you

lifting you off your feet

his arms lock like steel cables

= a soldier’s grip, desperate and possessive

Verbal

his voice is a raw, shattered whisper against your ear

“Jagiya. I counted the stars. I counted the bullets. I counted you.”

Unspoken

he trembles not from cold

but from the release of too many days of forced control

What Breaks Him

you touch his new tattoo (your favourite flower)

he flinches, then crumbles

“They made us scream. Run till we vomited. But this... this kept me human.”

presses your palm onto the new ink

tears streak his cheeks

= silent, furious

he hasn’t cried since boot camp

UNPACKING

he kneels on the floor, you beside him

Faded Hoodie

your university hoodie

stolen pre-enlistment

it smells of sweat and earth

“Slept in it. Got yelled at. Worth it.”

Bullet Casing

polished smooth

"Found it on the range. Thought… ‘She’d hate this.’ Kept it to remind me why I needed to come home.”

NIGHTMARES

you wake to his choked gasp

he’s rigid, drenched in sweat

eyes wide, unseeing

“Don’t move! Tripwire...!”

Your Response

you touch his wrist

light, so he doesn’t reflexively strike

then you hum “Magic Shop” until his breathing steadies

"They dropped us in mountains. No food. No light. Just… cold.” 

he curls around you

face buried in your hair

“I’d close my eyes and see your smile. That was my compass.”

HEALING

Small Acts of Reconnection

Touch

he startles at sudden movements

you move slowly

brush his hair, trace his scars

by day three, he seeks it

= nuzzling your palm like a wounded animal learning trust

Food

cooks gamjatang at 2 a.m.

army rations ruined his stomach

“Need real food. Need you.”

Vulnerability

shows you his special forces manual

notes scribbled in margins:

Page 42: “Pain tolerance drill. Thought of her laugh. Lasted 3 mins longer.” Page 109: “Night navigation. Followed Orion’s Belt. Her favorite constellation.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Hey Bonny!! I saw you wanted to play a game, so how does this sound for a drabble? Dragon! Yoongi (or Kookie since I know he's your guy) x Fairy! Reader?? Idk if you've written fairies before, but I know you've done dragons! 💜🤍

I have a dragon kook x fairy reader on my patreon as early access, so I'll make this one yoongi!

-----------------

Yoongi

Hidden in the woods

Dragons are rather social creatures- but when a young Dragonblood named Yoongi fails to find a partner while all his friends and family have moved way past those events already, he isolates himself, believing he might just be destined to be a loner. But maybe, he was just impatient.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon hybrid!Yoongi, Fairy!Reader, strangers to ???, reader is described as short oops, SFW

Wordcount: 1.6k (it was supposed to be a Drabble... oops)

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“You rarely visit these days.”

His mothers words still echo in his mind as he tries to find a new composition on his piano that doesn’t sound like everything he’s already put out. Of course he hasn’t visited- with his brother’s twins constantly around, he’s always reminded of how far ahead everyone around him is, while he’s yet to find his first real love. He’s thirty, for god’s sake- and yet all he has is his house, a stable career as a musician, and a lot on his mind.

All his friends are married. Some have kids, others are busy preparing for the day they’ll have them. He feels out of place.

Yoongi has made peace with the fact that he’ll be the uncle to all of them, the one guy who never really seems to be happy about anything, never has a family of his own. It’s alright.

He sighs, loudly, gripping his hair for a second in frustration. This is stupid- why is he having an artist’s block right now of all times? People are waiting for something new, especially after he’s already taken a break to help his creativity. And yet, it did nothing- except for giving him a little bit more room to breathe and most of all move out of his apartment and into his new house near the woods. It’s nice here- about half an hour away from the bustling neon city he’s used to after years of living there, and also a bit more distance from his family and friends. A newfound excuse for when they ask him once more where he’s been.

The doorbell rings, attracting his attention. He’s not awaiting any guests or packages- who could it be?

Via the camera installed he can see that there’s a person he doesn’t know at the door- you're rather short, but visibly curious, looking around for any signs of life inside his home, and for a short moment, he sees them;

Delicate little slightly translucent wings. Pointy ears, tilted a bit downwards.

A fairy.

As he opens the door, you seem startled for a second or two, taking a step back, before you speak. “Oh, hello!” You greet him. “I was just about to ask- do you have uh.. Jungkook’s number?” You wonder, and he becomes hostile, crossing his arms. “A coworker of mine, Jimin, said you have it. I’m sorry I’m just, you know, showing up here like that-”

The door closes. But despite what he was expecting, you just ring the doorbell again- and again, until he opens.

“Okay, as I was trying to explain before you so rudely interrupted me-” You tease a little, arms now crossed as well as your wings flap around a bit. “-tell him at least that I need his help fixing my washing machine. He broke it and left the crime scene for me to find, and that’s, pardon my language-” You lean in a bit as if you’re about to tell Yoongi something secret, “-pretty crappy behavior.”

Yoongi stares you down for a moment, before he speaks.

“That’s it?” He asks, and you nod. “Why don’t you ask Jimin for Jungkook’s number?” He wonders, not entirely convinced. Jungkook is pretty much a magnet for people no matter what gender, and the worst part about it is that many if not most always try and get to him through Yoongi.

No one’s ever interested in him. Only his friends, or the things he can provide.

“Cause Jimin doesn’t have it either!” You whine, stomping your leg on the ground in agony. “Listen, I don’t know how to fix it and my bathroom smells like a laundromat already, my coffee machine is also broken and my script has been rejected for the third time, I really need some good news. Please?” You ask, and Yoongi contemplates.

“What if I fix it?” He asks, and your eyes begin to sparkle, wings lifting to flutter in excitement. It’s like in this very moment, he can hear the keys of his piano chime, creating a new piece in his mind.

“You can?!” You ask, stepping closer.

“Probably. Where do you even live?” He asks, before you point towards the woods.

“I live in the woods, pretty much. It’s not that far.” You say, and Yoongi sighs, looking back inside his house. It’s not like he’s going to get anything done either way, so who cares? It might take his mind off of things for a moment or two-

So a few hours later, he’s in your house, enjoying some hot coffee from your machine, which he’d fixed as well while he was at it. Well, fixed is a strong word- he pretty much just explained how it properly worked to you. It was working just fine- you just lost the manual and couldn’t figure it out on your own.

“I always thought dragons were scarier.” You say suddenly, opening a pack of cookies to put in the middle of your wooden coffee table. “You’re really nice. Tall, and a bit gloomy looking, but very nice.” You say, sitting down on the couch next to him, legs pulled up towards you.

He’s noticed something glittering all over the small house- like sparkling glitter, but much finer, and barely noticeable. Looking closer to his pants, he notices it there as well- and even after a brush with his hand, it sticks to his fingers now.

“Oh- I’m sorry! It keeps getting everywhere, especially now.. Wait- I have like, a plastic thing-” You hurry, getting up to search for something in a drawer close by your TV. “Ah, there!” You say, giving him the lint-roller. “It’s one designed for fairy dust. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that..” You say, but for some odd reason, he declines.

“It’s fine.” He denies. “Doesn’t bother me.” he tells you, and again, you look at him like he’s just told you the earth is flat after all.

but it truly doesn’t bother him. It would, technically, if he was anywhere else. But right now, in this moment, he couldn’t be any more indifferent towards the ‘mess’ you leave sticking to his clothes and skin.

As soon as he’s back home, the sight of your sparkling smile is still in his mind, as his feet almost automatically move towards his piano, where he sits down, and presses a record button to play something new. The melody has been stuck on repeat in his head the entire way back home through the thick snow, like his imagination was finally finding color again.

But it’s different from what he usually creates.

This piece is playful almost, intriguing. It’s a little hesitant, like someone holding back a thought itself just to not indulge too much in a fantasy they’re already creating in their mind. Fluttering notes interrupt these parts however, sneaking in with excitement and curiosity, trying their best to convince the player to let themselves go.

And Yoongi does, as he finishes the piece, and leans back in his chair, recording finished before his phone chimes with a message.

“You left your scarf at my place!” Is what you tell him.

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” He texts you back.

“I could make us dinner?” You question.

He contemplates, finger hovering over the virtual keyboard of his phone, before he begins to write his answer. Fluttering touches of his fingers moving with a hint of excitement, fine fairy dust on the skin of his hands shimmering in the setting sun dipping everything in a golden glow.

“I’d love that.”

[merbear25]

Heeeeeyyyy

So I discovered this blog through that breeding kink request with Katakuri, Crocodile and Mihawk and may I request the aftermath? Like I want pregnancy and baby stuff, I want the domestic bliss. Please

Oh, how cool that you found me through that! Thanks for sending in a request. I hope you enjoy this just as much as the other one.💜💜

CW: SFW, fem!reader, pregnancy and childbirth mentioned, fluff, a touch of angst, defined relationship 

His two loves (Katakuri, Crocodile, Mihawk)

Katakuri: Waking up in the middle of the night was becoming a common occurrence. Dreams that bordered on nightmares flooded his mind, refusing to allow him any peace as your due date approached. The worries of his family interfering, harming the hair on your or your precious child’s head were more often than not at the forefront. However, the dread of his potential incompetence at being the father he needed to be was that night’s perpetrator. 

Snippets of the not so distant future played in his mind, some of which came with a tinge of anxiety. Wrapped up in his arms, sleeping the early dawn away, you were glowing even in your sleep. With the remnants of the nightmare still fresh in his mind, he held you closer worrying that at any moment you’d wake up and make his greatest fear a reality. But, you didn’t and you wouldn’t. Deep down he knew you wouldn’t. 

You stirred in his embrace. The murmurs of discomfort tugged on his heartstrings. His long fingers stroked the side of your face, to which your huffs silenced and returned to gentle hums of slumber. The morning was creeping on the horizon, and despite being wide awake, he chose to stay next to you, not wanting to miss a moment.

The sun casted and set in the sky with the cycle of the days, each one pressed with preparations for the bundle you would soon be welcoming into the world. The room had already been completed due to his eagerness to have it be perfect in every way, so now the waiting game needed to be played.

He was sure to remain nearby, especially in your third trimester. Adamant in keeping you happy, he couldn’t deny you even the slightest of requests: rubbing your feet, adjusting your pillow, fetching you whatever would satisfy that week’s craving. The favors he did for you were repaid with a thank you and a peck on the cheek. How could they not be when he was doing everything in his power to keep you happy?

When the time came to finally meet your child, the world that had been swirling with nerves and fear began shifting. There was no more room for them anymore—replaced with the jittery elation of becoming a new father, new parents.

Long hours that felt as if there would be no end, until the cries of your little baby, your precious girl, put the grueling wait to a halt. She was placed on your chest, shivering and whimpering in the new world she found herself in. Your exhaustion could never overshadow the joy you shared in that moment. You cooed at her, whispers of affection that she couldn’t yet understand, so your tone carried the pure love you felt to her.

Hair clinging to your forehead with sweat, your face flushed from the physical toll you’d been put through, and the daze you were in from the whirlwind of emotions: even though you’d disagree, he saw you as a vision of beauty. As he placed his lips against your temple, a shaky sigh left you. The smile you held began quivering the longer you looked down at your child.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Your voice cracked with emotion.

Hearing your words tremble shattered any anxiety that’d been harboring within him. He adored you, there was no denying that, and the child you just gave him only strengthened his love. The two loves of his life; neither of you would have the misfortune that plagued him growing up. He’d act as a shield if it came down to it. The burdens that came with being tied to his family, to his mother, to him: he vowed not to let them shatter this image of perfection.

He sat down beside you and wrapped you in his arms as carefully as he could, wanting to hold both of his beautiful girls at the same time.

Crocodile: Longer work hours that pushed into the late evenings were a distraction for the inevitable. Your due date was creeping up on him, enticing a nervous bug that hadn’t bitten him in a long time. Although you understood the reason for his absence, that didn’t stop the bed from feeling cold and rather lonely.

You nudged his office door open, peeking behind the wood to get a look at him working diligently behind the desk. He puffed at his cigar, allowing the thick smoke to cloud his workspace. When you inched closer, his eyes flickered to you. Your silhouette casted a shadow across the floor as you stepped in front of the fireplace. Putting out his cigar, he then waved his hand to clear the gray surrounding him.

“There aren’t many more nights you’ll be able to get a good night’s rest. You should take advantage of that.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep well the last few months because of the size of me,” you laughed in an airy, light-hearted way that never failed to fall on his ears just right. “And you know you’re in the same position as me. You’ll be up with the baby too, won’t you?” You couldn’t hide the slight tinge of sadness in your question. He was clearly having a difficult time adjusting to this change on an emotional level, even though he desperately wished that wasn’t the case.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.” His eyes soaked in the sight of you: you were in your ninth month, hair tousled from sleep that couldn’t find you, and held a look of concern on your face. Looking back down at his paperwork, a glimmer of self-reflection reached him. He sighed before getting up from his office chair. “I suppose it’s time for me to turn in.” A gentle place of his hand on the small of your back led you to retire with him.

The howling wind made the windows rattle, making you shudder along with them. A slight pull of your body against his ceased them, though. His large frame offered you protection even over the most trivial things like the sounds at night. Nuzzling his face against the top of your head, his body soon found that fragment of peace it’d been after the past few months. The gentle hums of your breaths mingling, your soft skin against his, and your round belly carrying the most precious thing imaginable: there was a part of him that didn’t want these quiet moments to end. 

Having kept himself preoccupied with work to avoid the reality of fatherhood was now weighing on him. He cared about you, and it was true that he wanted this child. However, his role as the primary provider, the one who you and your child depended on for everything, had him going above and beyond to ensure both of your safety. Every deal, contract, employee, and everyone who came within spitting distance had to be dealt with, because if they weren’t and anything happened to either of you, he would only have himself to blame.

Time ticked forward to the delivery room when you performed a miracle, giving him a baby boy who was almost too perfect to touch. But, he wanted to hold him, both of you, and never let go. Holding him in his arms felt surreal; those soft yawns and grumbles were sounds he didn’t know he could adore so much. While you watched him cradling your bundle of everything that was right with your relationship, the hours of labor finally caught up with you.

As you drifted off to sleep, he kept his full attention on your little boy. His eyes memorized each detail, hoping that he wouldn’t lose such precious moments to time. Every vow he made would be kept, that much was certain. He would do everything in his power to make even the impossible possible.

Mihawk: As you lounged in the shade while reading your book, he caught himself glancing over at you more and more often. The swings of his swords weren’t striking the targets head-on anymore, instead merely nicking the sides in a sad attempt at training. It couldn’t be helped, though. You were stunning. The roundness of your belly and your hand resting on top of it, perhaps feeling the baby kick as you lost yourself in your book, was too much of a distraction.

He stood facing you for a good minute, his eyes never wavering from his typical stare. Those gentle breaths pairing with the rise and fall of your chest were simply too much for him to handle. His steps carried through the tall grass back to the castle.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t focus here,” he called behind him. Despite the potential harshness of him just up and leaving, you knew better than to take it to heart. As he ventured back inside, you couldn’t help the tugs at the corners of your mouth.

Throwing blows to the training equipment set up inside couldn’t even help him regain his focus. Images if you through all the stages of your pregnancy flooded his mind, taking a toll on his performance. Sloppy swings, kicks, punches: he suddenly grabbed the punching bag. Firmly, he placed both hands on it, his eyes practically burning a hole in the fabric. 

The memories of your tender touches and soft smiles were accompanied with the hopes of what was to come—a family that he kept safe and happy. His fingers dug into the thick skin of the bag as he considered the threat that would undoubtedly take you two into consideration when hunting him down. It was a future which, although inevitable, was something he’d fight against until his last breath. The final punch he threw was for all of those who had already placed a target on his family.

You were in the kitchen when he made his way back around. The kettle was heating up over the stove top and teasing a whistle.

“You shouldn’t be around an open flame and should be resting.” He guided you away from the iron stove towards the sofa. 

“It’s just tea. I’ll be alright.”

“Let me make it for you. You’re the one who’s constantly complaining about swollen feet, remember?” He ignored the slight hmph from you, knowing full well that you’d be glad you took his advice.

Handing you the hot beverage, he then brought over foot rest. Patting it, he reminded you that it would be good for circulation. “You’re always looking out for me, aren’t you,” you sighed at him.

He wasn’t really sure what to say to that. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? With him sitting down next to you, you could feel his eyes on you with the same intensity as when you were outside. You winced slightly from the sudden kicks.

“I think our kid is ready to get out,” you laughed softly. “Would you like to feel them kick?” 

His hands gently laid on your belly, instantly feeling the little kicks from inside. His breaths shortened as a surge of emotion took him off guard. Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss where the baby was the most active. “I can’t wait to do that with you in my arms,” he whispered.

Caring gestures and loving support helped carry the both of you through the remainder of the ninth month. The cries of your new baby girl soon filled the room, painting everything outside of it as a mere backdrop. Once she was placed in his arms, he knew he could never love something as much as he loved that little girl. Nothing and no one would touch a hair on her head.

Watching him hold your child only solidified your love for him. A man who was stoic and seemingly immune to emotion was looking down at your baby girl with nothing but the soft love of a new father.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

He nodded while gently stroking her little hand, “Yes, she most definitely is.”

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (6)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 4.5K

a/n: drama and revelations incoming! thank you for waiting, my dearest friends! please be kind to this chapter, I swear the next one is coming VERY soon :)

as always, I love hearing your thoughts, theories, unhinged reactions, whatever lol. I love you all!!! Y’all are the bestest!!! 💜

🐙 Masterlist / Thoughts?Asks?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

This is the ultimate middle finger to your father.

It’s right there in your inbox, glaring at you—a promotion confirmation email.

Your father, the man who was never present in your life. The one you once craved validation from as a child. That craving eventually twisted into repressed anger, then dulled into apathy. 

But emotions aren’t linear. 

They move like waves, anxiety washing over you one moment, grief pulling you under the next, mourning a man you never even had a relationship with.

Shame he's dead now (may he rest in peace), because there’s no one left to shove this achievement in the face of.

But why does it feel like you've just swapped one kind of emptiness for another?

Maybe it's because, despite everything—the resentment, the bitterness, the years of proving him wrong—a part of you still wanted him to see this. 

And now that he's gone, there's no one left to witness it. 

You sigh as your thoughts shift to something else.

The cabin trip.

It's been a week since that interesting trip.

There's still that tension between you and Jungkook, something unspoken, but lingering. You haven't seen him in days. Either you're too busy, or he's avoiding you, because when you grabbed lunch with the group yesterday, he didn't show. 

Busy, Yoongi said.

"Did you know that zoning out can mimic a light form of sleep? It gives your brain a mini recharge."

"Huh?" You blink and turn to see Min Yoongi perched on your desk, quietly chuckling to himself.

Speaking of the devil...

"What random trivia are you spouting now, Yoongi?"

"I've been calling you but you're zoning out again," he says, flicking your forehead. "What are you thinking about? And don't say work, I know your face when it's non-work thoughts."

"Oh? And what does that face look like?”

"Like you have feelings."

"I do have feelings."

"Yeah, sure. We call it rage."

“It’s called RBF, Yoongi,” you deadpan. “You should know. No one RBFs harder than you.”

"Hey! What are you talking about? That was a long time ago. I'm soft now." Yoongi grins smugly, arms crossed like he’s daring you to argue.

You squint at him, tilting your head. "You do look soft today… I wonder why." Your eyes scan him as you try to pinpoint what makes him seem extra soft and sweet today.

Yoongi just watches you, his grin widening, like the answer is right in front of your face.

"Oh! It’s your shirt! What do they call it? Boyfriend look? You look so boyfriend today!" you exclaim, pointing at him. "Yellow really suits you! But I already told you that!"

You had mentioned it once—casually, in passing—not expecting him to care. But, surprisingly, he’d started wearing more pastels, especially blues and yellows, instead of his usual blacks and whites. 

Yoongi smirks, brushing the tip of his nose. "Yup, that’s me."

"Yup! Soft and squishy, like milk bread. Look at this—" You reach up and squish his cheeks, fingers digging in while he tries to dodge.

"Yah—!" He flails, bumping his elbow on the divider with a thud.

"Ow!" he whispered through a pained breath, and the two of you stifled your snickers, struggling to keep quiet in the office.

Then, like a shadow peeling away from the wall, Jungkook appears. Sharp features set like stone, gaze locked on Yoongi.

“We've been waiting for you in the conference room, we couldn’t start without you." he says, voice cool, calculated, and without so much as a flicker of acknowledgement toward you, he's gone.

The air stills but Yoongi was quick to his feet.

"Oh, shit, yeah." Yoongi jumps. "Weekly team meeting." He shrugs before following Jungkook.

Confirmed: Jungkook is avoiding you.

So... which is it going to be?

Are you going to ask the question “why”?

Or is Yoongi right again?

"Like you have feelings."

Yes. You do. Because apparently, being ignored after being fingered kind of stings.  

News of your promotion spread like wildfire within your group, and Taehyung wasted no time organizing a "quick" celebration to toast to your well-deserved success at Dino's.

So right after work, everyone gathered in the familiar bar.

"Where's Jungkook?" Jimin asked Taehyung.

"He said he’s got something lined up."

"Bullshit. More important than this celebration?" Allie quipped.

"Yeah, he said he couldn't move it ." Taehyung answered.

"Move what?" Jimin pressed, this time directing his question more toward Yoongi.

Yoongi shrugged. "I don't know, he didn't tell me exactly. Something about an art exhibit.”

"Art exhibit? Man of culture. By himself?" Taehyung muttered as you all headed out of the building and started walking.

"Nah, I think it was with someone," Yoongi said casually, but Taehyung’s head snapped to him.

"Wait, like a date?!" Allie covered her mouth in mock shock.

"I don't know," Yoongi drawled, clearly tired of the interrogation. "He didn’t tell me, okay? All he said was it was hard to get tickets for that– not a ticket, so I assumed he's not alone."

"Ohhh... okay," Allie hummed dramatically, dragging out the words. "I thought he was avoiding YN."

Taehyung smirked. "Yeah... actually, that’s what I thought too."

"What? Why?" you shot back, already regretting engaging.

"I mean..." Taehyung shrugged. "He was acting a little different toward you after the cabin trip. We knew at first, he was a little shy around you, then he warmed up. But now he's straight-up dipping on us after I teased you with Yoongi."

"Taehyung, jeez! Love your theories. How do you come up with this stuff?" You shook your head, nearly laughing.

"I have eyes." He pointed to them dramatically. "And hear me out, okay? I swore you and Yoongi would eventually hook up or, I don’t know, just get together at some point. It was only a matter of time!" His voice pitched higher when you rolled your eyes.

"Bro," you groaned, shaking your head.

"I mean, why not?" Taehyung pressed. "You’ve been friends forever, you're both single—"

"You and Allie are both single. Jimin’s single. Why don’t you all date each other?" you shot back.

"Come on, you know what I mean! You and Yoongi go waaaay back," Taehyung pressed. "You like older men. Yoongi is older. And Yoongi likes… well, actually, I have no clue what his type is. But one thing I do know?" He pointed at you. "He’s not warm and soft with everyone—but with you? He is."

Yoongi, who had been quietly sipping his drink beside you, finally let out a low chuckle. You turned to give him and Taehyung a deeply unimpressed look before elbowing Yoongi. "You could jump in and shut this down, you know."

"Nah, I’m enjoying this," Yoongi smirked.

"People can have purely platonic relationships despite the years, you know?" You rolled your eyes, exasperated.

"I could date you, Allie," Jimin chimed in with a charming grin. "But we all know you like tall guys… and sadly, all I’ve got going for me is a great ass."

Allie paused, and shamelessly checked him out. “Hmm… fair point.”

"Alright, enough about Jimin’s ass," Taehyung snickered before turning back to you. "Anyway, I swear I thought—thought—Jungkook had a little crush on you. Just a gut feeling." He shrugged before smirking. "Though I’m not sure if he’s your type… I do know you like older men. Probably those daddy issues at work."

Yoongi nearly choked on his laugh, coughing into his sleeve. "Wow."

"I know how much it matters to you... I know that you got daddy issues," Taehyung sang the now-familiar song by The Neighbourhood with a grin, dragging out the lyrics like he always did whenever this topic came up.

"Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Kim." you muttered. The waiter arrived with your orders, and you were relieved when the conversation finally shifted to your promotion and what it entails, instead of your… issues.

The week flew by faster than you expected. Starting Monday, you’ll be stepping into your new role, and it  involves traveling to client sites whenever they expand or open new branches. It’s exciting... and exhausting just thinking about it. 

Which means less regular office hours, less desk chats with your friends. Your schedule will now revolve around client demands, and while that’s a win for your career, it’s kind of a loss for your social life.

So you made sure to clear your Saturday night for the company’s annual awards event—a night that’s less about trophies and more about mingling with stakeholders, VIP clients, and colleagues over cocktails and dancing. If there’s one thing your company excels at, it’s throwing a party. People go all out, dressing to the nines like it’s the Met Gala—and honestly, the break from the usual 9-to-5 grind is refreshing.

“Okay, which one do you think?” Allie asked during your coffee break in the pantry, shoving her phone in your face. Two mirror selfies—one in a sleek black gown, the other in a white halter dress—stared back at you. “Which one is better? Which one’s giving more classy old Hollywood vibes?”

“Hmm…” you tapped your chin. “Both are stunning, but the white one? That one pops against your skin tone. Very Marilyn Monroe on the red carpet.”

“Oh my God, yes! I was thinking that too!” Allie beamed. “Ok, sold! White it is!”

“You got your outfit sorted?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“Yeah, kinda. I’m stuck between this emerald green dress with red lips, or this black velvet dress I’ve only worn once.” You shrugged. “I’ll try them on later and send you pics to pick.”

“Yesss! Fashion show in your apartment, I can��t wait!” Allie wiggled her brows excitedly.

“Oh gosh,” she groaned, glancing at her phone. “I’ve got a Zoom meeting in, like, two minutes.” She shot you a kissy face before speed-walking back to her desk.

You chuckled, watching her go.

Yeah… you were going to miss them.

You stand by the water dispenser, zoning out as your water bottle slowly fills. The faint hum of the refrigerator fades into the background, your mind drifting somewhere far away.

Then footsteps pull you back to the present. Someone’s entered the pantry, but you don’t bother turning around. You keep your eyes locked on the water bottle, watching the steady stream.

“Oh my God, you’re so funny! I can’t believe you don’t play golf! I feel so silly asking you to join us!”

A sweet, high-pitched voice cuts through the quiet pantry.

“Yeah?” A low chuckle follows. A familiar one. “No, I don’t.”

You grit your teeth. 

Jungkook.

“You should let me teach you,” the girl coos. “I’m a great teacher.”

“I bet you are. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.” His voice is so casual, so maddeningly smooth, you roll your eyes right then and there.

Ugh.

You stare at your water bottle, still filling, taking its sweet time like it’s savoring your misery. You glare at the bubbling stream like, WOW, WATER. AMAZING.

Almost full... just a little more…

When your water bottle finally fills, you grab it quickly and turn to leave. 

Almost made it. Almost.

“YN! Oh hi!”

You stop dead.

“Congrats on your promotion! Well deserved!” Ria from Marketing beams brightly.

“Oh. Thank you! Appreciate it!” you reply, smiling politely.

Jungkook’s eyes are on you now. He’s leaning against the counter, one hand lazily gripping his coffee cup, watching you with that same unreadable expression he’s been wearing since the cabin. 

But his gaze drags down your frame, slow, deliberate, before flicking back up to your face.

Worse? 

He looks so damn good  in his gray shirt, sleeves pushed up showing his tattoos. A silver chain resting at his collarbone, glinting obnoxiously. 

And his hair? Pushed back. 

Your pulse jumps, and before you can think better of it, you flash him an equally fake smile.

“Well... gotta go! Meetings!”

You spin on your heel, your heels clicking sharply down the hallway, each step punctuated with purpose, and you swear you can still feel his eyes on you.

What’s his deal? Seriously. It's really starting to bother you. 

The black velvet dress won.

Allie’s excitement was instant when you sent her the dress options, but the shrieking voice note she sent after seeing the black one? Iconic.

“OH MY GODDDD! THAT’S THE ONE! YOU LOOK INSANE—LIKE, WHO EVEN ARE YOU?”

And honestly? She wasn’t wrong.

The black velvet dress hugged your curves perfectly, its sleek straps framing your shoulders and revealing just enough skin to feel sultry yet refined.

Your hair fell in soft waves, paired with your favorite black stilettos, a smoky eye, and a bold red lip. It's a perfect balance of sexy and classy.

There’s no way you’re not showing up tonight. Your gorgeous friends are going to eat it up—no doubt about that.

You can’t wait to soak up their energy. You need it to carry you through the many jet lags that’ll inevitably drain you in the days ahead.

The moment you stepped into the grand hotel ballroom, your eyes immediately landed on Jimin and Taehyung. They stood near the corner, chatting with a small group. Jimin, effortlessly ethereal in an all-white suit, and Taehyung, impossibly dapper in a dark green suit only he could pull off.

Noticing you, they smiled warmly and waved. You returned the gesture, motioning toward your assigned table before weaving through the bustling crowd.

Impressive. 

The event felt grand. Crystal chandeliers glowed above, and the room buzzed with lively chatter. Waiters in sharp uniforms moved smoothly between tables, serving cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Your company had clearly spared no expense, and judging by the laughter and clinking glasses, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

You found your table easily enough—a circle of familiar faces from your department. Four men occupied the seats, and their collective glance flicked your way the moment you approached. A quick once-over, followed by polite nods. Not exactly welcoming, but not hostile either. Just... guarded.

You were used to it by now. Ever since your promotion to Senior Manager, there has been an undeniable tension. You were younger than all of them, but you'd earned the role. From your first day, you'd outperformed expectations, closing deal after deal and driving major revenue growth. Your promotion had been inevitable, yet still a bitter pill for some. While they remained professional, you could sense the discomfort that lingered beneath the surface.

"You look good, YN," Peter chimed in, one of the younger members of the team. Of all your teammates, he's been the most friendly. His voice carried a lightness that cut through the awkward air.

"Thanks, Peter. You don't look so bad yourself," you replied, offering him a small but genuine smile.

"Oh, thanks! Feels nice seeing everyone all dolled up," he added with a grin. His excitement was contagious, and you couldn’t help but mirror it.

"Yeah, I know! Everyone looks amazing tonight." You turned to Mr. Hoang, one of the quieter and older members of the team. "I love your suit, Mr. Hoang."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Oh... thanks," he said, a bit stiffly. "My wife picked it out for me."

"She has good taste. You look great," you replied warmly. His expression softened, and you knew your effort hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Socially, you wanted to be closer to your team. 

Professionally and strategically, you knew it was important to be on good terms with everyone. Tonight felt like a chance to break some of that tension, even if just a little.

The microphone at the front crackled, pulling your attention to the stage as the host greeted everyone.

You scanned the room, searching for your friends. Since you were from different departments, you were all scattered across the venue, but you hoped to find them soon. With the host still presenting something on the screen, you decided to slip away to the washroom.

As you weaved through the crowd, your steps faltered.

Yoongi and Jungkook were walking toward you.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

It was offensive how good they looked.

Yoongi was effortlessly refined in a tailored gray suit, his hair brushed neatly, exuding his usual air of quiet confidence.

But Jungkook…

…was a goddamn problem.

Dressed in an all-black suit that fit him like sin, his dark hair fell in a perfect mess. And then, as if the devil himself had crafted him, there was the lip ring, gleaming under the ballroom lights, a stark rebellion against his otherwise pristine look.

What the fuck?

How is this legal?

He looked like trouble wrapped in temptation, and it was unfair how someone could look like that.

“Damn, YN, you clean up well,” Yoongi teased, stopping in front of you.

You blinked yourself back to reality, clearing your throat. “Well, you don’t look bad yourself, Yoongi. I barely recognized you.”

Jungkook, on the other hand, said nothing.

No. He just looked.

A slow, deliberate once-over—eyes dragging down your body like he was memorizing every detail—before finally, finally meeting your gaze again.

And then a tight-lipped smile. That’s it. No words. No reaction. Just that.

Wow. Okay???

You forced a polite smile in return, barely masking the fluster creeping up your spine. You turned back to Yoongi, pretending you weren’t internally combusting, when—

“Miss YLN! Great to see you. I’ve been meaning to catch up now that I’ve heard of your promotion! Well deserved! I’ve got a proposal I’d love to run by you.”

You turned to see an important client, beaming at you expectantly.

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Yamamoto! Yes, let’s grab some drinks and chat,” you replied smoothly, flashing him your best professional smile.

And with that, you excused yourself from the two gentlemen before tearing yourself away, resisting the overwhelming urge to glance back.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Seriously.

Hours of being dragged from one conversation to another with important clients and VPs had you trapped in endless small talk. Ironic, considering you worked in sales. Socializing felt exhausting, but you liked knowing their plans and goals while sipping cocktails. You liked knowing your cards.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly. As expected, everyone was looking for you.

Allie: yn we've been looking for you, are you seriously working rn? Jimin: we’re here at the bar now. Taehyung is already tipsy Taehyung: im not. jungkook made me try sangria and its seriously so good.

The mention of Jungkook’s name made your spine straighten.

Seriously, what was Jungkook’s deal?

Was he weirded out by the cabin hookup?

Bothered that Yoongi saw?

Or maybe it was when Taehyung started teasing you with Yoongi?

Or all of the above?

You hated guessing games. You never had time to overthink stuff like this, you didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for these mind games. Whatever game Jungkook was playing now, it was frustrating, and awkward.

But fuck, all you can think about is how good he felt.

How his body pressed against yours. How his touch burned your skin.

It’s crazy how you’ve never wanted anyone like this. 

Like a craving.

Something darker and primal, demanding more, demanding everything.

You needed air. 

Excusing yourself, you made your way to the balcony you’d been eyeing all evening.

The crisp night air kissed your face, and you drew in a deep breath. Freedom. Solitude. You stepped into the corner for privacy—until a shadow shifted.

You froze. Too late.

Peter's smile stretched lazily when he recognized you.

Your posture softened, but you were still guarded.

"Oh hey," he said, voice light and easy. "Didn’t know you’d come here."

"Hey," you greeted, still caught off guard. He seemed drunk, but harmless—cheeks flushed pink from the drinks, tie loosened, swaying slightly.

"You okay?" you asked, more out of politeness than concern.

"Oh yeah," he chuckled. "Just needed some air. Long night, huh?"

"Yeah, I better get back," you smiled, turning back toward the party.

"Bet it's tiring," Peter added, voice quieter now. When you glanced back, his smile had thinned, and his eyes lingered on you a little too long.

"What do you mean?" you asked..

"You’re always working your ass off," he muttered, stepping closer. "Don’t know how you do it."

He reeked of alcohol, but something in his tone made you pause.

“We all work hard,” you said cautiously. “It’s a tough job.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? I wonder what other jobs you’re willing to do.”

Your stomach turned. Oh, fuck no. You were not doing this.

Snickering, he inched closer, his breath hot and sour with liquor.

You weren’t about to entertain this. Turning away, you took a step back toward the party.

"You’ve been kissing clients' asses all evening. Bet that’s hard for someone so... stuck up," he sneered, voice darker now.

"I suggest you stop coming near me. You’re drunk," you warned firmly, still walking.

His hand shot out, clamping around your wrist. His grip was tight, fingers biting into your skin.

"You’re brave to act all high and mighty when you know your friends will protect you. Do you fuck them? Is that why they’re willing to risk their jobs for you? Maybe that’s why they all stick around, yeah, hoping they’ll get a turn."

"What the hell are you talking about?" You yanked your arm, but his grip tightened.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He slurred.

Your patience snapped. “I don’t,” you bit out. “You gonna tell me, or are you just gonna keep wasting my time?”

His lip curled. "Such a stuck-up bitch. You walk around acting untouchable, as if you’re better than everyone. No wonder you piss everyone off. Think Yoongi’s your knight in shining armor? Bet you spread your legs for him like the desperate little tease you are. Yeah, bet he pounded you so good he didn’t care about almost getting fired."

"For the last time, I don’t know what you're talking about. Let. Me. Go," you spat, wrenching your arm hard. His grip tightened painfully, and your pulse spiked. His hot breath hit your face, and you realized how dim and isolated the balcony was. Panic gripped you. He was stronger, faster, and clearly unstable.

"I think she said get the fuck off her."

The voice sliced through the tension like a heavy blade. Both you and Peter snapped toward the sound.

Jungkook.

You couldn't see his face. His solid frame was backlit by the grand hotel lights—but you knew that voice. 

Firm. Clear. Furious.

In three strides, Jungkook closed the distance. One hand clamped around your arm—Peter’s grip still locked tight—and Jungkook’s other hand shoved Peter so hard he staggered back, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Peter snarled, but Jungkook didn’t even look at him. Without a word, Jungkook yanked you behind him, placing his body like a wall between you and Peter.

"Touch her again," Jungkook bit out, "and you won’t see the fucking sun tomorrow."

You swore the entire world tilted when Jungkook finally turned his head, pinning Peter with a stare so ice-cold it could burn.

"You want to try me? He chuckled, amusement lacing his words. "Please, go ahead." His voice was too calm, too controlled. The kind that comes before a storm.

Peter swallowed hard. His eyes darted to you, then back to Jungkook, and whatever stupidity had driven him to this point finally died.

Smart choice.

Everything blurred after that. One second, Jungkook was throwing more venom-laced words at Peter, and the next, his fingers were locked around your wrist, dragging you away.

You barely registered the cold night air as he led you outside. The ground beneath you was uneven, the gravel crunched beneath your heels as you struggled to keep up with his long, and urgent strides.

"Jungkook—wait," you stammered, breathless.

He didn’t stop. His grip on your wrist stayed firm, fingers locked.

"Stop, I said STOP!" You yanked your hand free, stumbling back a step. Jungkook halted in his tracks, turning sharply, his eyes startled and almost guilty.

For a moment, he just stared. His expression was softer than before — gone was the sharp anger he'd shown with Peter.

Now, his eyes flickered with something else.

Concern? Hesitation?

His mouth opened like he was about to speak, but he closed it just as fast.

“What the hell was Peter talking about?” you pressed, voice rising. “Yoongi? Almost getting fired? Do you know something? Tell me!”

Frustration bubbled inside you. You hated feeling like a fool when everyone else seemed to know something you didn’t.

“That guy… Peter,” Jungkook muttered, “he’s not someone you should trust, obviously, I should’ve warned you, just didn’t know how. He was friends with… well, the guy Yoongi had problems with.” 

You shot him an exasperated look, one hand flung out in a gesture for him to continue. 

His voice lowered, cautious. “They had some kind of argument, and things escalated. The guy got fired, and Yoongi got suspended for it.”

“Okay? I don't understand. What does that have to do with me?”

Jungkook shifted uneasily. “Yoongi... I think Yoongi should tell you. It should come from him.”

“What difference does it make?” you snapped. “He obviously told you, and you know, so just—god, this is so frustrating.” You ran a hand through your hair, heart hammering.

“He didn’t,” Jungkook admitted quietly. “He didn’t tell me... I just figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Your voice rose again, and a few heads turned. Irritated, you grabbed Jungkook’s arm and pulled him behind a tree for some privacy. “What the hell is going on?” you demanded, voice low but now shaky. “Tell me what you know, for Christ’s sake.”

Jungkook exhaled deeply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"He caught that guy—the one who got fired—with deepfake videos of you on his computer."

Your breath hitched. You knew nothing about this. Who else knew? Did everyone know except you?

"The guy’s computer crashed, and when Yoongi fixed it, he found folders, pictures of you. Nothing explicit, just random shots from the office…but it was creepy enough that Yoongi reported him right away." He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Things… got heated when Yoongi confronted him."

“When did this happen?” you asked, your voice quieter now. Your heart pounded so loudly you could barely hear yourself speak.

“Right before I started,” Jungkook said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His brows pulled together, eyes scanning yours carefully. “Remember when Yoongi said he was taking PTO? The one where he went on a fishing trip with Jin?"

You nodded. Of course you remember that.

"It wasn’t a vacation…" He continued, his voice low and softer now. "He was suspended. He, uh, punched the guy. People saw. Management had no choice.”

So what, I’m the only idiot who didn’t know?” Your voice shook in anger, humiliation, disgust. “Everyone else knew? And I’ve just been walking around like some clueless dumbass while they all pitied…hated me behind my back?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, shaking quickly, almost desperately. His teeth sank into his lower lip like he was physically trying to stop more words—more confessions, more revelations—from slipping out. “No. I don’t think a lot of people know. Yoongi told no one.”

“Then how did you find out?” you pressed, your voice firm.

A beat of silence.

“I hacked the HR files,” Jungkook muttered, almost sheepish.

Your hands curled into fists. 

You needed to talk to Yoongi.

Now.

Because what the fuck?

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[dailynnt]

"Come on, a few kisses won't ruin our friendship"

ఌ︎ Summary: After a terrible day, you run away from everything - to the only person who can bring you back to peace - Jungkook. In a cozy, semi-dark apartment filled with the scent of coffee candles and the warmth of whiskey, the boundaries between the two best friends are blurred. A friendly evening turns into something else: as you two talk about kisses, first touches, laughter, and memories, something that has long been hidden between words comes to light. One kiss and the night is no longer just a night.

ఌ︎ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

ఌ︎ Age restrictions: 18+

ఌ︎ Size: one shot (3.6k)

ఌ︎ Tags: fluff, smut, from friends to lovers, best friends, romance, kissing, alcohol, support, tension, reciprocity, tenderness, first kiss, intimacy, mutual liking, night together, sex, unprotected sex, sex while intoxicated

ఌ︎ From author: So guys, unexpectedly for you and unexpectedly for me, I wrote this short story overnight 🤭 My sister and mom will kill me if she finds out that I don't sleep at night and write fanfiction 🤣 But I wrote it spontaneously because I saw an inspiring phrase on pinterest and it’s story instantly popped into my head 🥰 So I hope I didn't waste the night on this story (it took me all night to write it, translate, format, post) and here it is ✨ 💞 Enjoy 🤩💜🫶🏻

ఌ︎ Dedication: Of course for the first to my love of my life @curse-of-art, as well as to my most favorite girls @kelsyx33, @kooko009, @bhonbhon, @kookiesncreamri, @diame93, @kooklovee, @medstudentlifestyle, @tranquilreign, @someoneelse0109 you make me happy every time I go to the tumblr 💜🫶🏻

ఌ︎ Warning: English is not my native language, so the text may contain references or strangely worded sentences. Minors do not interact!

The city outside the window trembled with lights, as if tired of the day's bustle. Jungkook's apartment was semi-dark, the only source of light being a few scented candles on the floor, he loved so much. Jungkook lit them for you so that you could appreciate the new “black coffee” scent.

You were sitting next to each other on the carpet, leaning your back on the couch, whiskey glasses in your hands and a half-empty bottle and a box of chocolates between you. You shook the whiskey and ice in the big glass and exhaled heavily.

This day has been a real challenge for you. Your favorite sneakers broke in the middle of a rainstorm, and you were criticized at work for a presentation you had been working on for three nights. And to top it all off, your phone broke. The screen died completely, and you were left without connection, without YouTube videos of gamer streams, and most importantly, without music.

All of this knocked you out of your rut. You didn't know where to go, and for some reason, the only person you wanted to see on that terrible day was Jungkook. You wrote to him from your work laptop, it was late, but you desperately needed companionship.

You briefly told him how much fate ‘loved’ you and he laughed sincerely (a emoji in text of course), filling your soul with warmth, and then offered to come to his place and drink whiskey to send fate to hell. He had known you for many years and knew that the only way to help you was to be there for you, to help you relax and to talk to you. You were grateful for his support.

Now you could already feel the alcohol relaxing every muscle, erasing tension. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, and a light, slightly drunken smile was wandering across your face. You watched as Jungkook tilted his head slightly to the side, laughing at your grumbling about the day. It's been a few hours since you've been at Jungkook's place, but you still can't stop complaining about your fate. His eyes sparkled, either from the light of the lamp or from a few glasses of whiskey.

"I've been talking about this so much and I haven't even asked about you. What did you do today?" you asked, leaning lightly against his shoulder.

"Me?" He tilted his head back, looked up at the ceiling, as if remembering. "I spent the morning at the gym, had boxing practice, then had some boring meeting with investors. And then I stayed at home all evening, watching some stupid movie... Until you came," he added, looking at you with a slight smile.

"Oh, did I really save your evening with my life drama?"

"You always do," he said softly. And you suddenly felt your stomach clench. You smiled in embarrassment and turned your gaze to the candle. In fact, Jungkook always saves you, too. Even today.

You talked some more, your phrases softer, a little blurry. Alcohol removed the filters from your thoughts and topics of conversation. At some point - it's not clear how or why - you started talking about sex. It wasn't the first time you had a frank conversation, but it felt different. Maybe because of the tone - less joking, more serious.

"Kissing is what's really important to me," you said suddenly, putting down your glass. "Have I ever told you that I just love kissing? Don't give me bread and samgyopsal, just let me kiss."

Jungkook laughed, but his eyes showed interest. He looked from your face to your lips and back again.

"Really? Knowing how much you love samgyopsal... Even like that?" he smiled broadly.

"Uh-huh. It's like... I don't know, like a dance. Different rhythms, feelings. Sometimes slow and gentle, sometimes hot and hungry. It's like a way to understand a person," you said, as if feeling the moment.

"Do you remember your first kiss?" he asked, still smiling. "What was it like?

"Ha..." you hummed, leaning back. "Funny. I was fifteen and he kissed like a wet fish. But at the time, I thought it was the most romantic moment of my life."

Jungkook snorted, and you laughed with him for company.

"Who was it?" he questioned you.

"It was a boy from the parallel class. He liked me. He gave me so many gifts and fed me all the time. I think, what worked the most was this, that’s why I gave him my first kiss," you joked.

You picked up a chocolate candy and put it in your mouth, after taking another sip of the honey-colored alcohol. Jungkook laughed, shaking his head.

"You haven't changed since then," he said. "If someone guy bought you a wagyu, I bet a 20 thousand won, you'd sleep with him on the first date."

You raised your eyebrows and pushed him lightly in the shoulder.

"God, Jeon, who do you take me for?" you paused briefly. "Only if he was really good looking," you joked.

You laughed again and you felt yourself finally relaxing. Jungkook wanted to know more about why kissing was so important to you, so he continued to ask you questions.

"So what kind of kisses do you like?"

You thought, twirling the glass in your hands. You unconsciously bit your lip and it couldn't escape his gaze.

"With depth... But not always. Sometimes just a light touch is enough. I like it when it starts with tenderness, like an exploration. I love kisses that start when you don't even realize when they became so passionate. When you forget where to put your hands because you want to feel everything," you said as if you were living these words.

Jungkook was silent, looking at you intently. When you felt the silence, you turned your face to him and were slightly taken aback. His tongue ran along his lower lip, and then he nodded slightly.

"You described it all so interestingly. And now I'm not even sure if I want another whiskey or if I just want to know exactly how you kiss."

You giggled, awkwardly, almost hysterically, but the smile dissolved in his eyes. Jungkook began to lean toward you, and you were mesmerized, seeing only his lips. He was very close, and you screamed, instinctively stopping him.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice shaking with excitement. Jungkook didn't move away, just forced his gaze away from your lips.

"I was going to kiss you," he said, as if it was a normal thing between you. You turned away awkwardly, pulling away a little.

"Are you go out your mind? We're friends! Friends aren't supposed to kiss, even if we're drunk..." you said, feeling hot and your heart racing.

It would seem that after your remarks, Jungkook should have backed off, told a joke, and that this incident would have been just a misunderstanding.

But you felt him gently grasp your wrist, and in an instant he pulled you to him, settling you on his lap. You screamed, not expecting such actions from your best friend.

Your faces were separated by a few centimeters, and your hot breaths with the taste of whiskey, mingled You felt that Jungkook's grip was strong. His large palm squeezed your waist, giving you no chance to escape.

"Come on, Y/N. A few kisses won't ruin our friendship," he assured you. You looked into his eyes and saw a mischievous spark. "Just a test, especially since you like to kiss."

You were silent. Your brain was screaming that this was a bad idea, that tomorrow when you were sober would be awkward, that you would ruined everything. But your body didn't listen. You were sitting on his lap, hearing your heart pounding furiously, and even more furiously, his. His palm, warm and steady, held you close. Your eyes met.

"Kook... it's going to be awkward between us when we're sober," you whispered, not quite sure if you wanted to stop him or push him closer.

His eyes changed - there was no more mischief in them. Only intense expectation and desire. You felt his hand slide down your back, stopping at your neck. His thumbs gently touched your skin.

"It won't," he whispered and kissed you. His lips touched yours lightly, almost inaudibly. Like that "light touch" you were talking about. And only a moment later, the kiss became deeper, bolder, as if he had heard every word you said in that conversation and wanted to give you exactly that.

His kiss was really a dance. His tongue intertwined with yours, warming the wave of desire between your legs. Jungkook broke the kiss for a moment, but only to lick your lower lip. You felt his wet tongue on your plump pad, and then he bit you.

Your fingers closed on his T-shirt, as if looking for support. And your mind was empty - only the touch, only him.

The throbbing between your legs increased exponentially, and Jungkook didn't want to stop. His tongue penetrated your mouth again, making you even more intoxicated. He kissed you so hard that you felt slightly dizzy.

You could feel his cock getting hard. He was pressing lightly into your buttocks. He felt the same desire as you.

But as much as you wanted this moment to last forever, you had to take a breath of air. Jungkook broke the kiss and you slowly opened your eyes. He was still close, but on his lips, the same ones that had just kissed you, was more than a satisfied smile.

"How interesting," he said in a low, husky voice. "Turns out my friend is a pretty damn good kisser."

You sighed, but it sounded more like a moan-a held, raspy breath after a storm. His words made you smile, but somewhere deep in your chest, you clenched, as if this moment was on the verge of being real and dangerous.

"Can we consider the test passed?" you asked, trying to hide the tremor in your voice, although your hand was still holding his shirt as if you were afraid it would disappear.

Jungkook looked down at your lips and then back up into your eyes. His face was serious, and the touch of his hand on your waist was insistent. He lowered it to your buttocks for a moment, and then his hand, deliberately, slowly went under your blouse. He touched his fingers to your stomach, making your skin tingle, and then his fingers found your breasts. He squeezed one of them and you moaned reflexively. You immediately felt him harden more beneath you.

"How about we move on to the practical part of the test?" he asked slyly. His fingers played with your nipple, squeezing it between them. You almost choked when he lifted your blouse and took your bud into his mouth.

His wet tongue sucked in the tender skin. Your nipple became hard, pressing against the softness of his tongue. You whispered his name, almost silently, more like a pleading sigh than a conscious sound.

"Jungkook..."

His eyes rose to meet yours. Hot, dark, thirsty. And you knew there was no turning back. Everything that had been between you before disappeared in the pulsating tension of this moment.

Jungkook let go of your nipple, ran his tongue lightly around it, making you shudder, and kissed you lower, slowly, carefully, as if studying every millimeter of your skin.

His hand moved to your hip, slipping under your skirt. His fingers touched the inside of your thigh, warmly, decisively. Jungkook was in no hurry, but he didn't give you time to recover.

"You're so beautiful..." he whispered, swallowing your reactions, every moan, every shudder.

"No..." you exhaled, wanting to tell him not to give you these fucking compliments. He shouldn't.

"Yes," he argued. "Fucking hot," he whispered against your lips.

His fingers finally touched your underwear, which was soaking wet.

"Fuck... You're all ready for me, aren't you?" His whisper was deafeningly intimate. "Is that from just one kiss?"

You couldn't answer. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders, and your head tilted back. Jungkook pushed the underwear to the side and slowly slid his finger between your folds, making you shudder and clench your thighs.

"Relax... I want you to feel good," he said softly as he pushed his finger inside you. Your back arched in pleasure as he began to move rhythmically, feeling you grip him from the inside. You were tight, and it felt good on Jungkook's fingers. He felt a new wave of excitement as he imagined your tight walls enveloping his cock.

You sobbed, trying to hold back a moan, but it was useless. His thumb pressed down on your clit, and a wave of sweet madness swept over you.

"Tell me if you like it, Y/N..." his voice was husky, heavy with desire. He leaned down and nuzzled his lips into your neck, continuing to caress you from the inside.

"Yes, Kook... more... please..." you choked on your pleasure, your voice breaking. Your hips began to thrust to meet his fingers.

His smile was hot, almost animalistic. He took you to the very edge and suddenly stopped, withdrawing his finger.

"Not now," he said, leaning down to your ear. "I want to be inside you when you come. I want to feel you squeezing me from the inside..."

You could barely breathe. His words burned you from the inside out, and your body trembled with desire. You couldn't even deny how much you wanted your friend right now.

"Get up," he ordered in a soft tone. "Would it be more comfortable on the couch, or do you want to do it on the floor?"

You tried to steady your breathing. Your cheeks were pink and your lips were swollen from his passionate kisses.

"On the floor?" you stammered.

Jungkook smiled, but there was no trace of joking in his eyes. Only a fierce desire that burned the air between you.

"Do you want on the floor, on the couch, on the kitchen table... I don't care where, Y/N..." his voice was low, and he slid his fingers along your jaw, forcing you to look him straight in the eye, "I just want to be inside you. Right now."

Your body shuddered at these words, the feeling of butterflies mixed with arousal left no room for doubt if this was the right thing to do. It seemed that the air had become thicker.

You stood up from his lap, but he didn't let you go far away, just took your hand and gently laid you down on the soft carpet in front of the couch. The surface beneath you was warm, but his gaze was even hotter as he stood over you, pulling off his T-shirt. His torso, toned, with well-defined muscles, made you forget how to breathe. And his tattoos made him look even hotter and sexier in this semi-dark room.

He knelt down, leaning over you, and his palms slipped under your skirt. In one steady motion, he pulled off your underwear, keeping his eyes on you. And then - slowly, as if in a slow motion movie - he unbuttoned his jeans, pulled down his pants, took off his boxers, freeing his hard, erected cock.

You only had time to look at him, and this look sent a wave of even greater desire through you, your wetness between your legs became abundant.

Jungkook lay down over you, leaning on his elbows. His nose touched yours, and he kissed you more gently than a minute ago, as if he was thanking you for your trust. Then he ran his fingers between your thighs again, making sure you were still as wet - and you were even wetter. His breathing became heavier.

"Ready?" he asked, not taking his eyes off you. His tip was already touching you, tempting you in your most sensitive spot.

You just nodded, your eyes sparkling, your breasts rising in a ragged rhythm.

Jungkook pressed on and plunged into you. When the head of his cock began to stretch your hole, you felt a pleasant pressure at first, but after a moment he had to stop because you felt pain. You made a sound that sounded more like an exhausted moan. You raised your eyebrows.

Jungkook came closer and touched your lips, distracting your attention. He plunged his tongue into your mouth and you accepted it without question. He pressed and you moaned in pain into his mouth.

Your best friend continued kissing you, slowly entering you. He stretched you every inch of the way, and you felt your body accepting him... until the last drop.

He parted your lips, and another moan escaped your lips without permission.

Jungkook froze, letting you get used to it. His forehead pressed against yours. His breath mingled with yours. And only then did he start moving-slowly, steadily.

You no longer understood what was real and what was not. Only his body in yours. His hands on your skin. His name escaping your lips in every moan.

For a moment, he was almost exited, and then he plunged into you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"So tight, I love it so much," he whispered into your ear, pressing your body tighter against his, fucking you rhythmically. Your legs intertwined on his ass. "Fuck Y/N you take me so well, so fucking good inside you," he swore without restraining his emotions which were like fireworks.

He suddenly began to move sharply and deeply. The sensations of these movements made you lose all control.

"Kook... damn..." you had never felt so good during sex before. You literally thought it was the best sex you'd ever had.

"Yes... feel my cock, it's so perfect for you, love" he said in a breathy voice.

And when he started moving faster, you couldn't hold back any longer. You squeezed his shoulders, stretched your lips to his neck, dug your feet into his hips, letting him in deeper.

"Y/N..." he whispered, "that's so good... I can't... I can't last..."

"I...me neither..." your fingers dug into his back. "Kook, I'm going to..."

And at that very moment he squeezed you tighter, gave you one last deep thrust... and you exploded inside him. He felt your body shuddering around him, your tight velvet walls squeezing him to the point of insanity. Jungkook abruptly pulled out of you with a deep, heavy moan. You swear it's the sexiest thing you've ever heard. He spilled all over your stomach, you felt his body cum splattering on your skin.

He froze, holding you in his arms, and then lay on top of you, you felt gentle kisses on your neck as your bodies shuddered with the last waves of pleasure.

And then - silence.

Warm, sweet, slightly dizzying silence and only the sound of your heavy breathing.

You were lying under him, covered in a sheen of sweat, his sperm flowing warmly on your stomach, and your cheeks burning. Not just from physical pleasure, but from the realization that you had just slept with your best friend. And while your body was still feeling pleasure, your mind was already panicking.

Jungkook stopped kissing you and looked up at you. Your skin was flushed, your eyelashes were fluttering, and your cheeks were covered in a red blush. You couldn't look him in the eye, you were so embarrassed, even though you had just let him into the most intimate part of you.

"You're blushing..." he mocked, and his lips stretched into a smug smile that made you pull your neck into your shoulders even more.

"Don't look..." you muttered, covering your face with your hand.

Jungkook laughed softly as he removed your hand from your face. His voice was a little husky, deep, still filled with an echo of pleasure, but calm and warm at the same time.

"Why are you so sweet now, huh? Y/N, it's..." he took a breath, brushing the damp hair from your forehead, "sooner or later it was going to happen anyway, we both feel this sexual tension between us."

You swallowed quietly. His gaze was so penetrating... direct. You felt your heart pounding again, not with passion, but with excitement.

"I just..." you swallowed. "It's the first time I've ever done something so... spontaneous."

"And was it bad?" his smile grew wider, and he traced your cheek with his finger. "Because it was absolutely... fucking good for me."

"Kook!" you punched him in the chest, still not daring to look him in the eye.

"Hey, don't be afraid of it, okay?" his voice became more serious, but didn't lose its softness. "We did what we both wanted, aren’t we? And I'm not going to let you make this about shame or regret. Because I don't regret it for a moment."

Jungkook kissed you again, this time gently, long, on the lips, moving slowly, as if he wanted to put everything he hadn't had time to say in words into that kiss.

You returned the kiss, allowing yourself to dissolve in this tenderness for a moment. His lips were soft, warm, soothing. He pulled away from you.

"We need to take a shower, and you know what else?" He touched your hair and playfully tossed it back.

"What?"

Jungkook stood up and knelt down. You sat down, trying not to look at his crotch. You were covered in his cum and tried not to move too much so that it wouldn't get on the carpet.

"I am hungry. You used up all my energy, woman!" he joked. You smiled, feeling secretly pleased by his words.

You stood up, watching him look at your naked body, and his eyes darkened slightly.

"Order the fried chicken , and I'm going to take a shower. I'm hungry too."

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to having a cute, strong s/o who also loves to eat

Requested by @moonygrim : Hi Celeste 😊, I hope you’re doing well 💕.

I saw that your requests were open and decided to send one in.

So I was just wondering if you could write a reaction to Seventeen having a strong cute SO who maybe likes to eat a lot. I know it’s a little of a weird one but I thought I would send it anyways since seeing something like that would mean a lot to me.

Thank you 💕.

A/N: tysm for trusting me with something so personal. representation matters, and i’m honored to help you feel seen through this one 🫶🏼 you deserve to be adored just as you are, muscle and all 💜 /// the requester included some personal experiences, which i chose not to share publicly out of respect for their privacy. the prompt above is the main request

Head-over-heels in awe of your strength [and your appetite] — Seungcheol, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Dino

These boys are starstruck. No other word for it. Seungcheol practically glows watching you lift something heavy without breaking a sweat. He calls you his ‘supergirl’ and brags about how ”his girl carried the groceries like they were feathers.” Mingyu is so whipped it’s ridiculous. You flex once and he’s making heart eyes, mumbling, “You’re so cool, what the heck.” If you’re both at a buffet? You’re tag-teaming! Dokyeom LOVES that you eat with joy. He’s always encouraging you to get seconds, and if you ever say “I think I ate too much,” he’s shaking his head like: “No such thing. Let’s go for dessert” 🍮 And Dino's a baby in love. He looks at you like you hung the moon, especially when you slightly lift him up jokingly or beat him in arm wrestling. That’s his dream girl.

Totally smitten, totally supportive — Jeonghan, Hoshi, Woozi, Seungkwan

Jeonghan low-key teases you at first, “should I be the little spoon tonight?” but it’s all affection. He genuinely finds your strength super attractive and hot and secretly loves it when you protect him from fans or push open a jammed door like it’s nothing. Woozi’s too chill to say much, but he’s proud and kind of turned on. His eyes linger when you’re focused, the small smiles when you eat with gusto — it’s all there. Seungkwan is OBSESSED. You’re his superhero. He’ll film you carrying heavy bags just to show people how cool you are. And when you’re eating happily, he's literally matching your pace and feeding you bites of his plate. Hoshi’s your #1 cheerleader, “LOOK AT HER BICEPS!!!” he’ll yell in the group chat after you open a kimchi jar he couldn’t. He’ll act all dramatic but only because, he’s so, so into you.

Extremely respectful of your body and your confidence — Joshua, Jun, Wonwoo, Minghao

Joshua’s the type to look at your arms while you’re lifting something and ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ say, “You’re really strong,” with the kindest, most genuine admiration. He loves that you’re strong and soft; his safe space. Wonwoo finds strength incredibly sexy. You might be stronger than him, and he loves that. He’s quiet, but if you ever express insecurity, he’ll look you straight in the eye and say, “you’re beautiful. Exactly as you are.” and shut all that nonsensical stuff in your head. Jun will 100% ask you to teach him workouts. You two will have gym dates, and he’ll compliment your form every time. He loves your body and the way you love food, it’s all part of what makes you you. Hao sees your strength as elegance. He’s inspired by your control, your discipline, and how at peace you are with yourself [because he doesn't let you you live with insecurities]. If someone makes a comment about your build, he’ll politely but firmly shut it down, “she’s stronger than your fragile ego. Let’s go babe.” [UFF, I LOVE HIM 😌]

Obsessed in the most Vernon way — Vernon

Vernon’s reaction is understated, but make no mistake: he’s in awe of you. You casually carry something heavy or pop open a stuck bottle cap, and he just blinks like, “wait. That was kinda hot.” He admires your strength silently, but with so much pride. He doesn’t gush, but he just shows it in lowkey ways: asking you to spot him at the gym, letting you finish his fries because you love them, or wordlessly handing you his hoodie when he notices you’re cold after a workout. And if anyone ever says anything rude about your build or appetite, he’s not shouting and screaming and challenging to fight him, but he’s sharp. He’ll cut in calmly, firmly, “she’s literally perfect. You good?”

[syrecjh]

Hi!! :D I'm going through a rough patch rn, and was wondering if you could do like a comfort/ motivation fanfic for katsuki bakugo and reader that's been low and bed rotting, if not I understand!! :DD thank you!!

Hey, love 💜 I'm really sorry you're going through a rough patch right now. Just a reminder: it’s okay to slow down, it’s okay to not have it all figured out. You’re not alone, and this won’t last forever — even heavy rain runs out of clouds. I’m here, rooting for you always. 🌤️🫂 Here's your fic—hope you enjoy it!

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ★ ˙ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ★ ˙ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ★ ˙ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ★ ˙ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

─★°🦋 Lights On, Dumbass

˚🎀༘⋆ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

It starts with silence.

Not the peaceful kind — not the warm, fire-lit kind that settles around friends after a long day. No, this is the cold silence. The kind that creeps under your doorframe like fog and settles heavy in your chest.

It starts with a missed breakfast. Then two.

By the time Day Three rolls around, everyone’s noticed you’re not coming down to eat, to train, to talk. But no one says anything outright. They’re polite. They tiptoe. They send "you okay?" texts you don’t open. Leave snacks outside your door that go untouched.

But Bakugo— he’s never been polite like that.

He waits until curfew.

When the dorm hall goes quiet, lights dimmed, the sound of Kaminari’s music muffled through the walls — that’s when he moves. Heavy steps. Determined.

Your door creaks open.

You don’t bother pretending to be asleep this time. He wouldn’t believe it anyway. Not with your hoodie still on, blankets pulled up over your head like armor. Not with the untouched water bottle and crusty takeout box beside your bed.

You hear the click of your desk lamp flicking on.

“Dumbass,” he says, voice low. Tired, but firm. “You’ve got ten people downstairs pretending not to worry about you.”

You shift under the covers, eyes stinging. You haven’t cried yet — not really. But hearing his voice breaks something small in you. Not because he’s harsh.

But because he came.

“You gonna stay in here ‘til you rot?” he adds. “Or you planning to rejoin the living anytime soon?”

Still, you say nothing. Too tired. Too numb.

Bakugo doesn’t push. He doesn’t sit on your bed or ask dumb questions. He just parks himself in your desk chair like he owns the place and spins it slightly, legs spread, hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

“You’re not the only one who gets like this,” he mutters, eyes flicking toward you. “I get it, you know. When the world gets too fucking loud. When even blinking feels like effort.”

Your breath hitches.

He leans forward a little, elbows resting on his knees. The lamplight softens him, cuts against the usual sharpness of his jaw. His voice is almost… careful.

“I used to blow up at everything,” he says. “Still do, sometimes. ‘Cause it’s easier to scream than admit I’m tired. Or scared. Or feel like shit for no reason.”

You peek out from under the blanket. Just barely.

“But this?” He gestures at you. “This shutting down crap? It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make the hurt go away.”

You whisper, voice hoarse: “I know.”

That’s all it takes.

He stands, walks to the edge of your bed, and drops something on your pillow.

A wrinkled sticky note. A chocolate bar. And a small yellow packet of lemon tea.

The note says:

> “Eat something. Walk ten minutes. Or I’m dragging your ass outside myself.” — K

You let out a breathy laugh — just a puff, really. But it’s real. It cracks through the fog.

He looks away like he didn’t hear it. But you know he did.

“And turn the damn light on,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to be sunshine. Just don’t disappear, alright?”

Then, before he leaves, he looks back once more. Face unreadable. But something soft lives in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re not alone in this mess,” he says. “You got me.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

The room stays lit.

And for the first time in a week, you move. You sit up. You unwrap the chocolate. You sip the lemon tea. It doesn’t fix everything — but it’s something. A beginning.

One Week Later...

You’re on the dorm rooftop. Blanket around your shoulders. Ten minutes after lights out.

He’s beside you, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, sipping from a thermos he probably made for you but pretended was his.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” you say.

He snorts. “Didn’t think you’d leave your cave.”

You smile. A real one.

Then: “Thanks, Bakugo.”

He looks up at the stars. “Whatever.”

But then, quieter:

“…You scared the shit outta me.”

You glance at him.

“I thought I was gonna have to kick your door down,” he adds. “I was ready to blow it off the hinges if I had to.”

You laugh. “I believe it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, softer:

“You’re strong. I’ve seen it. Don’t let the bad days lie to you.”

Your heart trips.

“You’re not broken,” he says. “Just bruised.”

And that night, under the stars, blanket between you, you lean your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t flinch.

He leans right back.

[purploozi]

Boyfriend | Xu Ming Hao

Pairing: bf!Minghao x Reader

Genre: fluff and Minghao

Warning: none, just Minghao

Boyfriend!Minghao who LOVES you as his muse. He’s an expert at observing and noticing the little details—your expressions, your color palette, the way sunlight touches your skin. All of that finds it's ways into his art. Sometimes it's a quick doodle on the corner of a napkin, sometimes it's a painting he spends days on…but no matter the form the subject is always you. To see yourself reflected on a canvas through his eyes, full of detail and quiet admiration, feels like the most intimate kind of love. Whe he shows you his work he simply says “You inspire me” and it's the most beautiful confession of all.

Boyfriend!Minghao who is SUPPORTIVE while buying clothes. We all know how stressful shopping can be, right? But Minghao is always there to offer advice, help you choose or simply give you an encouraging smile. He showers you with compliments and recommendations, walking up to you with a piece of clothing while saying how perfect he thinks it would look on you—and of course, you model each piece for him. You end up buying a lot of things…but that's not a problem because your sweet boyfriend happily carries all the bags.

Boyfriend!Minghao who relies on the WELLNESS of meditating and doing yoga together. He was all about meditating but after you started dating he found yoga to be surprisingly fun too. Sharing those quiet, mindful moments—stretching, breathing and being quietly present together brought another layer of peace and connection to your days, and doing yoga poses together? It helps to built trust with each other (and it's always a funny moment when you fail at it).

Boyfriend!Minghao who ENJOYS going on museum dates with you. If you know about art and can give proper opinions he's fascinated and will listen to you intently as you both discuss each piece. What was the artist's intention? What do you think of this painting? He loves pretending you're a couple of art critics—but even if you know absolutely nothing about art, he still finds joy in sharing silly comments and lighthearted opinions with you.

Boyfriend!Minghao who COMMUNICATES with you. To him, that’s the key to a healthy relationship and he would never risk what you have over something that could be easily solved with a conversation. No matter how small the misunderstanding was, he will take the time to talk I through. Like that one time you thought he was cheating—but in reality he was just having dinner with Mingyu's family. He calmly explained everything and every conservation that you have only strengthens the trust between you.

Boyfriend!Minghao who loves the CALMNESS of drinking tea with you. Before dating him you weren’t really a tea fan—but slowly, and gently, he introduced it into your life. Soon after you found yourself craving a warm cup of tea throughout the day. Curling up on the couch with him, after a tiring day at work, became your favorite moment of the day. Warm and calm, that was your relationship.

This was a request from an anon, hope you can find a calm space from this crazy world in Minghao~💜

[warpdrive-witch]

Hello! Can I request angst for Agatha? Maybe Agatha and the reader are married and have a baby together, but someone is trying to come between them. This person wants the reader and starts sending fake photos to Agatha, making it look like the reader is cheating. At first, Agatha doesn’t believe it, but then something happens that makes her doubt everything, and she ends up leaving the reader. Eventually, she finds out the photos were fake all along. You can decide how it ends. Thank you!

Hey Anon! Thanks for the idea. I wanted to write this out for you before the last two weeks of the semester hit me in the face. I hope you love it. Enjoy 💜

18.1k Words. Manipulation. Leaving. Arguments. Angst. Childbirth. Stress.

The Evidence of Nothing

The nursery smelled like lemon oil and fresh cotton—the scent of new beginnings. Dust motes floated through the golden light slanting in from the west-facing window, catching on the soft curve of your belly as you reached up to shelve another book. Your back ached, but you smiled through it, one hand pressing instinctively over the gentle swell, like your daughter might press back.

Behind you, Agatha leaned in the doorway, her silhouette softened by the light, a mug in her hands and amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You know she’s going to pull all of those down the second she learns to stand.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “And you’re going to say, ‘She’s just curious,’ while I’m the one re-shelving The People’s History of the Peloponnesian War for the fifth time.”

Agatha stepped forward with a chuckle, placing her mug on the windowsill. “I never said I’d stop her. Just that I’d admire her technique.”

You grinned as she came to stand behind you, her hands slipping beneath yours to brace the book in place. Her fingers brushed over yours—cool from the mug, grounding and sure. The baby kicked then. Sharp and sudden.

Agatha stilled. Her eyes widened as she looked down at your belly. “Was that—?”

You nodded, eyes glossy. “She liked the joke.”

She exhaled a laugh, but it broke halfway. Her hand rose slowly, reverently, and settled against the place where the kick had landed. When the baby kicked again, her face cracked wide open with wonder.

“She’s real,” she whispered. “I mean—of course she’s real, but…”

“I know.” You leaned your head against her shoulder, the both of you swaying slightly where you stood. “It still hits me sometimes. Like I’ll forget for a second and then she moves and—”

“It’s everything again,” Agatha finished, voice thick.

You turned into her. She kissed your forehead first. Then your lips. There was peace here. A quiet certainty. Even when your hips ached. Even when the world outside felt too sharp. This house, this room—this love—was steady. Later that night, curled together on the couch, Agatha rubbed your back while you sorted through baby name lists on your tablet.

“I still think her middle name should be Justice,” she said, half-serious.

You raised an eyebrow. “What is she? A comic book character?”

“She’s got your spine and my attitude. She’ll need something iconic to anchor her.”

You shook your head, but you were laughing. And when Agatha rested her palm against your belly again, the baby kicked once more—strong and deliberate, like she agreed.

------

It was supposed to be a quick meeting. Twenty minutes, max.

You’d agreed to meet Maya Larkin at the campus café just off the quad—a tucked-away spot where faculty and grad students lingered over lukewarm espresso and half-graded papers. She’d reached out the week before, her email full of gratitude and eagerness. She was revisiting her thesis proposal, she said. Wanted your perspective. “Only if you have the time,” she’d added. “I know how busy things must be.”

You did have time—barely—but she’d been one of the brightest students in your public history seminar last year. Smart. Focused. Maybe a little intense, but respectful. And genuinely curious about the same kinds of questions that lit your brain up.

So you said yes.

You arrived a few minutes early, one hand cradling your belly out of habit as you shuffled into a corner booth. The barista behind the counter gave you a nod—already making your usual. The baby had started getting fussy about temperature lately; everything had to be lukewarm or she'd protest with a well-placed jab to your ribs.

Maya slid into the booth a few minutes later. Polished, professional, a little overdressed for a casual meeting—but maybe she was coming from a class. Her smile was wide, eyes bright behind dark-framed glasses.

“Professor,” she said warmly. “You look amazing. Glowing, honestly.”

You smiled, nodding in thanks. “It’s mostly the lighting. And the fact that I didn’t throw up this morning for the first time in three days.”

She laughed like you’d told a good joke.

The conversation was fine. Mostly.

She asked sharp questions. Brought up your recent panel presentation at the library conference. Quoted your article on queer archival silences—verbatim. It should’ve been flattering, and part of you was impressed. But something about the way she said, “I think about that line all the time: ‘Sometimes silence isn’t absence—it’s refusal.’” made the back of your neck prickle.

Not wrong. Just... too knowing. Too aware.

You chalked it up to nerves. People got weird around professors, especially when they admired them. You’d done it yourself, back when you were Maya’s age.

As you stood to leave, she hesitated.

“I, um—actually got you something.” Maya reached into her bag and pulled out a small gift bag. Pale yellow tissue crinkled softly at the top.

You blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” she said, waving it off. “Just something small. I saw it and thought of you. No big deal.”

Inside was a teething ring shaped like a stack of archival boxes. You’d seen them on Etsy—clever and kind of adorable. It was cute. Harmless.

But something about the way she said thought of you landed a little too close.

Still, you thanked her. Smiled. Told her good luck with the revisions.

And then the soft chime above the café door jingled.

You turned instinctively—already recognizing the cadence of her footsteps.

Agatha spotted you immediately. Her expression melted into that familiar, quiet joy—the kind of look that made you feel seen even before she’d touched you.

She crossed the café in a few strides, pausing behind you just long enough to drop a kiss on your cheek. Her hand skimmed your shoulder, thumb brushing gently across your collarbone in a touch that had always made you feel like home.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I figured you might be here.”

You leaned back into her. “I thought you had office hours?”

“I did. Canceled the last half. Your texts looked like you were fading.” She smiled, then glanced toward Maya with polite curiosity. “Hi.”

Maya’s voice came a second too late. “Hello, Dr. Harkness.”

There was something clipped in it now. Tighter. You recognized the shift immediately.

Agatha blinked. “I’m sorry—have we met?”

Maya’s jaw tensed.

“I was in your History of Political Thought class. Fall semester, two years ago.”

Agatha’s face was blank. “Oh. I—apologies. I usually remember my students, but that year was a little chaotic.”

Maya’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Apparently.”

You stiffened. Agatha, ever perceptive, felt it too. Her hand dropped instinctively to your shoulder again, thumb smoothing small circles over your sweater.

“I was just heading out,” you said, easing yourself up from the booth.

Maya stood as well, but not before her gaze flicked—slow and assessing—from your rounded belly to Agatha’s arm still resting over your shoulder. Her nostrils flared so subtly it might’ve gone unnoticed… if you hadn’t already been watching her too closely.

“You two… know each other?” Maya asked, voice deliberately light.

Agatha lifted a brow. “We’re married.”

The words landed like a slap.

For a moment, Maya didn’t speak.

Then: “Well. Congratulations.”

You gave her a gentle nod, polite and practiced. “Good luck with your revisions. I’m sure your work will grow into something strong.”

Maya’s mouth twisted like she’d bitten into something sour. “I hope so. It’s always interesting to see who gets remembered.”

Agatha turned, her free hand settling protectively at your back. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Larkin.”

You didn’t look back as the two of you walked out.

But Maya did.

------

The late afternoon had settled into something slow and honey-thick—sunlight slipping through the windows in lazy gold ribbons, the kind that softened the edges of everything. You were curled on the couch, a mug of herbal tea resting on the swell of your belly. It tasted like regret and well-meaning advice—raspberry leaf, lemon balm, nettle. Jen’s special blend. She’d handed you a mason jar of the stuff last week with a knowing look and said, “Not glamorous, but helpful. Trust me.”

You did trust her. Jen had been a part of your life long before she'd become your doula. She lived just two doors down—equal parts brilliant and grounded, a former ER nurse turned midwife who now grew heirloom tomatoes in raised beds and hosted monthly book clubs that always devolved into feminist rage and laughter. She’d been the one to gently insist on keeping a birthing pool in the house. “Just in case,” she’d said, tapping her temple. “Babies don’t care about plans, sweetheart. They come when they come.”

So, the pool waited in the corner of your bedroom. Deflated. Coiled like a secret. A quiet backup plan to a backup plan. But somehow, its presence made things feel more real. More possible. As if someone else had thought through the chaos so you didn’t have to.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the laptop perched across your thighs. Your legs were tangled in a pretzel of academic exhaustion—one knee bent beneath you, the other stretched out just enough to tap absently against Agatha’s thigh. She sat beside you on the couch, a novel open in her lap, though the angle of her gaze suggested she hadn’t read more than a paragraph in the last half hour.

A groan escaped your lips as another email notification popped up in the corner of your screen.

“What now?” Agatha asked, not looking up.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Another undergrad asking if I can ‘just glance’ at their digital exhibit proposal before Monday. It’s Friday, Agatha. I’m not their personal fairy god-historian.”

She smirked without lifting her eyes. “You kind of are.”

“I do not grant academic wishes.”

“You do. I’ve seen you. One time you rewrote a student’s thesis abstract and called it ‘pedagogical triage.’”

“That was an emergency. He didn’t know what a historiographical lens was and was three weeks from presenting to the department.”

Your inbox dinged again.

And again.

You groaned theatrically, one hand drifting to your stomach as if to physically shield your child from the chaos of academia.

“Okay, let’s see… Michael needs help with his citations… Tabitha wants an extension… and—”

You stopped mid-sentence.

A new subject line blinked softly on the screen:

Following up on our chat – Maya Larkin

The air shifted—not dramatically. But enough. Enough that you noticed when Agatha's hand stilled on her book, her breath hitching just faintly in the quiet space between seconds.

You clicked the email open.

Hi Professor, Thank you again for taking the time to meet. I found our discussion about archival ethics incredibly inspiring—it really made me think more deeply about emotional bias in preservation work. I’d love to meet again if you're available. Totally understand if you're busy! I just value your insights so much. Warmly, Maya

You leaned back against the cushions, already composing a gentle, professional brush-off. “Why do they always want to ‘pick your brain’? My brain is tired. My brain is bloated with third-trimester fog. My brain is a balloon full of sleep deprivation and foot cramps.”

Agatha didn’t laugh. Not this time.

She slid a bookmark between the pages and set the novel down in her lap, fingers drumming once—then stilling.

“Didn’t you already meet with her?” she asked lightly, casually. But her posture had changed. More upright. Alert in that quiet, practiced way she had when something didn’t sit right.

You nodded, scrolling. “Yeah. Earlier this week. She was fine. A little intense. One of those students who memorizes your entire CV and then watches your face to see if you’re flattered.”

“Hm.”

That was all.

Just a soft sound. Noncommittal. But thoughtful.

You glanced sideways. “What?”

Agatha shook her head and reached out, squeezing your ankle where it rested against her thigh. “Nothing. Probably just the protective instincts kicking in. I didn’t love the way she looked at you the other day.”

You arched a brow. “She was nervous.”

“She was… something.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but stopped. Because even if you didn’t feel threatened, you had noticed the way Maya had lingered a little too long after the meeting. The way she’d smiled like she was testing a theory, not just being polite.

Agatha didn’t press. She didn’t need to. Her gaze drifted back to your belly—softening—and then flicked toward you.

------

Agatha hadn’t meant to overhear it.

She was coming out of the departmental printer room—an ancient, humming closet of overheating machines and jammed toner cartridges—when she caught the tail end of a conversation between two adjuncts near the breakroom, voices low and gossipy in that way people got when they weren’t talking about anything serious but still wanted to sound important.

“…said she stopped by their office hours yesterday and no one was there. Totally empty. Door open, lights on, but nothing.”

The other voice was vaguely familiar—maybe one of the anthropology post-docs. “Weird. They’re never out of office. Especially not this late in the term.”

“She even knocked, just in case they were in the back or something. But yeah—nobody.”

Agatha froze for half a second, her hand still on the doorframe. They didn’t name you, not outright—but “never out of office” could only be one person. You. You were practically known for it. You’d once held office hours on a snow day “just in case.”

It was probably nothing. Maybe the student had shown up late. Maybe they were confused.

Still, something tugged.

That night, after dinner—after the dishes had been stacked and the leftovers labeled, after you had curled up on the couch with a book propped on your bump and a blanket over your knees—Agatha said, too casually, “Did you have office hours yesterday?”

You looked up. “Mhm. Why?”

“I just… someone mentioned not finding you in your office.”

You blinked, then rolled your eyes a little. “Oh—yeah. A student came by early, and she looked like she was two seconds from a panic attack, so I offered to walk with her. We sat on the bench outside the library. Figured it would be less intimidating than hovering in my weird windowless cave while she tried to explain her draft.”

Agatha tried to keep her expression neutral, but something flickered. “Which student?”

You frowned, trying to remember. “Tabitha, I think? No—wait. The other one. But then Maya spotted me and before I could find a way to leave, she started asking questions”

Agatha’s body didn’t tense.

Not really.

But something in her shoulders changed—some ancient, barely visible bristle of self-protection.

“She asked to meet again?”

You nodded, distracted, already flipping back to your reading. “Yeah. I mean, she was right there, and I didn’t have anyone else scheduled. It was fifteen minutes, tops. Honestly, she just needed someone to tell her she wasn’t failing at life.”

Agatha hummed softly.

Then: “She’s coming up a lot lately.”

That made you look up again. “What?”

“Nothing,” Agatha said smoothly. “Just an observation.”

You watched her for a moment longer. Her face was calm. Too calm.

“She’s just a student,” you said gently.

“I’m sure,” Agatha murmured, pressing a hand to your leg beneath the blanket. “I’m just… noticing things. That’s all.”

You let it go. But that little weight settled somewhere behind your ribs. You weren’t sure whose discomfort it belonged to—yours, or hers.

------

Agatha didn’t sleep that night.

Not well, anyway.

You hadn’t noticed—you’d passed out hard, your back pressed against her chest and your belly cradled in the crook of her arm. She stayed awake for hours, thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your shirt, waiting for the unease to loosen in her chest.

It didn’t.

She hated how it made her feel. Suspicious. It didn’t suit her. But something had shifted. She could feel it.

The next day passed without much fanfare. You had back-to-back meetings, and she had a faculty review to finalize. By the time the two of you finally got home, she could see how exhausted you were. Your ankles were swollen, your eyes rimmed with fatigue. You needed rest, not questions. Not doubts.

So she didn’t bring up Maya again.

She kissed your temple when you dozed off on the couch, then tucked a blanket around you and padded into the kitchen to make tea. Her phone buzzed just as the kettle began to scream. It was a message from an unknown number.

No words. Just an image.

The photo loaded slowly, the progress bar crawling like it knew what it was about to reveal.

And then it appeared. A blurry shot—taken through the wide library windows. You, seated on the bench just outside. Maya beside you. Leaning close. Too close.

The angle made it look worse than it was. Maya’s hand was reaching toward you—your shoulder, your hair, your face? It was hard to tell. You were turned slightly toward her, mid-sentence, eyes soft in a way that Agatha knew was your way of listening.

But it looked intimate. Too intimate. The time stamp read two days ago. The message underneath came through a second later.

“I thought you should know. I’d want to.”

Agatha stood still for a long moment. The kettle wailed beside her. Steam curling into the air like a warning. She clicked the phone off. Her tea went cold on the counter.

When you stirred awake an hour later, you found her reading, eyes unreadable. She smiled when you sat beside her. Kissed your temple. But her hand didn’t linger the way it usually did. And when you fell asleep against her again, she watched the ceiling for a long time.

------

It was a Thursday—ordinary in every way.

The kind of day that passed without ceremony. Students shuffled by her open door, leaves rustled outside the window, and the scent of dry-erase marker clung to the sleeves of Agatha’s cardigan like a ghost.

She was in her office, drafting lecture notes for next week’s seminar, a half-finished cup of coffee going lukewarm beside her laptop. Her pen tapped absently against the margin of her notebook as she reread a line, crossing through a phrase and rewriting it cleaner, sharper.

Then her phone buzzed against the desk. Once. Then again. A third time—sharp enough to fracture her concentration. She exhaled, annoyed, and reached for it. A single email. No sender listed. Just a subject line:

“You deserve to know.”

Her stomach pinched. Her finger hovered above the screen, reluctant, but still—curious. She tapped. The email contained no message body. Just an attachment. She opened it. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing.

You, unmistakably, sitting in your office. The light from your desk lamp made your skin glow. Your cheeks were red, lips parted mid-laugh. The angle suggested someone had taken it from just outside the open door—or worse, through the cracked blinds.

You looked happy. Relaxed. Flushed. And then she saw the caption. Crude. White letters overlaid at the bottom like a tabloid headline:

“Not just a student, is she?”

Agatha’s heart lurched.

It was a still photo—just a single frame. But it said too much. Or maybe nothing at all. If she didn’t know you, if she hadn’t watched you move through life with such open honesty, it would’ve been easy to believe something else was happening. Something private. Something inappropriate.

She wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, she stared. The world thinned out around her.

For a moment, it was like being back in that other life—the one before you. The one where trust had been a sharp thing, easily broken. Where someone else’s secrets had rotted out the floorboards beneath her and left her standing in the wreckage.

She thought she was past that. She thought you had taught her something better. Then another email came in. This time, from an address she didn’t recognize.

No name. No signature. Just words:

This isn’t the first time, either. Thought you should know before it gets worse. Her hands trembled. She didn’t respond. Didn’t forward it. Didn’t delete it either. She closed the email and shut her laptop and sat in silence, the image still burning behind her eyes.

------

It was a Thursday—ordinary in every way.

The kind of day that passed without ceremony. Students shuffled by her open door in half-zipped jackets and earbuds, the last leaves of the season skipping across the sidewalk outside. Somewhere, someone sneezed with the conviction of a man losing a midterm. The heater clicked on for the third time that hour.

Agatha’s office smelled like dry-erase marker and paper. The kind of quiet, book-lined room that had once made her feel grounded. Today, it felt too still.

Her lecture notes sat open in front of her, margins scribbled with arrows and underlines, but her pen hovered above the page without moving. Her coffee had gone tepid. Forgotten.

She should have been thinking about next week’s seminar. Reframing Public Memory: Power, Absence, and Archive. She should have been considering which readings to cut, which to expand, whether she had time to rewrite the slide about monumentality in Southern cemeteries. But the only thing that kept repeating in her head—unwelcome, unprovoked—was that still frame.

Your face. That laugh. The cold, acid shape of implication twisted into the caption.

She’d stared at it too long. Not because she believed it, but because it had caught her off-guard so precisely. Like someone had reached into her chest and jostled the bone she’d only just learned to trust again. A knock came at the doorframe—two short taps.

“Dr. Harkness?”

Agatha blinked and looked up. Alice stood in the doorway, cradling a stack of folders against her hip, a travel mug balanced precariously on top.

“Oh. Alice. Come in.”

Alice stepped inside, nudging the door open with her shoulder and setting the folders down on the edge of the desk. “Here’s everything for the grant submission. And your revised syllabus notes.” She paused. “You okay? You look like you’ve been staring at the same sentence for twenty minutes.”

Agatha gave a thin smile, folding her arms loosely on the desk. “Just tired.”

Alice didn’t sit, but lingered—her weight shifting between feet, gaze flicking toward the half-shut laptop. She was observant, always had been. Too sharp sometimes. Not easily brushed off.

Agatha turned back to her notes, flipping a page. “Did you end up adding the entry about the queer oral history archive?”

“I did. Cross-referenced the metadata guidelines, too. But…” Alice hesitated. “Sorry, I know this might be out of line, but… you muttered something earlier when I knocked. Something about ‘students.’” Her voice gentled. “Everything okay?”

Agatha’s hand stilled. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Just a whisper. A habit, maybe. A bleed-through of thought into speech. But now that the door was open, she didn’t quite know how to close it again.

She kept her tone even. “Have you ever had a student… blur the line between academic admiration and something else?”

Alice blinked. “Like… parasocial?”

“No.” Agatha’s mouth twisted faintly. “Like interest. Romantic, or otherwise.”

“Oh.” Alice set her mug down. “Yeah. Once or twice. It was awkward, but not threatening.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away.

Alice tilted her head. “Is it someone in your class?”

Agatha shook her head. “Not mine.”

Alice frowned. “Then who?”

The silence stretched. Agatha tapped her pen once against the desk, then looked up. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low. Careful. “Maya Larkin.”

Alice's brow furrowed in recognition. “The archival student? She’s… intense. Bright, but intense. I sat in on her presentation last semester. Didn’t she reach out to—?”

“Yes.”

Agatha’s eyes met Alice’s across the desk. Something unspoken passed between them. Alice straightened. “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly. Just…” Agatha exhaled, folding her arms tighter. “Something doesn’t sit right. And I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Especially not about someone she chose to mentor.”

Alice’s gaze softened. “Then maybe start with what you do know. Or… show me?”

Agatha didn’t move. She didn’t open the laptop. But she nodded—slowly. As if anchoring herself to the moment. To someone else who could see the thread, even if it hadn’t unraveled yet.

Outside, the breeze rustled through brittle leaves. A bell rang across campus. And somewhere down the hall, a printer kicked on with a shrill whine that made them both flinch. Ordinary sounds. On an ordinary Thursday. But the air had shifted. And something quiet had begun to take root

------

That night, the house felt too quiet. You were humming to yourself in the other room, folding the last of the laundry and calling softly for her to come help pick out tomorrow’s baby clothes. You sounded light. Happy. You had no idea.

Agatha didn’t answer right away. You found her in the kitchen, standing barefoot by the sink, the refrigerator still open behind her. Her phone was in her hand, screen dark now. Her other hand rested lightly against the counter, fingers flexing as if trying to ground herself.

You stepped behind her, arms circling gently around her waist, your cheek brushing her shoulder. “You okay?”

Agatha turned, slow, her eyes hard to read in the dim light.

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

You tilted your head, searching her face. “Anything I can do?”

She hesitated—just long enough for something cold to slip between your ribs.

“No,” she said finally, voice quieter than before. “Not tonight.”

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and offered you a faint, tired smile. You kissed her temple anyway. But she didn’t lean in the way she usually did. And the photo—unspoken, unseen—settled between you like a weight neither of you could name.

------

Agatha balanced the takeout tray against her hip, the brown paper bag tucked tighter under her arm as the scent of roasted tomato soup and fresh focaccia drifted around her like a promise she hadn’t figured out how to speak yet. The hallway air was cool and faintly metallic—old building, older vents—but the warmth from the food wrapped around her like a second skin.

She hadn’t planned this. Not really.

But when she saw the café chalkboard outside the library—Lunch Special: Roasted Tomato Bisque & Focaccia—your favorite, always your favorite, something inside her sparked. Soft and urgent. Not guilt, not exactly. More like a quiet offering. A bridge she wanted to rebuild plank by plank, even if her hands still shook from the weight of doubt.

It wasn’t that you had done anything wrong. She knew that. God, she knew that.

But something in her—something old and cracked and half-healed—had split open again.

It was the kind of hurt that didn’t arrive with sirens or certainty. Just a slow corrosion. A voice at the back of her mind that whispered remember when, and what if, and don’t be stupid again.

Agatha pushed open the department door with her shoulder, her grip shifting to balance the tray. She’d imagined this moment on the walk over—your surprised smile, your eyes lighting up at the smell of soup, the way you always touched your chest when something moved you without warning.

She missed you.

Missed you, even though you shared a bed. Even though you laughed beside her and kissed her temple and traced her belly with reverent fingers when you both couldn’t sleep. Because somehow, in the silence between all those soft moments, space had grown. Not because of you. Because of her.

She was halfway down the hallway—almost to your door, already smiling in anticipation—when someone rounded the corner. Maya. Agatha’s body went still.

Maya’s hair was twisted into something that looked effortless but wasn’t. Her lipstick was dark, plum-red and glossy, drawn on with too much care for a casual Thursday. She carried nothing in her hands. No notebook. No folder. Just a small smile that didn’t belong here.

And she froze when she saw Agatha.

Only for a second. Just a flicker. But it was there—the startle, the adjustment, the recalibration of her mask.

“Dr. Harkness,” Maya said, voice breezy, polite. Too polite. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Agatha didn’t smile. Her voice came out smooth, practiced. But cold.

“Clearly.”

Maya gave a half-laugh, her tone airy. “Just finished chatting with Professor. She’s always so generous with her time.”

Her eyes glittered—bright, sharp. Performed. Agatha’s grip tightened around the bag. The warm focaccia inside had begun to cool.

“Uh-huh.”

She didn’t step aside. Didn’t look away. And Maya didn’t linger. She breezed past with a nod, perfume trailing behind her—overly sweet, synthetic florals clinging to the stale academic air like a foreign presence. Wrong, Agatha thought. It smells wrong.

Only when Maya’s heels faded down the stairwell did Agatha begin to move again. Her breath was shallow. Her steps were careful. Your office door was open.

Inside, you stood at the far end of the room, sleeves pushed up, glasses slipping down your nose, surrounded by paper stacks and soft lamp light. You looked like yourself. Grounded. Focused. Beautiful.

And for one aching second, Agatha wanted to leave. Not because she didn’t believe you. But because she didn’t believe herself. Not fully. Not yet. Not when the shadow of something she'd once survived had found a new shape in her mind again.

You looked up and your entire face changed.

“Hey!” you beamed, already moving toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um...” Agatha held up the tray with a shy, uncertain smile. “I brought you lunch. I saw the special and thought—”

She didn’t get the rest out. You were already across the room, stepping around a precarious tower of graded essays. You took the tray from her hands with a grateful sigh and set it on your desk. “You’re the best. I’ve been living off dry cereal and office candy for two days. You might’ve saved my life.”

Agatha laughed, but it cracked on the tail end. Barely audible. But you heard it.

You turned to her, head tilted. “Hey,” you said softly, reaching for her hand, guiding her fingers to your sleeve. “You okay?”

She hesitated, then let her fingers slip against the fabric. You were warm. Solid. Real.

“I’ve been…” Her voice thinned. “Weird. I know. I’ve been trying not to fall into old patterns, but—”

You frowned. “Agatha—”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t want to be that person again. The one who assumes the worst. Who sees ghosts in corners and shadows where there aren’t any.”

You stepped closer, cupping her face with both hands. Your thumbs brushed the softest curve of her cheekbones.

“You’re not her,” you whispered. “You’ve grown past that. You chose to.”

Agatha’s eyes shimmered. “I’m still learning how to trust what’s mine. That I don’t have to protect myself from the good things.”

“I know,” you said. And then, gently, “I love you for trying.”

You leaned in and kissed her—slow, certain, soft. A promise in a breath. She melted into it. And for a moment, everything held.

But later—when Agatha excused herself to the bathroom and stepped into the hallway, heart a little steadier, soup left half-eaten on your desk—she passed the bench outside your office. The one from the photo. The one from the email.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look directly at it. But she slowed. And the scent hit her again. That same cloying, artificial perfume. It clung to the air like a warning. Like a thread she hadn’t pulled on yet.

------

Agatha told herself she was done looking.

She told herself the worst was over—that she’d chosen to trust you, that the lunch visit had grounded her again. She’d kissed your cheek. She’d stayed the whole afternoon. She’d even laughed.

But later that night—well after you’d fallen asleep, your body curled toward her beneath the quilt, a hand resting instinctively over your belly—her phone buzzed again.

1:13 a.m.

Another unknown number. Another email address that meant nothing. Another photo.

This time, it was nothing damning. Nothing intimate. Just you and Maya passing in the hallway. Maya smiling. You laughing at something, a coffee cup in your hand.

But the angle was the same. The framing. The intent. A beat later, another came through.

A different angle. This time inside the building—taken through the narrow glass window of your office door. You were seated at your desk. Maya was standing above you, too close, holding something out of frame. You looked distracted. Tired.

Underneath it, the caption:

“How long has this really been going on?”

Agatha’s heart pounded, hot and sick in her chest. She clicked away. Tossed the phone onto the nightstand like it might burn her. But the buzz came again.

1:29 a.m.

“You deserve someone who tells you the truth.”

2:04 a.m.

“Open your eyes.”

She stopped reading them. Stopped opening the photos. But she didn’t delete them. And the next day—Friday—was worse.

They came in every hour. Some from blocked numbers. Some from emails strung together in nonsense letters and numbers. Each one just different enough to seem real. Each one feeding the same slow, venomous narrative.

She tried to stay busy. She taught her class. Held a department meeting. Even brought you a decaf latte halfway through the day, holding your hand a little too tightly when you thanked her.

You noticed. Asked if she was okay. She said she was just tired. She smiled. She kissed your cheek in front of your T.A. like nothing was wrong.

But by the time the sun set, Agatha felt like she was made of glass—brittle and thin and dangerously close to shattering. And still the messages came. Still the images. Still that voice in her head whispering: what if you’re wrong?

------

It was just a voicemail.

That was all.

Agatha had only left the department twenty minutes earlier, her leather satchel slung over one shoulder, a glass container of pasta tucked neatly under her arm—the leftovers from last night’s dinner you hadn’t had time to eat. She was planning to drop it off, maybe steal a kiss, maybe convince you to pack up early and go home. She knew how grading week swallowed you whole. How you forgot meals and hours and sometimes your own name if a citation wasn’t formatted right.

She knew the look you got—brows drawn tight, glasses slipping down your nose, a red pen clenched like a scalpel. It worried her. The kind of tired you carried was never theatrical. It was quiet. Noble. Dangerous.

So she’d called you.

Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft Hey, I’m coming by. I’ve got that stupid pasta you like. The one you claim tastes better when I make it—even though it’s just garlic, butter, and lies.

You didn’t answer.

Not unusual. Your phone had a talent for burying itself under student folders and library receipts and those tiny post-its you used like breadcrumbs through your chaos. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was—

Laughter. Yours. She heard it before she saw you.

The hallway curved gently, your office sitting at the far end with the door half-open, just wide enough to spill out sound and light. The kind of light that made everything inside seem warm. Familiar.

Safe. Agatha slowed. There you were.

Back turned slightly, perched behind your desk with a paper cup in one hand and a soft smile blooming across your face. And across from you—

Maya.

Standing comfortably close.

She was holding something—thin, rectangular—one of those draft exhibit panels you always helped students with, maybe. Her fingers trailed across the printed text as she tilted it toward you, asking something Agatha couldn’t hear.

You answered. Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. Encouraging. The way it always was when someone came to you unsure of their own work. It wasn’t flirtation. Not technically.

But then you laughed again—quick and bright and familiar. Agatha’s stomach twisted like it had been tied wrong. She stopped walking.

She wasn’t hiding. Not really. She didn’t duck behind a corner or backtrack toward the stairwell. But she didn’t keep going either. She just stood there, the pasta container cooling in the crook of her arm, watching your smile break open like sunlight and wondering—absurdly, painfully—when was the last time I made you laugh like that?

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She reached for it. One notification. A voicemail.

To: You Sent: 15 minutes ago

She blinked down at the screen, thumb hovering. You hadn’t even listened to it. Agatha’s breath caught low in her chest, a slow burn threading into her ribs. It was nothing. It was everything. A moment, a shadow, a memory she couldn’t quite claw away from.

For a second she just stood there, listening to the soft hum of your voice as it filtered into the hallway. The way you said Maya’s name. The quiet affection that seemed to thread through your tone like silk.

And then she turned. She didn’t speak. Didn’t step forward. Didn’t knock. She walked away. The pasta was still warm when she got back to the car. But she wasn’t.

------

You noticed it just before you left campus.

A low, rolling tension curled through your lower belly—dull at first, more pressure than pain. You paused at the edge of the quad, one hand coming to rest just above your hip, your other gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

You told yourself it was nothing. Braxton-Hicks, maybe. Jen had warned you about them. “Practice surges,” she’d said. “Common this late. Annoying, but harmless.” Still, something in your body felt different. Not sharper, exactly—just... aware. Like the air inside your skin had shifted. Like your muscles had started listening to a frequency you hadn’t meant to tune into.

You breathed through it, slow and steady, and pressed your free hand against your belly. The baby gave a soft nudge, as if responding. Not distressed. Just... present. Still here. Still with you.

By the time you reached the car, the tightness had eased. Mostly. But your body didn’t forget. It carried the memory of that tension like a held breath, like a word not yet spoken. And as you turned onto your street, you thought—not for the first time that week—We’re getting close.

------

The house was quiet when you got home. Too quiet.

No music playing. No clatter from the kitchen. Just the low hum of the fridge and the steady thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

You paused in the doorway, keys still clutched in your hand. “Hey,” you called softly. “Soup delivery?”

No answer.

You kicked your shoes off slowly, the weight of the day still dragging behind your eyes. Your shoulders ached. Your head buzzed. You just wanted to sit down. Eat. Maybe curl into Agatha’s arms and forget the last six hours of student panic and policy meetings.

You found her in the kitchen.

She hadn’t cooked. Just stood at the table, one hand braced against the back of a chair, her phone face-down beside her. Her back to you.

You tried to lighten the air. “Sorry I missed your call. I had a student stop by and I—”

“Which one?” she asked.

Her voice wasn’t loud.

But it cut like broken glass.

You blinked. “What?”

She turned slowly.

Her face was pale. Not in anger, but in something worse—grief, maybe. Shock. Like part of her had known this was coming and still hoped she was wrong. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest. Eyes rimmed red.

“Maya,” she said. “Right?”

You sighed—too long. Shoulders sagging. You rubbed at your temple. “Oh, we’re on this again?”

Her mouth parted just slightly.

You kept going, not even realizing how deep the hole was getting. “It’s been a long day, Agatha. Seriously, I was going to tell you. She just stopped by—she’s having a meltdown over her thesis and—”

She flinched like you’d shouted, even though your tone wasn’t raised.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. Her hand lifted slightly, like she needed to physically block the sound of your voice. “I can’t believe this.”

You held up your hands. “Agatha. Babe. Relax. It’s not what you think. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

And then you saw it—really saw her. Everything Agatha had been holding in. All of it. Her sleepless nights. Her guilt for doubting. Her shame for even entertaining the idea that you—you—could betray her. But also the fear. The creeping, unrelenting fear that maybe… maybe something had changed without her realizing it.

Her eyes were rimmed red, her mouth trembling even as she tried to hold it steady. She looked like she was about to break—and worse, like she was ready to let herself.

You stepped back slightly, blinking, your hand instinctively hovering over the curve of your belly like it could protect something sacred.

“What is happening right now?” you asked, voice cracking. “Let’s just—let’s back up.”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she pulled her phone from the counter and tossed it onto the table between you. The screen lit up—dozens of unread messages. No names. Just previews. Just timestamps. Just photos.

“Every single day,” she said. “Someone’s been sending me pictures. Emails. Texts. All anonymous. Photos of you.”

Your throat went dry.

She swallowed like it hurt. “Of you. With her. Maya. Laughing. Smiling. Sitting too close. Standing too close. In your office. Outside the department. Every hour. I’ve been spammed, I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I keep trying to trust you and I keep getting punished for it.”

You shook your head slowly, hands raised in disbelief. “Agatha, no one is punishing you. This isn’t what you think. I didn’t do anything wrong. You know me. You know better.”

She reeled back like you’d slapped her.

“Don’t you dare say that to me,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m being irrational.”

“I’m not—I’m just—” you exhaled hard, struggling not to shout. “You’re yelling at your pregnant wife. I’m carrying your child, I’ve been on my feet all day, trying to hold it together, and now I come home and get accused of… what, having an affair with a student? That’s not irrational? You don’t think this is too much?”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy,” she spat. “You’ve been hiding her from me—”

“I haven’t hidden anything!” you snapped.

“You didn’t tell me! You knew she was hanging around you like some lovesick ghost, and you never told me how often she was showing up. How close she was getting. You let it slide.”

“I didn’t think it mattered!” you cried. “Because I wasn’t doing anything!”

“And that’s the problem!” Her voice rose to a sharp, furious pitch. “You didn’t think it mattered. You didn’t think I needed to know. You just let it happen and acted like it was nothing. And now I’m the one losing my mind over it.”

“I have been honest with you,” you said, chest heaving. “I am being honest.”

“You’re not,” she growled. “If you were, I wouldn’t be finding this out like this.”

You stared at her for a long moment—hurt and angry and cracking at the seams.

“Wait…” your voice dropped, bitter and stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me about the photos when they started? Is this what’s been going on the past week? Agatha, you didn’t trust your wife—your very pregnant wife—to not fuck some… what, random student?”

She froze. And in that silence, something changed.

You could see it in her eyes—how a thousand things collided there all at once: shock, shame, fury, and something far more dangerous than either.

Disbelief.

“I wanted to trust you,” she said finally, voice hollow. “God, I wanted to. I tried. But every time I reached for you, I felt like you were slipping away. Like there was something you didn’t want me to see.”

You blinked, jaw clenched. “Because I was trying to hold everything together. Because I didn’t want to fall apart in front of you.”

Her breath hitched, furious. “And what, that gave you an excuse to hide things from me?”

“There was nothing to hide!” you snapped. “You’re acting like I’ve been sneaking around behind your back when all I’ve done is work and come home and try not to collapse from exhaustion!”

“Then why does she keep showing up in my inbox?” she shouted. “Why do I get photos of you with her looking like you’re sharing some secret—like she knows something I don’t?”

You felt it then. The pain again. Low. Sharp. Deep in your lower belly.

You winced—one hand bracing against the edge of the counter. It was quick. Too quick for her to name it for what it was. But she saw it. The flicker of pain across your face. The way your breath caught.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softer, suddenly closer.

“I’m fine,” you bit out, eyes hard. “Not that you care right now.”

She reeled back. “Oh, that’s rich. I’ve been losing sleep over this for days, watching these messages roll in and wondering if I’m going insane, trying not to ask, trying not to accuse you of something I desperately hoped wasn’t true—and now I’m the one who doesn’t care?”

“I’m nine months pregnant, Agatha!” you shouted. “I’m exhausted and hormonal and in pain, and all I’ve done is try to keep my head above water while you spiral over something I didn’t even know was happening!”

She was quiet. Just long enough for the anger to twist into something colder.

“I need to think,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can’t be in this house right now. I need air. I need space.”

You stared at her like she’d hit you.

“Agatha,” you whispered, voice rough with disbelief. “But if you walk out that door—if you leave your wife and child because you couldn’t come to me with this sooner, because you didn’t stop to remember who I am to you—then don’t you dare walk back in like it didn’t matter.”

Agatha stood there for a moment, completely still.

Then she nodded—once. Sharp. Like she was trying to save face even as her hands trembled. She turned, walked to the door, and opened it.

The hallway beyond was quiet. Dim. The kind of silence that felt like winter pressing in.

And then, without a word—

She stepped out.

Closed the door behind her.

Not a slam. Just a click.

But it echoed like the end of something sacred. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The weight of her absence settled instantly. A hollow space in the middle of your chest. And somewhere beneath your ribs, deep and deliberate— Another wave of pain bloomed.

------

You didn’t sleep.

Not really.

You moved to Agatha’s side of the bed sometime after midnight, dragging her cardigan with you like a lifeline. The fabric was worn soft with time, faintly scented with lavender, cedar, and the kind of clean musk that always clung to her skin long after she left the room. It smelled like her neck at the end of the day. Like the hollow between her shoulder blades where you used to press your lips when she was too tired to speak.

Now, the scent filled your lungs like a bruise.

The sheets were cold at first, but you curled into them anyway. Into her pillow, still faintly indented from where her head had rested the night before. You pressed your cheek to it like maybe if you held still enough, breathed deep enough, she might come back.

The house was too quiet. Not peaceful. Not gentle. Just still.

That unnatural kind of stillness that follows an argument—sharp-edged and waiting to be shattered. The air felt heavier without her in it. The floorboards creaked beneath nothing. The wind outside didn’t rattle the windows, didn’t whisper through the trees. It just... waited, like you did.

Your phone lit up every few minutes on the nightstand. And each time, your heart jumped before your eyes confirmed what you already knew.

No missed calls. No texts. Just a calendar notification. A weather alert. A silence so complete it felt like a decision.

You pulled your knees up, curling around your belly like you could shield her—your daughter—from this grief, from this growing ache that had nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the space Agatha left behind.

------

The pain came again at 2:13 a.m.

Not lightning-sharp. Not the panic-worthy kind of pain. Just pressure. Heavy and low, like something behind your hips was being pulled forward in slow, deliberate pulses. It dragged beneath your belly like a tide curling into the shore.

You gasped softly, hand instinctively cradling your bump. Braxton Hicks, you whispered to yourself. You’d read about them. Felt them before. Practice contractions. Harmless.

You waited for it to fade. It did. Eventually. But when the next one came—thirty minutes later—it lingered longer. Wrapped itself around your lower back like a vise and then eased away just slow enough to leave you shivering.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just shifted again, hand pressed firm to your stomach, as if you could steady something deeper than the physical pain. As if your daughter could feel your apology. I’m okay, you thought. We’re okay. She’ll come back. This is just a nightmare. It’s temporary. It has to be.

But the next wave was sharper. Not enough to make you scream. Just enough to steal your breath. You held it in. Held everything in. You didn’t want to make this about you. Not again. Not when she had walked out already believing that somehow, you were the one who couldn’t be trusted. That your honesty wasn’t enough. That your love hadn’t been enough to keep her from believing a lie.

You stayed in bed.

One hand protectively curved around your belly, thumb stroking the stretched fabric of the nightshirt that barely fit you now. The other hand clutched your phone—white-knuckled, silent.

The screen stayed dark. No messages. No typing bubbles. Not even an ellipsis. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through the next wave of tightness. Not painful, just… ominous. Like your body was rehearsing for something you weren’t ready for. Like your heart had pulled the curtain back on something too early.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. But you must have, eventually. Just long enough for your mind to trick you. You dreamed of her shadow falling across the threshold—quiet, careful, like she didn’t want to wake you.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing your hair back with reverence, voice cracking as she whispered, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. Come back to me.

And just when you reached out to touch her— You woke. Your hand met empty sheets. Her side of the bed was still cold. And the pain was still there.

------

The light coming through the curtains was thin and gray—more of a suggestion than a sunrise. A sky that hadn’t decided what kind of day it was going to be. You hadn’t moved much.

Your limbs were heavy, your spine sore from how long you'd been curled on one side. The tightness under your belly was back—low and insistent. Not sharp, but... deeper. A stretch pulled tight from within.

You closed your eyes. Counted. One, two, three, four... ten. It faded. Slowly. You exhaled shakily and dragged your phone toward you, your thumb clumsy against the screen. The calendar blinked up at you.

9:02 a.m. HIST 604 - Lecture: Public Memory & Monument Crisis

You stared at the notification.

Then at your unread messages—still none from Agatha.

Still nothing from the woman who had sworn she'd never walk away from you again. You sat up slowly, one hand braced against the mattress. Your joints protested. Your belly tensed again, harder this time, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stay quiet.

When it passed, you pulled open your email, typed out a cancellation in two lines: Class canceled today due to family emergency. Please review last week’s slides and prep your monument comparison paragraphs for Monday.

You clicked send before you could reread it. Before your guilt could edit it into something more professional, more honest, more devastated. You hauled yourself upright, dragging your aching body toward the kitchen. Tea. Toast. Something bland. Something quiet. Something that could pretend to fill the hole in your chest.

The contractions were still far apart. Nothing consistent. Nothing you couldn’t breathe through.

But they were real now. And the silence was, too.

------

The email came at 11:04 a.m.

Subject: Following up again!

From: Maya Larkin.

You stood in the kitchen, hunched over the counter with a slice of toast in one hand, the knife still resting in the butter dish like you’d forgotten what to do with it. The toast was cold. Barely toasted. More obligation than meal.

Your thumb hovered above your phone, and when the preview lit up on screen—Maya Larkin in crisp, mocking letters—it felt like someone had dumped ice water down your spine.

Your jaw locked. Eyes stung. You didn’t open it. Didn’t need to.

You could already hear her voice in your head—over-sweet and paper-thin, saccharine in that way that tried to pass as sincerity. You could picture every word.

I really valued our last conversation. Would love to hear more about your research. You’re such a source of inspiration.

Like she hadn’t left a trail of ruin behind her.

Like she hadn’t been waiting for the exact moment your life started to split open. She hadn’t even waited twenty-four hours. You stared at the glowing screen, heart pounding in your ears. You could feel your pulse in your throat, hot and uneven.

It was almost impressive, the audacity. Your hand trembled slightly as you tapped the checkbox beside her name. Delete. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

The moment the message vanished, a sharper pain bloomed low in your belly—cutting and sudden. A tight band of pressure that wrapped from your back to your abdomen like something had been cinched too tight inside your own body.

“Ah—shit,” you breathed, gripping the counter’s edge.

Your knees bent slightly, your center of gravity shifting as you rode it out. The contraction rolled through you like a slow wave, strong enough to punch the air from your lungs but not quite enough to drown you.

You stayed there—eyes closed, teeth grit, one hand gripping the countertop, the other pressed firm against the top of your belly.

The baby responded with a soft, steady kick. Then another. Like she was nudging you. Still here. Still with you. When the pain finally ebbed, you exhaled hard through your nose and laughed—dry, breathless, bitter.

“For the love of God,” you groaned aloud, voice hoarse, cracking around the edges, “can you and your mother not have the fucking worst timing in all existence, sweetie?”

You braced one hand against the countertop, the other moving slowly over the hard swell of your belly, fingers splayed wide. The motion was rhythmic, instinctive—an attempt to soothe what couldn’t be soothed. To quiet the storm gathering beneath your skin, even as another one began to roll in just outside the walls of your home.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and long, like a warning echoing from across the ridge. You paused, lips parting.

Then—flash.

A burst of lightning lit up the windows. Just for a second. But enough to cast sharp shadows across the floor, to make the room feel momentarily stranger than it had before.

The baby shifted beneath your hand—slower this time. Pressing outward with a steady, deliberate roll. As if responding not just to your voice, but to the change in the air. As if reminding you she was here. With you. Still yours.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. “I know, baby. We’re okay.”

But the words tasted like dust in your mouth. Because you weren’t sure it was true anymore.

The wind howled outside, brushing along the windows like a breath against glass. Another flicker of lightning chased itself through the trees. The air in the room felt tighter now, like it knew what was coming.

And still, the door hadn’t opened.

------

Alice hadn’t meant to dig.

Not really.

But something in Agatha’s face yesterday—too composed, too careful—had scratched at the part of her that didn’t like leaving threads hanging. And then today, when Agatha had handed off her lecture notes with a quiet thank you and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, Alice felt it again.

Something was wrong.

She waited until after office hours ended. The building had thinned out, echoing with the shuffle of closing laptops and the rustle of winter coats. Outside, the sky was turning the kind of purple that meant evening had arrived without permission. Alice poured herself a mug of tea from the communal pot, sat down at her desk, and opened her laptop.

She started with the basics.

Maya Larkin.

Archival theory graduate track. High GPA. Strong recommendations. And overly, suspiciously involved for someone technically in their second year. Her name came up in faculty minutes for multiple committees. There was a line in last semester’s teaching assistant roster—assigned to one of the introductory cultural memory seminars. And—odd—there was her name again, listed as unofficially observing two classes she wasn’t enrolled in. One of them, Alice noticed, was yours.

That was the first flag.

The second came when she dug into the departmental project logs. You’d listed Maya as a research assistant for your exhibit work. But her time sheets were inconsistent. Too many hours logged for too few materials submitted. And when Alice opened the shared drive, a handful of the file names made her stomach shift.

draft_1_CURATED_final_Fig7_ML PersonalNotes_ArchivalBias ObscuringNarrative.pdf

That one stopped her.

She clicked it open.

The document wasn’t long. Just two pages, single spaced. But it was... pointed. Not academic. Not entirely. It read like something between a manifesto and a personal reckoning. The tone was clinical, but the language leaned emotional. It was about ethics. About relationships. About blurred boundaries in mentorship—and the price of being "silenced by those in power." A line near the bottom was underlined:

History is shaped by who gets to hold the pen—and who gets to pretend their version wasn’t written with someone else’s blood.

Alice sat back. Her tea had gone cold.

Her gut clenched in the same way it had when she read through student complaint reports. Not the obvious ones. The quiet ones. The ones that came through too late, or never made it past the draft folder.

She was just beginning to take a screenshot when her email pinged.

Subject: FW: Maya Larkin / Department Concerns

It wasn’t addressed to her directly. It had come through the general admin inbox, flagged and forwarded by the assistant dean. She opened it on instinct.

The message thread was messy, half-redacted in places—but the last entry was clear. A message sent to the dean’s office through the student conduct reporting system. The complaint was vague, unsigned. But it was about you.

And attached—tucked at the bottom like a time bomb—was the file name she recognized immediately:

MayaLarkin_Confidential.pdf

Alice clicked it.

And froze.

The top of the page included a photo.

Not damning. But calculated.

You. In your office. Smiling. Hands clasped on your desk like you’d been mid-conversation.

Underneath, typed in bold:

“This isn’t the first time. She does this. She hides it well. Ask around.”

Alice sat there, blinking at the screen, the quiet hum of the building pressing in around her.

She didn’t know that miles away, in a quiet kitchen, Agatha was already fighting not just suspicion but history.

Didn’t know that you’d just dropped your bag, already feeling the pressure in your belly growing tighter, deeper.

All she knew was that she had the beginning of something very wrong.

And she had to decide—right now—what to do with it.

Alice hadn’t expected to find much.

When she first started digging—cross-referencing Maya’s class history, department activity, advising notes—it had felt almost procedural. Academic. Agatha hadn’t asked her to. But the worry had been visible in her posture all week, coiled beneath her clipped sentences and long silences. Something had shifted in the way she moved, the way she watched the halls. Something had changed.

And Alice… well. Alice had spent enough time around professors to know when quiet turned dangerous.

So she kept going.

A few emails. Public ones. A seminar scheduling thread Maya had been CC’d on. A forwarded student project list. Then one strange file in the shared server. Titled like a joke: “Sandwiches & Strategy.” Tucked inside a subfolder of Maya’s exhibit drafts.

She opened it, half-expecting some bizarre mock-up of label formatting.

Instead, it was text.

An email chain.

Not one meant for her. Not one meant for anyone, really.

Her blood chilled.

She scrolled.

I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. Maybe I should up the frequency again? She’s probably too distracted—being that pregnant and all.

Alice froze.

Don’t worry. I’ll keep playing it sweet. Professors love a good praise sandwich, right? ;)

She’s not going to stay with Harkness once this all sinks in. She’s too smart for that. I’ve read her work. She wants someone who understands her. Who sees her. She’ll come around.

The cursor blinked at the bottom of the page like it was daring her to breathe.

Alice sat back in her chair. Her throat felt tight. Her hands had gone cold.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding. It wasn’t unrequited infatuation, or professional overstepping, or even obsessive admiration.

It was manipulation.

Planned. Practiced.

Targeted.

She moved quickly after that.

Pulled the metadata. The email header. The sending address: maya.larkin@campus.university.edu. No spoof. No alias. Real.

And at the bottom of the file, as if Maya had been too smug to resist leaving one last fingerprint, was a draft auto-saved from her personal folder. Dated two days ago.

Subject line: “Timing the Follow-Up—Any Movement Yet?”

Alice’s heart pounded.

She stood. Pushed away from her desk. The room felt suddenly too warm, the air too thin.

She didn’t know the full story—didn’t want to. But she knew enough. Enough to recognize the danger. Enough to know how cruel timing could be.

And enough to know that Agatha needed to see this now.

She opened her phone and thumbed out a message fast as her fingers would let her:

Then she attached the file.

No explanation. No delay.

She pressed send.

And somewhere—across town, or across the next breath—Alice imagined Agatha’s world tilting sideways.

She just hoped she’d gotten to her in time.

------

Agatha hadn’t gone far.

She’d told herself she would. Told herself she needed air, space, time to clear the fog that had been choking her for days. But all she’d done was circle the same blocks—campus, downtown, the park, campus again—her hands clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that her knuckles had gone bloodless.

The silence in the car was deafening.

Not peaceful. Not grounding.

Just punishing.

Every red light felt like it was glaring at her. Every green one felt like it was daring her to run. She turned the radio on at one point, desperate for something to fill the space. But the third love song that came on—a hushed duet about forgiveness—made her stomach lurch. She shut it off and let the stillness swallow her again.

Her phone buzzed at least ten times.

She checked it every time.

None of the notifications were from you.

She couldn’t decide if that made it better... or worse.

By noon, she had retreated to the faculty lounge—dim, windowless, too quiet. The air smelled faintly of burned coffee grounds and overripe bananas left behind in the communal bowl. Her mug of tea sat cooling on the table in front of her, untouched.

She hadn’t even noticed she was crying until a drop hit the back of her hand.

She wiped it away roughly.

Then stared at her phone.

Again.

Your last words played on repeat in her chest, carved into her like a blade pressed just shy of the heart.

“If you walk out that door… then don’t come back until you really know what you want.”

She thought she was protecting herself.

No—that was a lie. She’d been protecting a scar. One that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the people who came before you. The ones who had twisted the truth until it didn’t even resemble love anymore. And she'd looked at you—her wife, the mother of her child—and for one terrible second, she’d seen them instead.

And she had left.

She’d left you.

And then her phone buzzed again.

Alice (TA): Thought you should see this. You’ve been worried for days and I had a gut feeling. Sorry if I overstepped. But it’s her. It’s Maya.

Agatha blinked.

Sat up straighter.

Another buzz.

An email forward. No subject. Just the thread.

She tapped it open.

And everything stopped.

From: maya.larkin@campus.university.edu Subject: Timing the Follow-Up—Any Movement Yet?

I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. Maybe I should up the frequency again?

She’s probably too distracted—being that pregnant and all.

But don’t worry. I’ll keep playing it sweet. Professors love a good praise sandwich, right? ;)

She’s not going to stay with Harkness once this all sinks in. She’s too smart for that. I’ve read her work. She wants someone who understands her. Who sees her. She’ll come around.

Agatha went completely still.

Her body turned to stone. Her mind, smoke.

The air left her lungs in one long, broken breath—like she’d been struck across the chest.

The mug beside her rattled as her hand trembled.

She read it again.

And again.

And again.

It wasn’t you.

It was never you.

It was her. It had always been her.

The photos. The angles. The captions. The carefully worded doubts. The pattern. The persistence. The manipulation.

All of it—orchestrated.

And Agatha had believed it. She’d let herself be pulled into it. She’d let that doubt grow into something that poisoned the space between you. She’d thrown you to the wolves of her own unresolved past.

She had walked out.

And you had begged her not to.

Agatha stood so quickly she nearly knocked the table back, her chair screeching loudly against the tile floor. The untouched tea sloshed across the rim of the mug, staining a napkin she hadn’t meant to grab.

None of it mattered.

Her fingers fumbled for your contact, hands shaking so violently she could barely tap the screen. Her heart was hammering hard enough that her vision blurred.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Three times. Voicemail.

She didn’t leave a message.

Just hung up and hit redial.

“Come on,” she whispered, pacing in tight, frantic circles. “Come on, baby. Please pick up. Please. Please—”

Nothing.

Again.

------

She didn’t remember most of the drive.

Only the white blur of her knuckles on the steering wheel. The way her fingers cramped around it, too tight, like letting go for even a second might undo her. The wind howled through the crack in the driver’s side window—one she hadn’t meant to leave open, but hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Now, it screamed across her cheek like something alive.

Her breath echoed inside the car—ragged, uneven, frantic. It sounded louder than the engine. Louder than reason.

And still, the phone sat useless in the passenger seat, vibrating occasionally with texts from friends, from numbers she didn’t check.

Not from you.

The sky had begun to turn somewhere around the edge of campus.

What had been a still, gray morning had thickened into something darker. Angrier.

Clouds rolled in low and fast, the kind that made your skin prickle before the storm ever touched the ground. Early spring wasn’t supposed to look like this. The petals from the dogwoods had started flying sideways, caught in sudden gusts of wind that bent the trees like dancers in grief.

It didn’t rain yet. But the air threatened it—humid and thick, full of the kind of pressure that made your ears pop.

A low growl of thunder rolled out across the horizon. Distant, but moving closer.

Then—flash.

Lightning cracked across the sky like a spine splitting open, bright enough to make her flinch.

She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the wheel until her fingers ached.

Almost there. Just hold on.

A road sign whipped past, and she realized she’d blown through a stop sign without seeing it. She didn’t care.

She didn’t slow down.

The wind pushed hard against the side of the car as if the world itself was trying to stop her from getting home. Like it knew how badly she had fucked up, and was asking her—are you sure you deserve to be forgiven?

She pressed harder on the gas.

Because it didn’t matter.

What mattered was getting to you.

The trees bent violently now, their shadows whipping across the road like limbs reaching for something they couldn’t touch.

Another roll of thunder.

And then—finally—the house came into view.

The porch light was still on, faint in the gray. The door shut tight. No ambulance. No headlights. Just stillness.

Too still.

Agatha’s pulse spiked so hard she thought her vision might go black.

She turned into the driveway fast enough to send gravel scattering behind her tires, slammed the car into park, and flew out before the engine even finished shutting down.

Her door was still hanging open behind her when she burst across the threshold, yelling—

“Babe—!”

And the storm followed her in.

------

The door slammed open, the sound ricocheting through the quiet like a starting gun.

Agatha’s voice cracked as she crossed the threshold—and froze.

You were in the kitchen.

Your body hunched forward over the counter, one hand bracing against its edge, the other clutched around the island stool like an anchor. Your head hung low, hair matted to your temples with sweat. Your knees buckled, hips shifting with uneven weight as a low, guttural moan spilled from your mouth—wordless and raw.

You weren’t screaming.

The pain was deeper than that. It came from the center of you, low and primal, a sound Agatha felt in her bones.

You swayed, body trembling.

Your grip tightened on the counter until your knuckles turned white. Like if you let go, the earth might tilt out from beneath you.

Agatha’s heart stopped.

Her keys hit the floor. Her bag dropped after them with a dull thud she didn’t register.

“shit…”

She crossed the room in a blur, feet nearly skidding on the tile. Her chest heaved. Her hands were shaking.

But her instincts didn’t waver.

She stepped in behind you, one hand sliding to your hip, the other splayed across your lower back. She didn’t squeeze—just held, grounding you with her touch. Her front molded to your spine, steady and warm, her breath catching at the base of your neck.

You let her.

You leaned back into her like your body remembered something your heart hadn’t forgiven yet.

“I’m here,” Agatha whispered, her voice shredded but sure. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. Just breathe, baby. Just breathe through it.”

Your head dipped forward again, shoulders curling.

A sob caught halfway between breath and pain—rough, sudden, involuntary.

She felt it vibrate through you.

Still, you didn’t look at her.

Couldn’t. Not yet.

You were shaking. Sweating. Trembling from the inside out.

But then you spoke.

And your voice was a rasp—hoarse, broken, laced with pain and something far more dangerous: exhausted fury.

“She has your fucking timing,” you whispered.

Agatha stilled.

You gave a watery, near-hysterical laugh—more breath than sound, more grief than humor. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks, hot and fast, leaving tracks that shimmered in the kitchen light.

“She’s just like you,” you managed, the words broken by another wave of pressure tightening across your body. “No warning. No apology. Just decides to show up when she wants to... Just here.”

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, guilt blooming like wildfire beneath her ribs.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her lips trembling as she pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

She kissed you again, slower this time, as you rocked through the final seconds of the contraction. Her hand rubbed slow circles into the curve of your hip, the other gently holding your belly from underneath—supportive, reverent, desperate to feel the life she’d walked away from just hours ago.

You sagged into her as the pain eased, panting, your forehead resting against your arm.

She stayed behind you, holding you steady.

And in that moment, for the first time in hours, you didn’t pull away.

The contraction faded like a tide slowly pulling back into the sea, leaving behind wreckage—breathless, aching, soaked in sweat and sorrow.

Your legs trembled beneath you, not quite able to hold your weight. You could feel your pulse in your fingertips, erratic and desperate, and your breath hitched on the edge of a sob you barely managed to swallow.

You still hadn’t looked at her.

Not really.

She was behind you, her hands still firm on your hips, steady as stone, her presence quiet but unrelenting. She wasn’t moving. Wasn’t letting go.

Like she knew—if she stepped away again, it would break something neither of you would be able to fix.

And finally... finally, you turned your head.

Slowly. As if the act itself might tear you open further.

Your gaze met hers.

And what you saw there nearly broke you all over again.

Agatha was crying—but not in the way you expected. There were no sobs. No shaking shoulders. Just a rawness in her expression, an openness that looked too big for her face. Her lashes were heavy with unshed tears, and her lips were parted like she’d been holding in too many apologies and didn’t know which one to offer first.

She wasn’t pleading.

She wasn’t defending.

She was bleeding.

Your hand lifted—trembling, unsteady—and reached for her.

You brushed your fingers along her cheek, and she leaned into it instantly. Like it was the only air she’d been allowed to breathe in hours. Her lips found your palm, kissed it softly. Reverently. Like she was memorizing the shape of you in case you disappeared again.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” Agatha whispered, her voice low and cracking, like each word had to claw its way through all the things she should’ve said sooner. “But I need you to hear me.”

You were still trembling from the last contraction, legs unsteady beneath you, your weight shifting from foot to foot. The cool edge of the granite counter pressed into your back as your hand gripped it tight—not for balance, but to anchor yourself to something solid. Something that wouldn’t let go.

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts. The space between them was narrowing.

“Maya did this,” Agatha said, stepping closer, slow, careful—like you were a cliff’s edge she didn’t want to push. “All of it. The photos. The emails. She made them look real.” Her eyes searched yours, pleading—not for forgiveness but understanding.

“She wanted to make you look like the one who broke us,” she said. “She wanted me to fall apart so she could swoop in and pick through the pieces.”

Her voice caught. She swallowed. “Alice found the proof—her last message was sent from her campus email. Not even a fake account. She was arrogant enough to leave a trail. I have it. I saw it. I should have known. I should’ve trusted you. I didn’t—and I left.”

The air inside the kitchen felt dense, thickening with every word.  Your breath hitched. The truth hit harder.

Outside, thunder cracked—loud and sudden. The kind that didn’t roll in slowly but arrived sharp and demanding. The windows trembled slightly in their frames. A moment later, rain began to hammer the roof with a rhythm that sounded more like urgency than comfort—fast and wild, like it had been holding back until now. Slamming against the walls like an afterthought as if the clouds had finally decided they’d held it in long enough.

You should’ve said something. Maybe you were about to.. You inhaled sharply. But it wasn’t from the storm. It was your body—tensing again. You knew this feeling now. The pressure didn’t creep in this time—it claimed you.

It started slow—a whisper of pressure, like the tightening of a string behind your ribs. Then the grip of it began to build, heavier, deeper, rolling up your spine and anchoring in your belly like a warning bell that rang inside your bones. Your grip on the counter tightened. You shifted your stance, knees bending slightly. Your breath hitched—sharp and involuntary. Agatha’s eyes caught the change in an instant, posture shifting. Her voice softened, but it didn’t falter.

“Another one?” she asked, stepping forward, already steadying your waist with both hands.

You didn’t speak. You gave a small nod, gripping her sleeve, tugging—not to push her away, but to pull her closer. You didn’t want space. Not now.

“Okay. I’ve got you,” she said gently.

Agatha didn’t hesitate, sliding into place as if your bodies were two puzzle pieces that had never fit better than now her eyes locked to yours. Her arms found your waist, one hand pressing firmly to your lower back, the other at your side. Her presence was immediate—warm, grounding, yours.

The pain slammed into you with a force that knocked the air straight out of your lungs.

Your forehead dropped against her collarbone, your fists bunching the front of her shirt as your entire body clenched around the contraction. A low, guttural sound slipped from your throat—somewhere between a cry and a growl. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t poetic. It was real and sharp, and it echoed off the kitchen walls like thunder of your own. You gasped, folding into her, your fingers fisting the fabric over her ribs like it might keep you tethered to something.

Agatha didn’t flinch. Her breath came slow and deep beside your ear, mirroring yours. “In through your nose,” she whispered. “That’s it. Breathe through it. You’re doing so good.”

You whimpered into her shoulder, legs wobbling again. She planted her feet wide, locked one arm firmly around your waist, the other rubbing slow, grounding circles across your lower back.

Agatha pressed her forehead gently to yours, her breath trembling against your skin. Her eyes were wide, glassy with guilt, and darting between your face and your belly like she couldn’t decide where to anchor herself. Her fingers tightened briefly at your waist, then loosened, stroking once in apology. Her knees bent slightly as if she were ready to drop with you, to bear the weight herself if she could. Her whole body trembled—not from fear, but from restraint, holding back the full collapse she so clearly wanted to fall into. “I—I know this isn’t the time,” she said, her voice barely more than a rasp, “but I need to say it anyway.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The pressure in your back was mounting again, tight and low, but you kept your focus on her, blinking through the blur of heat behind your eyes.

“The things I said… what I thought you were capable of—what I let myself believe—” Her breath hitched, chest rising unevenly against yours. “I didn’t just doubt you. I doubted us. And that—God, that’s not something I’ll ever forgive myself for.”

The pain answered before you could.

It started like a slow fuse, curling up your spine and settling beneath your ribs like something smoldering. You winced, jaw clenching hard enough that your teeth ached.

“Don’t,” you growled through gritted teeth. “Not now.”

“But I—”

Your grip on her shirt tightened like a vise. The tension in your abdomen snapped up like a wire being pulled taut. You could feel it—your body preparing, bracing.

“No,” you snapped, eyes squeezed shut as the wave crested. “Not while I’m in the middle of a fucking contraction with a superstorm outside, my body tearing itself open, and your daughter acting like she’s late to a goddamn press conference.”

Agatha froze, mouth half open.

“I need you here,” you said, voice trembling. “Right here. Not in your guilt. Not in your head. And definitely not thinking about some college bitch who doesn’t matter.”

For a breathless moment, the kitchen was still. Rain hammered the roof in thick, staccato bursts, seeping through the walls like a second heartbeat. The air smelled like petrichor and electricity, and somewhere nearby, a shutter thudded against the siding. The lights overhead flickered once. Even the wind outside seemed to pause, like the world itself was holding its breath with you.

And then Agatha let out a stunned, breathless laugh—wet and raw, like it had been caught behind her ribs too long.

She pressed her face into your shoulder, her arms winding around you like she could stitch herself back into place just by holding you tighter.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice cracking as she kissed your temple. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Your grip on her cinched tighter, nails digging into the soft cotton of her shirt.

You gritted your teeth, blinking hard through the pressure rising inside you. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes. “Agatha—” you gasped, voice shaking. “I swear to God, if your kid wasn’t trying to make a dramatic-ass early entrance, this conversation would not be ending this quickly.”

Agatha let out a second broken laugh, breathless and barely stitched together.

“Yeah,” she rasped, forehead still resting against yours. “She’s got my timing… and, apparently, my talent for catching you off guard.”

You groaned, your grip tightening at her waist again as the next wave started to rise.

“We’ll deal with the rest later,” you muttered, breath already hitching. “Right now? Your daughter is trying to race a goddamn storm.”

Agatha gave a soft, shaking laugh and kissed your temple again, lingering this time, like she needed the press of your skin to stay steady.

“Of course she’d choose now to make an entrance,” she murmured. “He’s ours.”

You moaned low into her collarbone as the contraction peaked, your body folding inward.

She rocked you gently, arms locked around your back, one hand stroking low circles at your spine, her voice low and close to your ear. “Could’ve picked a better time, kid,” she murmured toward your belly, smiling through the chaos. “But I get it—you’re mine.”

Outside, the storm pounded against the windows. Lightning lit up the room for a blink, casting long, jagged shadows across the tile. The lights above flickered once, then steadied. Your skin prickled. Everything felt too loud. The house groaned softly, as though it too was bracing.

You sagged against her when the contraction finally passed. Drenched. Trembling. Spent. Your shirt clung to your body with sweat, hair stuck to your forehead in damp curls. Your knees buckled, and Agatha caught you again, easing you gently onto the kitchen stool like you were made of something precious and breakable.

“I’ve got you,” she said again, softer now, like a prayer.

She knelt in front of you, her hands on your thighs, her forehead resting briefly against your knees as if she had to touch you in every way she could just to prove she was still here.

You reached for her hair with one shaky hand, threading your fingers gently into the dark strands, and tugged just enough to pull her gaze to yours.

“Three weeks,” you whispered your voice barely a breath. “She’s three weeks early, Agatha. What if—what if something’s wrong? What if he’s not ready? What if I’m not—” Your voice broke. “I didn’t think it would happen like this. I thought we had time.”

Agatha’s lips parted, the beginnings of an answer trembling on her tongue—but the next contraction swallowed it whole before either of you could speak.

You cried out as your body folded again, sharp pain lancing through your back and belly, your breath coming in stuttering gasps. You clung to her like a lifeline—fingers digging into her shoulders, knees buckling beneath you.

“Breathe through it, baby,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and steady right at your ear. “You’re doing so good. I’ve got you. Right here.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t panic.

Her hand slid down your spine, grounding you as she held your full weight against her chest. You could feel the tension under her skin, the thrum of her pulse where your faces brushed—but she kept her voice even, her movements measured.

When the wave passed, she helped you into the stool again, one arm still wrapped tightly around your back.

She glanced at the microwave clock.

And this time, you saw it—the flicker in her eyes. Brief. Controlled.

“Five minutes,” she said under her breath. Then a little softer, to you, “They’re coming fast.”

You nodded weakly, chest still heaving.

She didn’t waste time.

Agatha moved toward the door, snagging the keys from their hook and slipping her shoes on in practiced motion. “Okay. Let’s get you to the car.”

But as she opened the front door, wind slammed into it like a wave. The storm had turned violent. Rain came in sideways. And beyond the porch, halfway down the drive, a massive limb—oak, by the look of it—lay twisted across the road, blocking the way completely.

Agatha stepped forward, squinting into the storm.

You tried to stand, gripping the back of the stool.

“What is it?” you called, voice raw.

She turned back toward you, soaked now across the front of her shirt, and calmly closed the door behind her.

“There’s a tree down across the drive,” she said, brushing the water from her face. “We’re not making it out by car.”

Your stomach dropped.

But Agatha crossed the kitchen to you with purpose, calm carved into every line of her face.

Agatha crouched in front of you, wiping the sweat from your upper lip with the edge of her sleeve. “This isn’t what we planned,” she said gently, “but it’s still going to be okay. You are not alone in this.”

She laid both palms over your belly. Kissed it softly.

------

Agatha helped you settle against the stool again, her hand lingering at your back, her thumb sweeping slow, grounding circles just above your hip. You were still shaking—damp with sweat, hair clinging to your temples, your legs trembling from the weight of what your body was doing and what it still had left to do. Your lips parted like you wanted to speak, but no sound came. Just breath. Just fear.

Agatha leaned in close, her forehead brushing yours for half a second.

“I’m going to call Jen,” she murmured, voice calm but laced with something that vibrated beneath it. “I’ll be right here. Okay?”

You gave her the barest nod, your eyes fluttering closed as another ripple of pressure lingered in your spine.

Agatha turned and slipped into the hallway, just far enough for the edge of her control to splinter. She pulled her phone from her pocket with damp fingers, her thumb slipping slightly on the screen as she tapped Jen’s name.

The storm was louder here.

Rain pelted the windows in heavy bursts, wind howled against the eaves like it was trying to get in. A shutter somewhere upstairs banged once—twice—and the floor creaked beneath her feet as she braced herself against the wall. Her heart was hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times—

“Agatha?” Jen’s voice came through sharp and clear, cutting through the noise like a flare. “Is it time?”

Agatha’s knees bent slightly. Her back hit the wall.

Her voice cracked before she could catch it. “Yeah. Yes. She’s in labor—real labor. Her contractions are five minutes apart, maybe less. I was getting ready to take her to the hospital but—” she swallowed hard, “there’s a tree down across the drive. We’re boxed in. I can’t—there’s no way out.”

Jen didn’t miss a beat. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay,” she said, calm but unshakable. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“No,” Agatha whispered, voice thin, fraying at the edges. “She’s early, Jen. Three weeks early. We were supposed to have more time—another two, maybe three weeks to get everything together. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to give birth like this.”

There was a pause on the other end. Just a breath.

Then Jen’s voice came back, even and warm. “And yet here she is. And she’s not doing it alone.”

Agatha pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to collect herself, but her voice still cracked. “She’s scared. And I think—I think I am too.”

“I’ve got you,” Jen said gently, her tone steady as steel wrapped in wool. “And I’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”

Agatha blinked fast, pressing her palm harder against the wall as her knees trembled. “You really think—”

“Agatha,” Jen interrupted, not unkindly. “You’ve got this. She’s got this. You’ve both done the work. Your job right now is to stay grounded so she can fall apart and know she’s safe. You can fall apart later.”

Agatha closed her eyes. Her throat tightened. But she nodded, even though Jen couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” she said, softer now. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

“Fill the birthing tub with warm water—now, before the power goes,” Jen said. “You’ll need soft towels, as many as you can find. Blankets for the baby. Light some candles if you’ve got them. Create calm. She needs to feel like she’s safe, not trapped. Put on some music if you can.”

“I will,” Agatha whispered. “I will. Just—just come fast.”

“I’m already halfway there.”

The call ended.

Agatha stood there for one long moment, phone still clutched in her hand, the silence after the call ringing louder than the wind. Her other hand curled tight around the doorframe as if bracing against more than just the storm. Her chest lifted. Fell. Once. Twice.

She would not cry.

She would not break.

Not while you needed her whole.

She wiped her face on her sleeve, straightened her spine, and turned back toward the kitchen.

Back to you.

Back to where everything would begin.

------

Agatha stepped back into the kitchen like gravity had pulled her there—like you were the axis around which everything else turned. Her eyes found you instantly.

You were still hunched forward on the stool, one hand pressed to the round, taut curve of your belly, the other white-knuckled around the edge of the counter. Your head hung slightly, hair damp and curling against your cheeks, breath shallow and uneven. Every inch of you looked like you were holding the world in place through sheer will.

“I just talked to Jen,” Agatha said softly, crouching low until she was eye-level again. Her palms landed on your thighs, warm and steady. “She’s on her way—less than twenty minutes.”

You nodded, but your lower lip trembled.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Agatha tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingertips lingering longer than necessary. Her voice dropped lower, gentler. “I’m going to grab a few things—towels, blankets, the tub. But I’m not far. I’m not leaving you, not for more than a breath.”

You gave her the smallest nod, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. She pressed a kiss to your forehead—soft, reverent, grounding—and then rose. Your breath still shallow and fraying at the edges. Another wave wasn’t far off—you could feel it circling.

Agatha stood, pivoted smoothly into the bedroom, and crossed to the corner where the birthing tub had sat for weeks—deflated, coiled, and quiet.  Just days ago, it had been a joke. Jen had insisted on bringing it over “just in case,” setting it quietly in the corner of your bedroom while you all laughed and waved it off.

You’ll be in a hospital. What would we even need that thing for?

Agatha stepped back into the kitchen, the bundled vinyl slung over one arm. “Where do you want it?” she asked quietly, her voice even but full of something that trembled beneath it. “I don’t want to guess.” You didn’t hesitate.

“Bedroom,” you whispered. That was all she needed.

Agatha unzipped the casing, vinyl whispering open like the start of something ancient and sacred. She rolled the sides out with care, smoothing the base flat onto the rug between the bed and the en suite bathroom. Her foot pressed firmly to the pump. Once. Twice. Again. Slowly, steadily, the tub began to rise. The walls lifted like breath being drawn, one slow inhale at a time.

Outside, the wind howled, rain battering the windows like fists desperate to get in.

The tub stood now. Empty but waiting. The hose was already coiled near the vanity in the bathroom—Jen’s earlier instructions playing out like prophecy. Agatha attached it to the hot water tap and turned the handle slowly. Pipes groaned. Then, water surged forward, rushing in with a hiss. Steam unfurled, rising from the basin like breath made visible in the soft bedroom light.

She adjusted the temperature, tested it against the back of her wrist—then left it running and turned toward the bed.

But a sound stopped her.

A low groan. Guttural. From down the hall.

You.

She was moving before the breath finished leaving your lungs.

Agatha found you back in the kitchen, your hands braced against the counter, your back bowed beneath the pressure of the next wave. Your body trembled as the contraction climbed, and your knees wobbled as you swayed gently in place, trying not to fall.

“I’ve got you,” she said as she reached you, her arms sliding around your waist like she’d done it a thousand times. “I’m here. Just breathe through it, baby.”

You didn’t answer—just let your weight fall into her chest as she rocked with you, one hand supporting your lower back, the other curling around your ribs. Your forehead found her shoulder. Your nails dug lightly into her sleeve.

Outside, thunder rolled low and long like a drumbeat too close to the skin.

“I’ve got you,” she said again, voice steady in your ear. “Let it pass. Just one wave. You’re doing so, so good.”

When the contraction finally broke, you collapsed fully into her, your breath ragged against her collarbone. “I’m going to grab the towels now,” she said, brushing your cheek with the backs of her fingers. “And the receiving blankets. The ones from the shower. I’ll be quick.”

You nodded, lips parted, eyes wet.

“I want to walk,” you whispered.

Agatha pulled back just enough to look into your face, searching your eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll walk.”

She didn’t lead you far—just toward the bedroom. You followed her slowly, your palm pressed to her shoulder, legs still shaking with every step. The hallway stretched between you like a tunnel, lit only by the flicker of warm bulbs and the silver flash of lightning that darted across the windows.

------

Inside the bedroom, steam curled around the rim of the rising tub, soft and silvery in the low light. It shimmered like breath in winter air, casting a warmth that made the room feel smaller, closer, sacred.

Agatha moved with quiet reverence. She crossed to the dresser, pulling open the drawer where everything had been waiting—towels folded weeks ago, waiting for a moment neither of you believed would come like this. She draped one thick white towel over the chair beside the bed, then laid two more at the edge of the mattress like offerings at an altar.

From the woven basket near the nightstand, she lifted three receiving blankets. One patterned with tiny stars, another with soft blue-gray clouds. The third—pale, delicate, covered in tiny wildflowers the color of lavender breath and spring rain.

She held that one longer.

Her thumb traced the hem. Her throat bobbed.

Then she placed it carefully on top of the stack, smoothing the cotton flat with a touch that bordered on reverence.

Behind her, she heard the soft shuffle of your feet.

You were moving Each step was measured, your fingers trailing along the wall for balance as you entered the bedroom.

You were halfway to the tub when it hit.

No warning this time.

No chance to steady yourself.

You stopped mid-step—your hand flying out to catch the edge of the dresser, your back arching as the contraction ripped through you like a current. A sharp, breathless cry tore from your throat.

Agatha turned at once.

She was at your side in seconds, one arm catching your waist, the other bracing the small of your back.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I've got you, baby. Let it come. Let it move through you.”

Your body bowed forward, forehead pressing to her collarbone as your fists tangled in the fabric of her shirt.

This one was stronger. Meaner. Your legs nearly gave out.

She widened her stance, bearing your weight with her whole body, her palm rubbing firm, grounding circles against your spine.

“You’re okay. You’re doing so good,” she whispered, her cheek against your temple. “You’ve got this. Just one wave. Just one.”

You moaned through clenched teeth, knees shaking as you rode it out, breath coming in staggered gasps.

The room was thick with heat and steam, with the sound of rain hammering the windows and water pooling softly into the tub behind you. The house smelled like lavender and sweat and stormlight.

And still—Agatha held you.

Anchored you.

Loved you through it.

When the wave finally began to ease, your whole body sagged into her, trembling and soaked, your breath hot against her neck.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

And from the tub behind you, the water kept rising.

You were still folded against her, breath unsteady, your muscles trembling in her arms when you whispered, “I want to get in.”

Agatha pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, searching your face.

“Something’s different,” you rasped. “It’s lower. I need—I need the water.”

Agatha nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you in.”

She supported your weight as the two of you shuffled slowly back into the bedroom. The air was thick with steam now, the tub nearly full, soft ripples dancing across the surface. The scent of lavender from the towel stack mixed with rain, rubber, and something primal—the smell of newness, of birth edging near.

Agatha turned off the hose, tested the temperature one last time, then moved to help you out of your clothes.

“You don’t need to wear anything,” she said softly, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. “Not unless you want to. It’s just us here. Jen will be here soon.”

You hesitated, fingers still curled around the elastic of your bra.

Then you nodded once.

“It’s just us,” you whispered.

Agatha helped you undress slowly, gently, reverently—like unwrapping something fragile. Your body was flushed, shining with sweat, each motion drawn taut by exhaustion and urgency. When you were bare, she helped you step one leg at a time into the warm water. You sank into it with a gasp, the heat stealing your breath for a moment, then releasing it in a shuddering sigh.

But you didn’t get far.

Your knees barely bent before another contraction slammed into you—hot, deep, unbearable.

You cried out, one arm flying to the rim of the tub, the other searching blindly for something solid.

Agatha caught your hand.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, crouched at the side of the tub, her palm locked around yours. “Hold on to me. Breathe through it. Just like that.”

You let out a sob, forehead pressed to the edge, water lapping against your belly as your body convulsed.

Agatha’s other hand reached into the tub, pressed to your back just above the waterline, rubbing slow, wide circles—anchoring you through it.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured. “So, so well. I’ve got you.”

You cried harder at that.

Not because of the pain—but because it was just you two.

Because even in all the storm and sweat and fear, this was still love.

When the contraction finally released you, your body collapsed forward against the side of the tub. Your eyes closed. You whimpered, soft and hoarse.

Agatha knelt beside you, still holding your hand. Her forehead dropped to your wrist as her shoulders began to tremble.

You felt the quietest sob echo between you—shallow, aching.

“Agatha,” you said softly, almost begged, needing her eyes again. Needing to know she hadn’t disappeared beneath the weight of it all.

Her hand slid over your slick back again, slow and firm.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “It’s just us.”

Your eyes fluttered open—wet, aching.

She looked at you like nothing in the world mattered more than this.

Than you.

“I’m going to come in,” she said gently. “Okay?”

You nodded. Wordless.

Agatha stood, stepped carefully into the tub behind you, settling against the inflatable wall like it had been molded for this moment. When you leaned back, your head found her chest. Her arms wound tightly around you from behind. One hand cradled your belly. The other laced with yours again, soaking and strong.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple. “I’ve got you. All of you.”

And for a moment, the storm faded. The air was still.

Then your body tensed.

Agatha felt it at once—the sudden shift beneath your skin.

You gasped. Your fingers clutched at her knee.

“There’s pressure,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Something’s happening—she’s coming—”

Agatha’s hand pressed lower on your belly, feeling the way everything had changed.

She didn’t speak. She only held you tighter. Breath catching.

Then—

You let out a noise neither of you had heard before—part scream, part growl, pure instinct.

The pressure between your legs had shifted—immediate and burning.

Agatha’s eyes widened. Her hand moved to the inside of your thigh, her other arm bracing you as your hips lifted from the water.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I need to see.”

“Is she—?” you gasped, voice brittle and barely there.

Agatha’s hand moved between your legs, careful, reverent. “I think her head—” Her voice cracked. “I think she’s—” She cut herself off, swallowing hard. “I’ve got you.”

The door creaked open behind you.

“I’m here,” came Jen’s voice, calm and sure. “I’m right here.”

You barely registered the sound at first—so focused on the fire building in your body, the ache blooming low in your pelvis—but Agatha’s head lifted.

“Jen,” she breathed, still crouched behind you in the tub, her arms around your waist, her hands steady even as her voice wavered. “She’s close. Her head’s crowning. I can feel her.”

Jen was already at the edge of the tub by the time Agatha spoke again, her boots kicked off at the bedroom door, sleeves pushed up, eyes soft but focused.

“Good,” Jen murmured. “You’re both doing beautifully. Let me see.”

Agatha shifted slightly to give her room, never letting go of you—not even for a second.

You were panting, hands clutching the sides of the tub, your forehead pressed to Agatha’s shoulder. Her skin was hot with effort. Yours was soaked in sweat. The water between you steamed like breath in winter air.

Jen leaned forward. “Hey,” she said softly, voice right beside your ear. “I know it’s a lot. But you’re almost there, okay?”

You nodded, barely. “It burns,” you whispered. “It’s so much.”

“I know.” Jen’s hand touched your thigh gently, anchoring you in the moment. “That means you’re close. That means she’s coming.”

Your body seized again—another contraction rolling in fast, unforgiving.

Agatha held on.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You screamed—not from fear, not anymore, but from force. You bore down as Jen coached from one side and Agatha held you from behind.

“Good,” Jen murmured. “That’s it. Let your body lead. Just like that.”

Agatha’s hands stayed steady—one at your back, the other bracing your belly. “Breathe with me,” she whispered. “Just one breath at a time.”

The contraction eased, and you collapsed against her, whimpering.

Jen’s hand was gentle as she checked again. “She’s almost there,” she said softly. “Next one might do it. But let’s take a minute. Rest. You’ve earned it.”

Agatha pressed her forehead to the back of your neck, her breath shaky, her voice a thread. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

You let out a small, broken laugh that turned into a sob. “You better be,” you muttered. “I’m pushing a human out of my body.”

Jen smiled, not laughing at you—but with you. “And she’s almost here,” she said. “When the next one comes, you give it everything you’ve got.”

You nodded again, slower this time.

Your whole body trembled.

“I can’t do it without her,” you said suddenly, voice sharp, panicked.

“You’re not,” Agatha whispered. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Jen reached over the edge of the tub and placed her hand gently on top of yours. “Both of us,” she said. “We’ve got you.”

The air in the room shifted. Not quieter, not calmer—but steadier.

Then another contraction hit.

It built low and deep, dragging itself up your spine like a wave coming to break.

You screamed again, louder this time. Agatha held your shoulders; Jen pressed her hands just beneath your belly to help guide the push.

“There,” Jen said. “There she is.”

You sobbed. Agatha’s lips were at your temple.

“One more, baby,” she whispered. “Just one more.”

You pushed—harder than before, through the pain, through the thunder outside, through the fear still trembling in your chest.

And then—

The water shifted.

A weight slid free.

And a sound—your baby’s first cry—cut clean through the world.

Agatha caught her, hands trembling, eyes wide with awe.

Jen helped guide her gently upward, and then—your daughter was on your chest. Slippery, warm, beautiful.

Alive.

You wrapped your arms around her, sobbing, your whole body trembling from the effort. Agatha pressed herself to your back, crying openly now, her arms around you both.

“She’s here,” she whispered. “She’s ours.”

Jen moved quietly, checking vitals, helping you position her better on your chest. The baby let out another cry—softer this time, as if she’d found what she was looking for.

And through the windows, the storm kept on.

But inside, all was quiet.

------

Did you love it 🖤

[theballadofharkness]

Agatha Harkness VS Salem: The Kittening, Karma’s a Witch

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem! reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and putting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention. But now, the tables have turned and it is time for you to feel the stab of jealousy.

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings: smut warning! Not very explicit but enough to warrant a warning, part 4 will be more explicit however xo

A/N: Apologies for the late update my loves, work has been a lot but I’ve been able to write lots of things I’m excited to publish coming soon🪻💜

The house was quiet when you stepped inside. Warm, golden sunlight spilled through the windows, painting long afternoon shadows across the floorboards. The air smelled faintly of chamomile, old paper, and something sweet, maybe the last of the honey cake you’d left cooling on the counter that morning. The silence was peaceful, not empty. The kind of stillness that whispered something good was happening.

You toed off your boots and walked further into the house, your arms full of fresh sage bundles from the herb shop, and something already bubbling with excitement in your chest. You’d only been out a few hours running errands, a quiet walk through the market, a brief stop to pick up more beeswax candles. But you’d been thinking of them the whole time.

Agatha and Salem.

The unlikeliest duo. The witch and the gremlin. Oil and water. Fire and… small, attention seeking furball.

You rounded the corner into the living room, adjusting your bundles of herbs and stopped cold. There she was. There they were.

Agatha lounged across the velvet sofa like a queen of chaos at rest. Her hair was down, curling soft over her shoulders. Her robe was half-open, revealing long legs stretched across the cushions and one arm draped lazily over the backrest. Her other hand was… occupied.

Gently. Absentmindedly. Affectionately stroking the soft black fluff curled up on her stomach. Salem. He was purring, deep and content and impossibly smug.

A half-finished cup of tea rested on the side table. The television played some old black-and-white film, the dialogue low and hazy, but Agatha wasn’t really watching. She was just… petting him. Gazing down at him with the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

“Look at my two babies,” you say dreamily, setting your cup down and slipping into the room. “I never thought this day would come.”

Agatha lifts her gaze with that slow, amused smirk. “Mhm. It’s disgusting, isn’t it?”

But the way she scratches just under Salem’s chin like she’s been doing it her whole life? The way he stretches out, blissed beyond measure in her lap?

Yeah. She’s in deep.

You stepped closer, a bright grin already spreading across your face. “You’re cuddling.”

“I am not,” she said, perfectly deadpan.

“You are!”

“I am not, darling.”

You practically floated across the room, dropping the sage onto the chair as you came to kneel by the sofa. You looked up at her, positively glowing, your fingers clasped under your chin.

“He’s sleeping on you,” you breathed. “That’s not tolerating. That’s bonding.”

Agatha gave a low, dismissive scoff and returned her attention to the TV though, her hand never stopped stroking between Salem’s tiny ears. “He got tired of attacking the curtains and climbed on top of me. I was merely… trapped.”

You bit your lip to keep from squealing. “Trapped,” you repeated. “By a kitten.”

“He has claws.”

“So do you,” you giggled.

She looked at you from the corner of her eye, lips twitching. “He’s manipulative.”

“He’s a cat.”

“He bit me.”

You reached up to stroke her calf and tilted your head. “You let him stay.”

She sniffed, lifting her chin. “I didn’t want to disrupt his nap. He’s annoying when he’s cranky.”

You blinked slowly. “Agatha.”

“What.”

“You loooove him.”

“I tolerate him.”

You climbed onto the edge of the sofa, sitting beside her folded legs, close enough to see the way her fingertips slowed when they passed over the soft curve of Salem’s back. Close enough to hear the softness in her voice, even when she tried to sound exasperated.

“No,” you said sweetly, leaning in close. “You love him.”

Agatha gave you a look. The kind she usually reserved for low-level demons and burnt pastries. “I do not.”

You booped her nose with your fingertip.

“You do.”

She caught your wrist lazily, holding it there as she raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You beamed. “I know. And now you love him, too.”

Salem stretched in her lap like a smug little prince, tail flicking as if to emphasize the point. Agatha narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re a tiny warlock in disguise. I can feel it.”

Salem yawned.

Agatha sighed.

You curled up beside her, your head resting on her shoulder, gaze dropping to her hand as it resumed its gentle rhythm along the kitten’s back.

“Look at my little family,” you whispered, utterly content. “My wife. My son.”

“I’m going to hex your tea,” Agatha muttered.

But she didn’t stop petting him.

Not for a second.

~

The kettle whistled low and steady, steam curling into the sunlit kitchen like a blessing. You reached for the handle with careful fingers, your other hand already holding your favorite chipped mug, the one Agatha pretended to hate but never threw away. You’d lined up fresh herbs from your morning foraging, the scent of wild mint and chamomile mingling in the air, grounding, familiar.

You were barefoot on the warm floorboards, the hem of Agatha’s shirt brushing just above your thighs. It hung low, wide at the neck, sleeves rolled sloppily up your arms. One of the buttons was missing. You liked it that way. It felt lived in, hers and now yours.

The morning light made you glow, all soft skin and mussed hair, eyes heavy from sleep, mouth still kiss-bruised from last night. Your hips swayed faintly as you stirred honey into the tea, moving to some quiet rhythm in your head. The music of a slow, safe morning.

You were waiting.

Any second now and you’d feel her behind you.

Agatha always came into the kitchen like a spell: silent, magnetic, unavoidable. She’d slip her arms around your waist, press her face into your hair, hum against your neck. Sometimes she’d call you her darling, sometimes her little witch, sometimes when her voice was warm and low and still thick with sleep she’d just murmur, “There’s my baby.”

You knew it was coming. As soon as you felt her enter the room the air shifted. You straightened a little, smiling to yourself as you finished stirring your tea, spine already arching the tiniest bit, just enough to make it easier for her to wrap around you. You bit your lip. Waited.

Then you heard it, “there’s my baby.”

A whisper. A purr. That voice.

Your cheeks flushed instantly. You smiled, dreamy and shy, your breath catching. Your eyes fluttered closed, anticipation rushing through you like a little wave. And then…

Nothing.

No arms.

No warmth.

No kiss to the back of your neck.

You blinked, turning slightly in confusion. And then you saw her. Not behind you, but across the room, holding Salem. Cradling him against her chest, one hand under his little bottom, the other stroking along his tiny head. He was purring like a chainsaw, all smug and settled. Agatha was smiling down at him like he was the moon and stars wrapped in fur.

You stared.

Agatha didn’t even look up. “You’re up early, little monster,” she murmured, brushing her nose against Salem’s head. “Did you come looking for your mama?”

Salem sneezed.

Agatha laughed.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Your heart stuttered a little in your chest.

She hadn’t even seen you.

You stood there in her shirt, bare-legged, sleepy and soft and so ready to melt into her touch, and she was across the kitchen, nuzzling the cat.

You cleared your throat lightly. “Good morning,” you offered, voice gentler than you meant.

Agatha looked up absently. “Mmm, morning,” she said, distracted. “He was at the foot of the bed when I woke up. I think he missed me.”

You wrapped your fingers tighter around the mug, forcing a smile. “Yeah. He… does that.”

You turned back to the counter and took a sip of your tea, letting the steam hide your expression. You kept your back to her. You weren’t even sure why. Maybe because you didn’t want her to see the flicker of hurt you couldn’t quite blink away.

She used to say you were the one who looked the most beautiful thing in the morning. She used to whisper, ‘There’s my baby’ and mean you. You stirred your tea again, even though it didn’t need it. Behind you, she was still cooing.

You tuned her out. Tried to, anyway. Tried not to think about the way your skin suddenly felt cooler without her touch. The way your thighs shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious. The way you felt like you’d just stepped outside of your own moment.

You didn’t say anything else that morning.

You finished your tea. Watered the kitchen plants. Cleaned up the tea leaves that always stuck to the counter. Agatha eventually let Salem down and wandered off to check her spellwork room, humming to herself.

She kissed your cheek absently as she passed.

You leaned into it without thinking, but the moment had already passed. And something in your chest felt… quieter.

Not hurt. Not yet.

Just a little hollow.

A little missed.

~

The living room glowed with late afternoon light, warm and drowsy, the kind that made everything feel a little slower, a little softer. The fire in the hearth crackled gently. The house was quiet. Peaceful.

You padded in from the hallway, still in that same oversized shirt of Agatha’s, the sleeves too long, hem brushing the backs of your thighs, your hair loose and your cheeks pink from your post-nap haze. You were the picture of sleepy domestic bliss, glowing like something out of a dream.

And you were so ready to curl up with your wife. All day, you’d been craving it. The press of her side. The smell of her perfume. The soft scrape of her fingers absentmindedly petting your hair while she read, the occasional kiss to your temple without even looking up from her book. You’d imagined it as you drifted off earlier, your head on her lap, her voice murmuring whatever she was reading, her hand on your back.

You turned the corner, smiling already, then stopped, your smile faltering.

Agatha was stretched out along the velvet sofa, one leg tucked under her, robe loose around her shoulders. A book hovered in front of her, turning its own pages with a flick of silent spellwork. Her eyes were scanning lazily over the text, sharp and serene. Then there was Salem, sprawled across her lap like he paid rent.

Flat on his back, little paws twitching, tail flicking contentedly, his head tucked right under her hand. And her hand, the hand that should’ve been stroking your hair, was rhythmically grazing down his fuzzy little belly as she read.

You blinked, tilting your head with a soft frown like a confused puppy. You were quiet at first. Just watching. And then, before you even realized it, your lips pushed into the softest pout.

You hovered at the edge of the room, hands tucked into the sleeves of your shirt, voice small. “I was gonna sit with you…”

Agatha didn’t even look up from her book. “There’s another chair.”

You blinked. “But… I always sit with you.”

She turned the page.

Salem snored. Snored like he wasn’t the root of all your current problems. You stared at them, heart dropping a little, and took a tentative step forward. “He’s in my spot.”

Agatha’s lips twitched, but she kept her face perfectly neutral. “He was here first, darling.”

You pouted harder.

She finally looked over at you, and the moment she saw your face, your big glossy eyes and that little furrow in your brow, she nearly burst into flames.

Because oh.

Oh, the payoff.

This was what she’d looked like, wasn’t it? All those weeks ago when you used to cradle that kitten to your chest like he was made of stars and forget your wife even existed? When she watched you kiss his tiny ears and murmur sweet nothings while she sat there, ignored, seething in silence?

This was karma.

You didn’t even mean to make a scene.

But the moment Salem blinked up at you from Agatha’s lap, his smug little fuzzy body all curled up where you were supposed to be, something in you snapped.

It was soft. Quiet. But unmistakable.

The need. The ache. The burn to be there instead.

You scooped him off her lap with a quiet “excuse me,” as if you weren’t throwing a fit, and deposited him on the rug like a polite exorcism. He made a mildly offended chirp as he landed, but you ignored it.

You were already climbing onto the sofa.

Onto her. Into your rightful place.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, delight curling at the corners of her mouth as you climbed into her lap. Not sat beside her, not nestled gently. You straddled her, your thighs sliding over hers, that big shirt slipping up high enough to make her very aware you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

She set her book down, slowly. “Well, hello.”

You didn’t answer, you just kissed her. Hot. Messy. Hungry.

Your mouth found hers like you were making up for every second you’d been replaced- every coo, every scratch behind Salem’s ears, every time she’d kissed his head instead of yours.

Your hands slipped into her hair, nails grazing her scalp, and your hips rocked, against her thigh.

Agatha stifled a groan.

You were supposed to be the sweet one. The floaty, dreamy, gentle little thing who whispered love spells into tea and painted sigils in flower petals. But this? This was feral. And all for her.

She kissed you back once, slow and filthy, before pulling back just enough to look at you.

“Jealous much?” she asked, voice smug, eyes shining.

You scowled, flushed and breathless. “He was in my spot.”

“I told you he was comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable,” you huffed, shifting your hips again, deliberately. Her thigh slid between your legs, and your breath hitched.

Agatha’s fingers curled around your hips. “Oh, honey,” she said, low and dark and thrilled. “You’re more than comfortable.”

You didn’t answer. You just dragged your mouth down her jaw, to her throat, kissing and sucking like you were trying to leave proof of your possession. Her skin flushed pink. Her pulse jumped.

Your thighs trembled as you rocked, slow and needy, against the muscle of her leg. That thin, teasing friction.

Agatha couldn’t stop the smirk blooming on her face. This is gold, she thought.

Actual gold.

Because here you were, her pouty, jealous little wife, writhing in her lap, desperate to remind her who she belonged to. Her voice was whiny, your movements clumsy with need, and Agatha had never been more delighted in her life.

She leaned back against the sofa, completely relaxed, letting you take what you needed.

“You gonna make yourself come like this?” she asked, cocking her head as you whimpered into her throat. “Grinding on Mommy’s thigh like a needy little thing?”

Your eyes fluttered open, wide and dazed and so close to snapping.

“Thought so,” she murmured.

And then, without warning… Mrrrow.

You both looked down.

Salem, now sprawled on the rug, was pawing at Agatha’s robe, trying to climb up again.

Agatha blinked. Then looked up at you, mischief sparking. “Oh dear,” she drawled. “I think someone wants his spot back.”

You froze.

Still in her lap. Still flushed. Still soaking wet against her leg. And Agatha was grinning.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you dare pick him up.”

She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

But in her head? She was already plotting. Already thinking how the tables have turned, she thought smugly, petting her jealous little wife while the kitten sulked on the floor. She’d give it a few more days. Just enough to really push your buttons.

Then maybe… just maybe… she’d let you have your lap privileges back.

Maybe.

She pressed a kiss to your temple and let her hands wander low on your back.

“I have to say,” she whispered, lips brushing your ear, “jealousy looks very good on you.”

~

You were stirring the roasted root vegetables when the clock struck seven.

Not that you were counting.

But it had been hours since you last saw Agatha. You’d washed the sheets, hung the laundry, wiped down the altar, organized the herbs, dusted the ceiling corners (the absolute worst), and made dinner from scratch.

All in one of her old shirts. No pants. Hair up in a scarf. Dreamy and flushed from the days chores, humming softly to yourself. You even left her a note on the kitchen chalkboard:

“Dinner at 6:30. Hope your spellwork goes well, baby!”

Nothing.

Now it was seven, and the food was getting cold, and the only sound in the house was the faint echo of Salem purring somewhere in the walls, like the little shadow he was. You set the wooden spoon down, wiped your hands on your apron, and called softly down the hallway:

“Agatha? Dinner!”

No reply.

You raised your voice a little. “Aggie!”

Still nothing.

You sighed, a tiny line forming between your brows. You could feel the faint thrum of magic coming from the basement. Of course. That’s where she was.

You trudged down the spiral stairs, bare feet cool against the stone, your mood dropping with every step. The warm light of the kitchen faded behind you, replaced by flickering candlelight and the earthy scent of sage and wax and chalk.

“Agatha,” you tried again as you reached the bottom. “Dinner is-”

You stopped, blinking rapidly, your mouth dropping open in horror. Because there she was, sitting at her coven table, surrounded by open spell books and incense smoke, head bent in deep concentration over…

A cat collar.

Not just any collar. Velvet. Black, of course. Embroidered with protective runes in silver thread, a small crescent moon charm floating gently above it as she murmured under her breath. Gemstones, real ones, set into the band. Onyx. Amethyst. A tiny protection crystal that looked freshly cut.

Salem sat smugly on the table beside her, tail wrapped neatly around his paws like he knew what was happening.

You stood in stunned silence for a moment before saying flatly, “are you serious?”

Agatha didn’t even look up. “Hm?”

“Are you serious?”

Her fingers traced another rune. “You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re telling me I’ve spent the entire day cleaning the house alone, our house, doing your laundry, folding your silk robes, making your favorite dinner, and the reason you didn’t answer me for three hours is because you’re… bedazzling a protection collar for the cat?”

Agatha finally glanced up.

And she smiled. Slow. Wicked. Satisfied.

You blinked. “I- wha- You never even enchanted my wedding ring.”

She paused. “If you wanted me to enchant your jewelry, love,” she purred, “you only had to ask.”

You stared at her. “You never enchanted my wedding ring, Agatha. But the cat gets an enchanted collar.”

She looked very pleased with herself now. “Well. You are more powerful than the average kitten.”

You gaped. Like actually gaped. You could feel your mouth opening and closing like a fish and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Agatha leaned her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, gaze dragging down the length of you in her old shirt and apron, flushed and barefoot from doing all the domestic chores while she magicked her tiny hellbeast a couture-level collar.

“Oh, honey,” she said sweetly. “You’re not jealous of a cat, are you?”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No!”

She tapped a finger to her lip. “Because it feels like you are.”

“I’m not!” you squeaked, trying not to blush as your foot nudged a stray gemstone across the floor. “It’s just- it’s dinner! And I thought you’d want to, y’know, eat it. With your wife.”

Agatha clicked her tongue. “I will. Once I finish this.”

You sniffed. Tried not to pout. Failed.

“You could have at least helped me fold the sheets,” you mumbled, hugging your arms tighter around your chest. “Or set the table. Or come check on me. I- ”

You bit your lip, stopping yourself before you sounded too hysterical.

Agatha saw it.

Saw the way your voice cracked just a little. Saw the way you stood there, glowing with magic and effort and sweat and devotion, trying so hard not to look like a kicked puppy.

And oh, she thrived.

She stood slowly, crossing the room in that silk-robe-and-witchcraft way that made her look like temptation wrapped in smoke. She stopped just in front of you, close enough to touch.

“You’re adorable when you’re sulking,” she said, voice low.

“I’m not sulking.”

“You are. You’re pouting. Look at that little face.”

You tried to look away.

She caught your chin and turned you back to her with one finger, smiling like the devil.

“I could enchant your ring, you know,” she murmured, thumb brushing the bare gold band. “Warding, protection, a little glamour charm…”

You swallowed.

“Then why haven’t you?”

Agatha tilted her head, grinning. “Because you weren’t jealous enough yet.”

You stared.

She winked.

And that was when you realized that she wanted this. She was doing this on purpose. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “You’re tormenting me.”

She leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. “Karma’s a witch, baby.”

~

You woke to the sound of a soft, steady purr and the weight of absence.

At first, you weren’t sure what felt off. The bed was warm. The morning light poured in through the gauzy curtains like syrup. Your body still buzzed faintly from dreams you couldn’t quite remember. And yet…

You turned your head.

And saw it.

Agatha, beautiful and radiant even in her sleep, lay curled on her side. Her hair fell in a loose wave across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, lips parted in that soft, unconscious pout she never let you tease her for. She looked peaceful. She looked perfect.

But you weren’t what she was holding.

It was Salem.

The little void beast had wedged himself between her breasts like a smug satin pillow, his paws tucked up near her collarbone, his purring deafening in the quiet room. Agatha’s arm was slung protectively around him, her fingers curled lightly against his side. You blinked. Your chest went tight. It wasn’t fair, you told yourself. It was just a cat. He was warm. He was cuddly. He didn’t mean anything by it. And Agatha, she was yours. You knew that.

But something about the picture in front of you- your wife, your bed, your place taken, cut you more than you wanted to admit. And the worst part? She looked so content.

You laid there a moment longer, stomach twisting, before quietly slipping out of bed. You didn’t want to disturb her. You didn’t want her to see your face.

You made breakfast the way you always did. Quietly. Thoughtfully. Your hair was still tousled from sleep, tied back with one of Agatha’s silk ribbons. You wore her sweater, sleeves falling over your hands, bare legs just peeking out beneath the hem. You looked soft. Dreamy. The kind of girl a wife should wrap her arms around and kiss immediately.

But she didn’t come down right away.

And when she did?

She brought the cat.

Salem rode on her shoulder like a little prince, tail flicking as she walked into the kitchen with a smirk on her lips.

You were already plating up eggs and herbs, pouring tea into her favorite mug. “Morning,” you said, voice gentle.

Agatha grinned. “Mmm. It is now.”

You blushed automatically. She always had that effect.

You turned back to your herbs, distracted by the flicker of pride when she stepped behind you and wrapped her arms loosely around your waist.

And for just a second everything felt okay. That was until she leaned in, lips brushing your ear, and said, “Salem kept me warm all night.”

Your stomach dropped. You forced a smile. “Oh?”

Agatha hummed, hands ghosting beneath your sweater, warm against your waist. “He’s so soft. And clingy. Just like someone else I know.”

You tried to laugh. Operative word: Tried. But it didn’t reach your eyes. Her hands slid lower, her mouth moving to your neck, kissing lightly. “I was thinking…” she murmured against your skin. “Maybe we don’t leave the bedroom today.”

You stiffened.

Her hips pressed against your backside, slow and deliberate. “Just you. Me. My fingers. That pretty little moan you make when I bite your thighs.”

Your knees nearly buckled. But you didn’t let her see it. Instead, you turned in her arms, blinking up at her with wide, innocent eyes as your mind began to scheme. “I’ve got plans.”

Agatha stilled. “You… what?”

You smiled sweetly. Tilted your head. “I’m meeting Jen.”

She blinked. “Jennifer?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Just some girly stuff. Little catch-up. Maybe some shopping.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “Since when do you make plans without telling me?”

You giggled, light and fluttery, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Since today.”

Then you slipped from her arms, humming softly, walking out of the kitchen with a gentle sway of your hips.

She stared after you, stunned.

And you? You grabbed your phone the second you rounded the corner, typing fast.

Text to: Jennifer Kale

<Y/N: hey are you free today? i need help xx>

Three dots appeared instantly.

<Jennifer Kale: sure babe. say less. coffee shop in the square? 30 mins?

<Jennifer Kale: wear something cute. Let’s bring the chaos. xx>

You smiled down at your screen. Soft. Serene. And absolutely scheming.

~

The bell above the café door jingled softly as you stepped inside, a swirl of warm air and cinnamon greeting you like a hug.

The place was cozy and bright, full of velvet chairs, mismatched tables, and the rich smell of espresso and clove. A jazz record played quietly in the corner, and sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, painting the floor in patterns of green and blue.

Jennifer Kale was already there.

She was slouched in the corner booth like a rockstar who’d just hexed someone’s boyfriend, sunglasses perched on top of her head, silver rings stacked on every finger. A half-drunk matcha latte sat in front of her. She was scrolling her phone like she owned the place.

She looked up when she saw you and her expression immediately softened. “Oh, babe.”

You smiled weakly and shuffled over, sweater sleeves too long, cheeks pink from the wind. You slid into the seat across from her and wrapped your hands around your tea like it could hold you together.

Jen gave you exactly three seconds of silence before going, “Okay. Spill. What did she do?”

You sighed. “It’s so stupid. I know it’s stupid.”

“Nope. We don’t do that here. This is a safe space for petty gay pain.”

You hesitated, biting your lip.

Then: “She’s in love with the cat.”

Jen blinked.

You took a shaky breath. “Okay, not in love, but like. Obsessed. And smug about it. And she knows I’m jealous, and she’s doing it on purpose now. She enchanted him a custom collar and ignored me all day and then had the nerve to say he kept her warm all night.”

Jen blinked again. “Are you telling me she replaced you with a kitten in bed?”

“Yes!”

Jen leaned back. “That’s actually so messed up I’m kind of impressed.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I know it sounds insane, but it’s been weeks. She pets him constantly. She baby-talks him. She used to do that to me. And I just… I miss her.”

Jen lowered her sunglasses. “You mean you miss her touching you like you’re the only one in the world?”

You looked up, eyes round. “Yes.”

Jen leaned forward, grinning now. “Oh honey. You’ve come to the right person.”

You blinked. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’ve never schemed against her before. She’s the one who schemes. I’m the one who makes her tea and blushes when she calls me pretty.”

Jen smirked. “Not today, you’re not.”

You blinked.

She leaned in like she was letting you in on a sacred secret. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna buy you the hottest, most expensive lingerie in this entire godforsaken realm.”

Your eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“Because,” she said, slow and smug, “you’re gonna seduce her. Properly.”

You blushed so hard you nearly fainted. “But- but she touches me all the time? Like… nearly every day?”

Jen froze. “Oh, damn. Okay, girl.”

You looked away, flustered. “That’s not the problem.”

“No, babe. I get it. This isn’t about sex. This is about power. You’re gonna walk into that bedroom in lace and silk and ruin her.”

You blinked. “Ruin her?”

“Emotionally. Spiritually. Mentally. She will not remember her own name, let alone the cat.”

You clutched your tea like a lifeline. “But what if she just… keeps playing the game? What if this doesn’t work?”

Jen smirked, full sorceress mode now. “Oh, honey. The right lingerie will make her forget that cat ever existed.”

You stared at her, quiet.

Then whispered:

“…What kind of lingerie are we talking?”

Jen slammed her latte down and stood, already pulling you to your feet.

“French.”

~

The little bell above the boutique door jingled as you walked in, and already, you wanted to bolt.

It was too much.

All low lighting and sultry music, velvet curtains and glass shelves lined with lingerie that looked like it had been spun from moonlight and temptation. Lace in every shade. Silk that caught the light like water. Mannequins dressed in things you weren’t sure even counted as clothing.

You hesitated by the door, clutching the sleeves of your sweater in your fists.

Jen turned back and looked at you, grinning. “You coming in, or are you gonna combust from modesty?”

You gave her a withering little smile, cheeks pink. “I’ve just never been in a place like this.”

“Mm. Baby’s first lingerie mission.” Jen looped her arm through yours, pulling you gently deeper into the shop. “You’re gonna love it. Promise.”

You weren’t so sure.

Everything was so delicate. So bold. You passed a rack of thigh harnesses and nearly squeaked out loud.

“I don’t think I’m made for this,” you whispered.

Jen glanced at you sideways. “You literally do sex magic and make love potions in your sleep.”

“That’s different! That’s sweet! That’s spiritual!”

Jen plucked a corset from a rack and wiggled it in your face. “And this is retribution.”

You stared at the corset like it might bite you.

Jen rolled her eyes fondly and tossed it over her arm with a growing pile of silks. “Let’s find something softer. Something that’ll break her heart before it ruins her life.”

You trailed after her through the store, past racks of lace and satin and embroidered spellwork, overwhelmed and blinking.

Every time she held something up, you gave the same unsure response.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Too sheer?”

“I don’t… even know how that goes on.”

“Okay, that one’s… just string.”

Jen didn’t slow down.

She moved with intention, pulling set after set from their hangers. Champagne silk. Emerald mesh. Creamy lace embroidered with tiny stars. She handed them off to you one by one, loading your arms like she was dressing a goddess for battle.

You kept glancing down at the pieces in your hands like they’d disappear if you looked too long.

“You sure this isn’t overkill?” you murmured as you followed her to the dressing rooms.

Jen paused. “Do you want her to keep spending all her time using the laser pointer to play with the cat, all the while ignoring your breasts?”

You winced.

Fair.

She shoved you into the dressing room with a wink. “Go. Pick your poison.”

You closed the curtain behind you, hands shaking slightly.

It was quiet in the little space with just the noise of your breath, the thrum of your pulse, and the soft rustle of silk being heard as you slowly undressed. You slipped the first set on, the champagne-colored one Jen had picked, and stared at yourself in the mirror.

It barely covered you. Sheer cups. Petal-soft lace. Straps that curved along your hips and dipped low across your chest. You looked like a dream. A nymph. A creature made for ruin.

But you didn’t feel like one.

You fidgeted.

Adjusted the straps. Smoothed the lace.

Something inside you wavered. What if this doesn’t work? What if Agatha just laughs? Or smirks, all smug, and kisses your forehead like you’re trying too hard?

You stared at your reflection, small and flushed and fragile. Your throat tightened. “Jen?” you called softly.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

There was a pause. Then, calm as anything, “You need fuel?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Fuel. Motivation. That edge.”

Before you could answer, Jen’s hand slid through the curtain holding your phone. “Look,” she said.

You hesitated before you took it. And your breath caught as you saw the most recent text from Agatha.

<Agatha💜: look who’s keeping me warm again today>

She had attached a picture of Salem curled against her chest. Her fingers stroking his tiny head.

<Agatha💜: he’s so clingy. reminds me of someone>

There was a video attached this time, Salem licking her jaw, purring, as Agatha laughed.

Your eyes widened as she sent yet another picture, intended to cause maximum damage to your already bruised ego. Agatha, tousled and flushed from sleep, lips slightly parted, wrapped in a silk robe, with Salem pressed against her chest like he belonged there.

<Agatha💜: i love having all this time alone with this handsome boy>

Your stomach twisted as something in your chest snapped. You looked up at yourself in the mirror again. And suddenly you didn’t see someone soft. Or unsure. Or trying too hard. You saw her wife. The one Agatha belongs to.

Your chin lifted, your hands stopped fidgeting as you turned back the curtain.

Jen looked up from her seat and grinned. “There she is,” she said, smug.

You stepped out, all flushed and lace and vengeance. “Let’s do this.”

~

By the time you got home, the sun had slipped below the horizon and the sky had melted into a deep plum. The house glowed from within, candlelight flickering against the windows, shadows dancing along the walls.

You stepped inside, calm and composed, the paper boutique bag tucked under your arm like it wasn’t full of sin and lace.

Agatha didn’t look up.

She was sprawled on the velvet sofa, a wine glass balanced loosely in her hand, Salem curled across her thighs like a furry little king. One of her hands was stroking lazily along his back, her fingers dancing in long, luxurious lines through his fur. Her silk robe had fallen open just enough to suggest deliberate temptation.

He was purring like thunder.

“Oh, there she is,” Agatha drawled, still not looking at you. “The little runaway witch.”

You hung up your coat carefully, placing the bag beneath the entryway bench with quiet precision. “Hi.”

Agatha finally looked over. Her eyes were sharp. Glinting. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be out this late.”

You shrugged. “Had some errands.”

“Mm. With Jennifer, I assume?”

You smiled faintly. “She wanted to check in on her store.”

Agatha sipped her wine. “Did she tell you to come home and behave yourself? Because I’ve already claimed Salem for the night. No room in my lap for clingy little witches.”

You gave her the softest smile and said nothing.

It was infuriating. Agatha narrowed her eyes slightly, tilting her head. “You’re quiet.”

“Just tired,” you said, drifting into the kitchen to start the kettle. “Long day.”

“Didn’t look like a long day in those photos Jen posted online.”

You froze, just for a heartbeat. So she’d been watching.

You turned slowly and met her eyes across the room. “Stalking me?”

She smirked. “Monitoring. For signs of mischief.”

You smiled sweetly. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Agatha set her wine glass down and shifted on the sofa, pressing her cheek to Salem’s tiny head, her hand sliding along his spine. “I know where you’ll end up. Right here. Begging for attention. Like always.”

You gave a soft laugh, walking to the kitchen to make a calming cup of tea before you were going to enact phase 1: the seduction. The kettle whistled. You poured the tea, unbothered.

“I made lavender chamomile,” you said, voice light. “Want a cup?”

She watched you closely. “Sure. Bring it here.”

You walked over and set the cup on the side table beside her.

She didn’t thank you. Instead, she took a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours.

Salem stretched on her lap, letting out a dramatic little sigh.

Agatha cooed. “Poor baby’s so exhausted from a long day of being adored. Isn’t that right, my sweet little prince?”

You sat down in the armchair across from her and took a slow sip of your own tea, not blinking.

She kept stroking Salem.

You didn’t flinch. Not when she kissed his little head. Not when she murmured, “Such a good boy.” Not even when she flicked her eyes toward you and said, “You used to be this good. What happened?”

You set your mug down, crossing one leg over the other and smiled. “I guess I grew up.”

Agatha’s eyes sparked dangerously.

But you didn’t say anything else. You sat there calmly, sipping your tea, letting the silence stretch between you like silk being pulled taut.

She shifted again. “You’re not going to come sit with me?”

“Not right now.”

“Not feeling needy anymore?”

You shook your head. “I’m good.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re very smug for someone being replaced by a now reformed demon cat.”

You tilted your head. “He’s cute.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

You shrugged. “He’s very charming.”

Agatha’s lips twitched. She didn’t say anything else. Just sipped her tea.

The fire crackled between you.

Dinner was quiet.

You let her talk. About old spells. About chaos magic theory. About a potion one of the newer coven witches had messed up that morning. She was brilliant, glowing with cleverness, gesturing with her wine glass, her voice smooth and practiced.

You let her charm the air.

And you gave her nothing. Not your usual sparkles of laughter. Not the flustered cheeks she’d come to expect. You listened. Nodded. Smiled.

But you didn’t bite. Not once. Not when Salem hopped into her lap mid-meal and she groaned, “He just loves me more,” you only nodded and said, “Maybe.”

Not when she stretched and said, “I might just sleep with him wrapped around my chest again,” you simply said, “As long as he doesn’t snore.”

Agatha’s smile twitched as she waited for the jealousy. For the pout. But you had replaced it with patience. Because tonight was already yours.

When she went upstairs, you followed a few minutes later, your bag tucked beneath your arm.

Agatha was already in bed when you walked in. Her robe had slipped lower. Her thigh was bare. The sheets a mess around her legs.

She glanced up. “There’s my girl. Finally done sulking?”

You smiled. “Just going to shower.”

“Don’t be long,” she murmured. “I’ve got some ideas for how to… ease your wounded ego.”

You said nothing, just took the bag and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Agatha smirked to herself, stretching like a cat across the bed. She thought she’d won. But she didn’t know that she was just about to lose.

~

You stood in front of the mirror one last time.

Your breath was slow. Steady.

The wine-red silk clung to every curve of your body like it had been made for you in another life. The lace, delicate and whisper-thin, draped your skin perfectly. The garter belt hugged your hips like the hands you wanted on you. The perfume at your throat made you dizzy with power.You looked like something to kneel for. And tonight, she would.

You opened the bathroom door slowly, deliberately, letting the candlelight from the bedroom cast a golden glow across your skin.

You thought you were prepared for anything. For the gasp. The hunger. The scramble to devour you right there at the threshold.

What you weren’t prepared for was: “Yes, that’s it, my clever little man, get it, get the ribbon for mama-”

You froze.

There she was, on her knees on the rug, her silk robe slipping from one shoulder, hair tumbling around her like some kind of ancient goddess…

Playing with Salem.

That fucking cat.

You blinked and waited, surely she would glance up soon. She didn’t.

She laughed softly as Salem pawed at the belt of her robe. “Ohhh, look at you. You’re so smart. You’re the smartest little man I’ve ever seen! Yes, you are, yes, you-”

You coughed loudly.

Nothing.

You stepped forward. The sound of your heel clicked on the wood floor.

Still nothing.

Agatha didn’t even flinch.

Your heart pounded. Your hands curled into fists at your sides. You were standing in the most stunning, expensive, planned-with-a-friend-for-six-hours lingerie of your life- and she hadn’t even looked up.

You waited three more seconds before yelling, “AGATHA.”

She jerked upright like she’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. Salem meowed in protest, hopping back from the sudden movement.

Her head snapped up.

Her jaw dropped.

And for the first time in her very long life, Agatha Harkness was rendered completely speechless.

Her eyes trailed slowly, painfully, down your body.

From your flushed cheeks, to your soft, bare shoulders, down your chest, where the silk clung like a second skin, to the curve of your waist, the garters on your thighs, the way the stockings shimmered in the firelight.

Her lips parted. “Fuck.”

You stared at her. Unmoving.

Agatha blinked. Tried to recover. “Baby- ”

“Oh,” you said, voice shaking with rage, “don’t you ‘baby’ me.”

She froze.

You stepped forward slowly, heels clicking like a spell being cast. “I’ve been putting up with your little games for days. You’ve been teasing me, taunting me, rubbing that smug little cat in my face like I’m some clingy little afterthought who should be grateful to sleep at the edge of the bed.”

Agatha’s mouth opened. “You know I was just- ”

You raised a hand. “Don’t.”

And she stopped.

You kept walking until you stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, the silk creasing against your skin. “I put on this for you. I let you play your little jealousy game all day. I didn’t bite. I didn’t react. I let you believe you were winning. Because I thought, tonight, you’d finally remember who I am to you.”

Agatha’s throat worked. “You’re everything-”

“And yet,” you cut in, voice low and furious, “I walked out of that bathroom looking like this, and you didn’t even fucking notice I was in the room.”

She flinched.

“I was standing right there,” you said, gesturing to the doorway. “In this, this stupidly fucking expensive set I agonized over for hours, this whole plan I crafted with Jen to make you notice me again, and you were too busy flirting with the fucking cat.”

Salem let out a tiny, uncertain chirp.

You shot him a glare. “Not now.”

Agatha stood slowly. “Darling…”

“No,” you snapped. “Don’t even try. You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to see me like this.”

She crossed to you, hands open like she wanted to kneel. “You’re right. I fucked up. Let me make it right.”

“Oh, now you’re interested?”

“You look… ” her voice dropped, reverent and desperate, “divine. I want to worship you.”

You laughed coldly. “Go play with your cat, Agatha. Because you’re sure as hell not playing with me.”

Her face cracked. It was subtle. The tiniest twitch at the edge of her mouth. A flicker of panic behind her lashes. Her hands trembled just slightly. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered.

You turned to the door. “Watch me.”

Agatha surged forward, just one step but the second she did you spun round rapidly. “Don’t.”

Your voice cut through the room like a blade. “You’ve made your choice every night this week. And tonight? You proved I don’t even register when that cat’s in the room.”

“Baby…”

“No.” You wrapped your robe tightly around you. “I’m not going to beg for your attention. I’m not going to stand here in fucking couture lingerie while you grovel. I’m going to bed.”

She looked wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes wide. Breathing shallow.

“Wait, wait- please,” she said, voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t see you- ”

“No,” you said, and opened the door. “You didn’t.”

You walked out and slammed it shut behind you.

For a second, there was silence.

Then, from behind the door:

“Fuck.”

Pause.

“Salem, I need a minute.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I fear you've awaken something in me with that cold!reader fic........ We need lore drops....... How did they meet....... Their dynamic at home...... CLENCHING MY SEAT AND BEGGING ✊✊✊✊✊✊

Unexpected Head Cannons

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x cold!reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: You wanted lore—here it is.

Summary: How Ghost met and fell for you and how their dynamic is at home with something extra

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

How They Met:

It wasn’t romantic. Not at first.

Simon met her during an off-books operation. She wasn’t military, but she was involved—either contracted through intelligence, maybe cyber ops, or part of a joint task force that had crossed paths with his. She was quiet. Efficient. Said only what needed to be said and nothing more. She didn’t look at him like others did—not with fear or awe or speculation.

She just looked. And then looked away.

Simon noticed her silence before anything else. In a room full of barking voices and tension, she was a cold draft—calm and collected, but present. He couldn’t explain it, but he started listening for her. Watching her. Noticing the smallest quirks—how she read documents like she was dissecting prey, how she barely blinked when someone yelled, how she seemed carved from stone but never missed a detail.

She noticed him, too. How he stood in corners like a sentry. How he didn’t make noise unless it mattered. They didn’t talk often, but when they did, it was… honest.

They exchanged numbers under the guise of “professional follow-up.”

The texts started dry. Then sharp. Then softer.

When he asked her to meet up again—off duty—she didn’t say yes.

She just said, “Send the address.”

Their Dynamic at Home:

Their home is quiet. Not cold, just peaceful.

Neither of them fill silence with empty noise. They speak when it matters. They read in the same room. She’ll curl up on the couch with a book while he sits on the floor nearby, cleaning a weapon or sketching something in a notebook. The TV is rarely on unless it’s a documentary or something dry and British.

She doesn’t fuss over him—and he adores her for it.

If he’s injured, she won’t gasp or coddle. She’ll just set out the med kit, raise an eyebrow, and say, “Shirt off. Sit still.”

She drinks her tea slowly. Watches him over the rim of the mug. He stares back, eyes soft behind the mask when he wears it, softer still without it.

They don’t “check in” like most couples. No excessive “how was your day” nonsense. It’s more like:

“Eat yet?”
“No.”
“Kitchen.”
“Alright.”

But when he’s had a bad mission, or when something heavy’s weighing on him—she’ll sit beside him, thigh against his, and let him breathe. Her hand will find his. She won’t speak.

And Simon? He melts in those moments. He’s safe there.

Little Details / More Lore:

* Pet Names: She never calls him "Ghost." It’s always Simon—like she’s peeling back the layers and refuses to entertain anything less. He sometimes calls her “love” or “trouble,” depending on her mood.

* Arguments: Silent, sharp, and over quickly. They don’t yell—they glare. He broods. She gives him a look that says “Fix it, or I walk.” And he always does.

* Affection: Rare in public. Behind closed doors? He’s got a hand on her thigh under the dinner table. Forehead kisses. Muted murmurs of “You’re all I’ve got.”

* Her Past: Nobody’s quite sure. Ghost suspects she’s been through hell—same as him—but she doesn’t share unless it slips through the cracks. And when it does? He listens. No judgement. Just squeezes her hand until her voice steadies.

* She Keeps His Spare Mask: Hidden in her drawer, tucked behind a stack of books. She doesn’t wear it—but when he’s gone too long, she holds it like it’s him.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Thanks so much for the love for the first six parts of this series! i wish i could kiss you all 💜 xoxo <<prev >>next

Morning came and you were alone. Goosebumps came easily with the morning, the air chilling your skin. You put on comfy clothes and step out.

Emily offers you something to eat but you’re only thirsty. You didn’t want to accept anything just to half heartedly eat it.

You return into the room and you try to draw. You couldn’t think of what to draw. You stare up at the ceiling, racking your brain for ideas. You let the pen fall out of your fingers due to defeat. You look straight ahead and decide to see what other things Paul likes to do.

Only one graphic novel and you flipped through it. It wasn’t something you would get into. You put it back. A couple of gaming cds and you look around for a gaming console. You feel a bag and it’s in there but there’s no tv. You put the cds back, meaning to just not mess with anything else. As you were, a medium sized book with white pages fall. You pick it up to place it back to where it belongs but you catch a peek at the visuals that are on the paper.

You start from the beginning. You couldn’t believe your eyes. There were sketches. You flip through them in amazement. The style was unique in its own way. You were pissed at first for him not telling you but it was hard to stay upset when you were looking at such beautiful visuals. It was such an innocent hobby.

You almost jump as you get deeper into the book. A portrait that looks oddly a lot like you. It was a peaceful version of you. You tried to draw your own portrait of yourself before but you never liked how they looked or came out. This was different. Then, more pages were flipped and the pictures were erotic. You tried to flip past but more and more kept coming. Your heartbeat racing past, now watching two figures explore each other’s bodies. Very realistic. It felt intruding to look at.

You hear sounds from outside of the door and you slam the sketchbook closed. Just as the door opened, you were sat on the bed with just your own sketchbook.

“Everything alright?” Emily asks you. You just nod.

”Let me know if you need anything.” she says and shuts the door softly and you smile back before turning serious. You close your own book before taking out the library book that you had read all the way through.

You make your way out the door when a tired Paul walks through the door with Sam. He ups his mood when he sees you. He gets to you before Sam gets to Emily.

You pull back, smiling and out of breath. You hold him at bay, with you preventing his hands from fondling you too much.

“Where are you going?” he says and pulls you with him.

“Taking this back.” you tell him and he shakes his head.

“Just do it later.” He says and you’re pulled into his room.

The door is shut and you’re trapped between it and the front of Paul. This kiss makes your knees wobbly and he transfers to your neck and his hands opens you up. On your sides, his hands take waist and makes you grind on his hard-on. When space is available, you move to the side.

“I’ll be quick.” You tell him, raising the book. He walks towards you with a content and relaxed grin and pulls it out of your hands. He sets it elsewhere.

“So will I.” he tells you and takes the directions of his hands up under your shirt. You sigh into his mouth as your body automatically move forward on him. Openly kissing your collarbone, his hands move down and feels all on your semi soaked underwear. You pull back. You wouldn’t be able to keep quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“We shouldn’t. We’ll get caught. I can’t even keep my voice down.” you say and try to look elsewhere.

He stares at you for a moment and nods with acceptance. That meant he really couldn’t do what he wanted to do with you.

“You should sleep. I want to talk to you without you dozing off.” you tell him and rub his shoulder.

He gives you a look and you chuckle. He lays down and right before you turn, “Lay with me until I fall asleep.” He doesn’t even let you object before you’re held on tight to him. You reach and softly sooth his scalp with your fingers running through his hair. He slowly droops his eyelids and tries his best to jerk awake to be able to look at you. But, sleep ended up winning.

You move to slide out of bed but his grip is dead solid. Even the harsher attempts weren’t working. Lightly snoring, he wasn’t waking up any time soon.

Your face was smushed into the pillow and you blink your eyes open and the room was much darker. You hear a knock. With no answer, it creaks open and Emily tells you that it’s time for dinner. You look over and one arm is around you still and another arm is covering the top part of his face. You shake him. He looks at you with tired droopy eyes even though he slept.

He takes his time to sit at the table but he makes sure he holds some of your fingers. You put food on his plate for him while Sam and Emily trail off into their own small talk. Jared walks in looking stressed out. He has a seat and eats silently.

“You know you could’ve came back with us.” Sam says to him.

“Yeah. I went to Kim’s.” he says. You put down your fork.

“How did it go?” Sam asks.

Jared shrugs, “It’s not going anywhere.” he says and just leaves it at that.

“What’s wrong with Kim?” you speak up, genuinely wanting to know.

“Nothing’s wrong with her…I just find it strange that the wolf in me likes her but the man in me doesn’t. Without the imprint, she never had or would catch my eye.” he answers honestly.

You didn’t know what to say to that.

You wash the dishes, shooing Emily away since she cooked for everybody. Sam pulls Jared to the side and Paul decides to use this time to squeeze in more sleep.

In the morning, you woke up to Paul being gone again and you decide to go home and grab your laptop. You looked around at your room and noticed you’ve went from spending almost all of your time in it to always being away from it.

You go on your laptop to log into your email. After scrolling, a subject with important characters are displayed. An illustration feature opportunity in a magazine. You accept it all of the way.

Walking back, clutching to your laptop, you decide to stop past Kim’s. Her mother wasn’t home so it was Kim who opened the door. She was dressed in out clothes and you took a seat at your favorite spot, her window sill seat.

“Jared came by yesterday.” she says to you as she flat irons her hair.

“I heard.” you say solemnly. She just shakes her head as the hot device glides down a piece of hair.

“He talked about something about only feeling something for me on behalf of his wolf.” She mutters and scoffs.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to him? I can set him straight. I know how much you like him.”

Kim looks at you as if you burned her.

“No, Y/N. If he doesn’t want me on his own then it’s useless. It would feel forced.” she says and looks in her mirror that she’s sitting in front of.

“I understand. So, what are you going to do?” you ask.

“I’m going out. My cousin from Neah Bay is throwing a graduation party. I’m leaving a bit earlier because of the drive there.”

You nod. You hope it kept her mind off of the realities of what was happening here.

“You should come. When was the last time we hung out?” she says as she finished her hair.

“Erm..I don’t know…” you say and start thinking, that’s miles away from Paul and you didn’t know if you could handle it.

“Come on..You’re always with..them. I’m even leaving soon. Please?” she says and you ponder some more.

“I’m on for another project..this time in a magazine.” you say, but she just shakes her head.

“Not going for it. You’ll have it done in five seconds. Come on..Please? You’ll have a ride there and back. Plus, I’ll even let you play in my closet.” She offers. You sigh dramatically before smiling, “Fine.” She jumps up and squeals and pull you up.

“Let me just call first okay?” you say and she turns away to open her closet.

You step out of the room and sit on the steps.

“Hello?” a groggy voice answers.

“Hey are you back?” you ask and he clears his throat a bit.

“Yeah. Where did you go?”

“Kim’s. Look, I might come back late tonight. So-“

“Why?” he interrupts.

“Well, I’m going with Kim to her cousin’s graduation party.” you say and you’re met with silence. You pull back your phone to see if the connection was lost. The call is still ongoing.

“Hello?” you then say.

“Where?” he asks and you tell him and that’s when things shifted.

“You’re crazy.” he says.

“What?” you say getting a bit agitated.

“You don’t even know what goes on there. Trust me. It’s not going to be some innocent get together. They’re wild down there.”

“I know myself. I’ll be okay.” You try to tell him but he wasn’t having it. He sounds more awake.

“But you don’t know them. You would be a target just because they would know you’re not from there or hang there. If I wasn’t so beat I would be going with you. Y/N, seriously.” he says through the phone.

“I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Y/N, I swear to god-“

“Paul, I’ll call you I swear.” you hang up because Kim comes out of her bedroom and shows you what you could wear.

You blindly take it and feel a buzz on your phone.

“If you go , we’re done. I mean it.”

Your mood changed. You kept staring at it. You imagined going against the grain. A pang in your chest shoot sharply of the thought of letting Paul go.

“Shit. I have to start working for this deadline in a couple of days. I’m really sorry Kim. We’re going to hang before you leave. I promise.” you say and her face falls.

“Hope all goes well.” she says dryly, accepts her outfit back, and turns back in her bedroom.

You walk with more attitude as you walk back to Sam and Emily’s. You fly the door open, with a little bit more force than meant. Paul was nonchalantly at the table with his phone right there.

“Really? We’re done?” you then nod. “Fine.” you say and walk to his room.

“You’re absolutely crazy if you think I would let you hit that side of town.” he says and leans against the door frame.

You just shake your head and face the window not wanting to look at his face.

“No trust. What’s the point?” you mutter defiantly and shrug.

You feel a hand on you and you shrug it off. You wanted him to know how you felt so badly. He knew what you felt. He knew too much from his past experiences from just hanging around the people alone. They liked to take partying far most of the time. You having a boyfriend wouldn’t have stopped their pressure.

“I know what I’m doing, Y/N.” he just says.

“What? Be my father?”

“Would you stop being so childish? Obviously I’m trying to prevent bad news. That’s definitely not your crowd.” he says and chuckles with no humor.

”Afraid I’m going to run into many of your tramps?” you say harshly and face him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says and you look away.

“You should ask that question to yourself. You don’t control me.” you say and walk to the front door, outside in the fresh air.

He halts your walk, “If I let you go and something does happen, then what? I’m the first person you’re going to call. I’m good enough to fix it but not good enough to prevent it?”

“Don’t worry, you won’t hear from me when I touch Seattle in a few days.” you retort back.

“You probably weren’t even going to tell me huh? So ready to fuck me over.” he says venomously.

“I would’ve had to listen to you whine about what I can’t do…Maybe..I think we need some space.” you say. You didn’t mean it but the emotion took over.

Jared comes out, and stands beside Paul with a look of concern.

“I told you. I fucking told you.” he says and shakes his head. You choose not to say anything. His gaze alone pierced through your heart. Jared tries to persuade him back in the house. You held your chest as it pounded with pain. Fighting with each other caused pain.

You two didn’t speak. You were around each other but you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. He didn’t speak because he would get angry all over again. You mostly stayed up under Emily. You helped her bake desserts before she went off with Sam.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jared asks as he bites into the sandwich he made for himself with a sweet treat to eat after. You sit down.

“Yeah. It’s my fault.” you say and look out of the window with your chin resting on your hands.

“Heard you went out with Kim. Did something happen?”

“Sort of. He warned me about the kids in Neah Bay. I was only going with Kim to her cousin’s party but…He was being controlling.”

“Not saying this because he’s my friend, but he did save your ass.”

“Kim really wanted me to go with her. She’s still messed up about the whole imprinting thing.”

Jared huffs a bit and looks off into space for a bit.

“What’s really holding you back? I mean, you can talk to me.” You offer. He seemed conflicted.

“I was honest when I said it’s only the wolf part of me who feels compelled to be around her and all. I’m not trying to be mean but…she’s plain..basic. And before you say I didn’t at least give it a try, making a simple conversation is like pulling teeth. She can’t even take a joke if her life depended on it.” he vents out and ends that with a bite.

You lean back and continue to look out of the window. He wasn’t finished.

“You two, you and Paul. You already fight like a married couple. You both liked each other before the imprint. It’s more believable for it to be “meant to be.” If I have to spend the rest of my life with someone, I want it to be fun and happy.”

Paul went with Jared to his house. You called Kim to see if she was okay but there was no answer. You were so bored. There was still youth to the nighttime. Emily and Sam were off into their bonding time.

You stayed up very late, almost morning when Paul comes through. You weren’t in bed, you were sitting on the floor with a book you brought. He still didn’t speak or look your way. He got into bed and turned over and went to sleep.

The next morning, you decided to give him some space. As he slept, you quietly took your bag and belongings and made your way home. You were listening to music when you got a call.

The person who orchestrated the illustration project for you, wanted to know if you could come to Seattle for a small interview two days from now. You accept. It’s only a drive away. Hanging up, a text from Paul appears.

“You left?”

”Yes I’m back home.”

You watched, but no text came back.

The next day, you call. No answer. You just decide to call over and over. He answers on the fifth try.

“Hey.” you speak out. He sighs a bit and mutters back a hey.

You went to him tell all of the details of your new project in Seattle. “Do you want to tag along?”

“I’m good. I’ll stay back.”

“Why not? We can wander around.”

“That moment is for you.” he just says.

“I want my moment to be with you.”

You’re met with silence again. Nobody was home, everyone had plans.

“Do you want to come over?” you suggest.

“I’ll see.” You two hang up with each other.

You dozed off, after waiting for some time. You woke up to the creak of your window being open and look over to see Paul swing himself in like he’s been doing it time and time again.

You get up and hug him. It takes him a minute to finally wrap his arms around you and when he does, it’s a very tight bear hug.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me. I messed up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” you say into his lower chest. He rubs you on the back and sits you down.

“I’m not mad at you.” he says quietly. You nudge him. “Yes you are.”

“No. I’m mad at the situation but not at you.” he says and you know that he’s telling the truth. He sighs and goes on, “I don’t think you understand how much it hurts me whenever I can’t protect you. Even when it’s 100% preventable.”

You nod and look the other way.

“Come back with me.” he says and gives you the eyes to prevent you from saying no.

“I don’t know… I kinda miss my own bed.” You say to tease him.

“Please. You don’t miss it that bad.” Paul comes back with and emits a laugh from you. He takes a hold of the nape of your neck and pull you to him. Instantly you’re melted into him. He glided his hand on your bare back underneath your shirt. After a moment you pull back.

“You’re coming with me to Seattle right?” you say breathlessly.

He lifts his eyelids just a little, “Mmm maybe.” He leans back in. You pull back with a smack.

“Please?” you say and he covers you mouth with his again. This time, he gets your tongue to follow his lead. His hand move to the side of your face and you hold his forearm, trying your best to keep up with him. Ending with a soft pop, he looks at you, “You sure you don’t need space?”

Your hand is now on the nape of his neck, “I will never say that again.”

“Show me you’re sorry then.” he purrs to you and you lean forward to capture him. You take his hand and lead it straight to the point. While kissing him, you pressed his hand to your mound and move sensually, to let him feel you. He raised his hand, never leaving your skin, and discard whatever was covering the bottom part of you.

You lay back as he melts in between you savoring the taste of your lips, the feeling of his poked out flesh was making friction with your underwear covered part. His hands slide up your sides and you followed the blueprint of discarding the shirt. With unspilled drool, Paul is latched onto your spilled breasts. Taking his time with circling them each with his tongue. Your stomach sucks in, gasping occasionally, forgetting how to breathe. He moves down and puts his nose down and inhaled before going on to lick his lips. Your legs are raised with your underwear being slide down.

“Are you flexible?” he asks sensually.

“I think..so.” you answer back quietly. You soon know why he asked when he pushed your legs back making your knees separated with them pressed side by side your head. You were on full display as he looked down. A high note raised from your throat when he leaned down and lapped at you. Your head moves side to side as you could only grip onto his hair and the blankets on your bed. You couldn’t help when your body moved towards his mouth. He was precise. You grab onto his hands as he felt you up, your head was titled back and you whined about.

He pulls back as soon as you feel yourself getting closer to the white light, he shoved his shorts down and a spring of skin bobs out. His eyes never leaving yours, he touched himself softly, admiring you flushed and spread out.

He moves and flip you over him and you can finally kiss him. It was hot. It was sloppy but you both didn’t care. He nudged you to sit up, straddling him upright. You looked down as he lined you up with him. He made sure to gather the sap between you, and you took him in little by little. Thankful for no one being home, you were able to get out your whines and moans of moving back and forth on him. Pure euphoria is what you both felt. Both wanting the feeling to last forever. Your hands laid flat on his chest. His hands cupping and gripping the bottom of you, you look down as you go up and down to see him biting his lip a little as he rakes his eyes on you.

The sopping noises mixed with the small squeaks of your bed is partly responsible for producing more natural sap between your legs. Halfway off of the bed, he looked down as he pounded a steady rhythm with him holding your feet to his chest. Your body arched and you felt the tingles running throughout your entire body. He decides to slow it down, making you lose your mind, wanting him to go faster. He retracted out slow and the thrust in made you shudder without fail.

“Paul” you whine out to him. You didn’t recognize your voice. His thumb traced your pearl to match his strokes. “I’m here baby.” he says erotically. He lets your legs hang on his shoulders, lift you up a bit from the bed as you hang onto him, he pumps fluidly in and out. You now understood the feeling of someone fucking your brains out. Gasping, shuddering and shaking on him, he pulls out and rides out his orgasm. You crawl back, your body still not done trembling. You lay to your side and you moan, letting the climax pass through. Naked and all, Paul pulls you to him, carries you to the shower and he washes you. Possessively feeling all of you. Your back is facing and pressed against him, you’re crumbling all over again. Open kisses are placed on the neck as he circles his finger on your second heart, you hang onto him.

Your legs feel like jelly as you walk down the stairs. Your newly packed bag is in Paul’s hands and he lets you in the car. You felt like a lovesick puppy.

As you sit on the bed, waiting for him to join you to sleep, he flashes a mischievous glance.

“What?” you say.

“I want to sleep skin to skin.”

Flushed skin makes another debut on you as you stutter. He just laughs and kisses you on the side of your mouth, “One day.”

You made sure to bring your best examples of your work. In the waiting area, it was stressing you out. Paul leaned back in the chair, seeming to be totally relaxed. You kept flipping the pages over and over. He has a hand on your knee now and you notice that he paused the bouncing of your leg.

“Just be yourself.” He says to you.

Sitting across from two people, flipping through proof of your work, your stomach is clenched. In fact, you feel so tense all over. You watched their poker faces anxiously as they observe each page.

You already talked. They already asked the questions. You were waiting for their decisions.

A white contract is placed in front of you. They give you a week to make your mind up.

You walk out with the white paper in your hands and your shoulders are dropped due to relaxation. Paul didn’t wait for you to say the words. Your feet are off the ground. Your arms are around his neck and he nuzzled your neck while holding you in a slow swaying hug.

“Thank you..Thank you for everything.” you tell him seriously.

“That was all you, woman.”

You couldn’t have done it without him. His support. His push. You didn’t feel complete without him.

[revelboo]

I must know what happens in skin and bones next-

One of the previous anons was correct- this story has us both in a chokehold now- it’s glorious and it has me so giddy omg

(Once again thank you for blessing us with your Wondrous writing revel! Make sure you’re taking breaks!)

-✨💜💫

Sure! 18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Skin and Bones Pt 13

Megatron x Reader

• Sitting up wrapped in a blanket, you make yourself smile when he brushes a servo against the corner of your mouth. “I have very little patience for lying and you’re terrible at it,” he murmurs, before hooking an arm around you and dragging you into his lap. “Tell me.” Shoulders hunching, you have no idea how to even broach the subject. How to admit you think you might love him without him laughing at you or it ruining this. It’s not like you aren’t aware that this between you two likely isn’t going to last. Servos firmly gripping your chin to tip your head up, his expression is serious as you flounder.

• Maybe you regret what happened between you? Maybe he was too rough with you and you just don’t want to admit it. But the longer you’re silent, eyes avoiding him, the more tension brackets his frame. And you reach up to lay a hand on his wrist. Beginning to growl when you finally meet his optics. “What am I really to you?” Freezing, he vents softly. Is that it? You’re afraid you’re only a passing amusement to him? A toy? He’d tried to tell you before, but apparently you need more reassuring and it’s sweet how unsure you are. Pulling you into him, he gently presses your face to his chassis and you relax into him. How can this between you both be so taboo and feel so right? The feel of you in his arms giving him more peace than he’s had in so long.

• “A friend,” he says, deep voice hesitant and that word makes you flinch, because it’s not what you want to hear after the intimacy. The unspoken ‘you’re good enough to fuck, but that’s it’ hurting more than you thought it would. “Someone I can talk to. Can trust when I have so many enemies. So many plotting against me.” Eyes burning as he tips your face up and his mouth brushes the bridge of your nose between your eyes. “You’re my shelter in the madness and drama.” Breath catching, it’s not an I love you, but maybe it’s as close as he’s able to get at being vulnerable. “My future.”

• You’re reaching for him, a soft hand cupping his cheek. Expression uncertain, you shift in his lap to straddle him, leaning up and brushing your mouth against his. “I think I love you,” you whisper against his lips, those unexpected words shocking through him. Cupping the back of your head, he claims your mouth, glossa stealing inside. Feeling you against him, the scent of you, the beat of your heart, and your taste grounding him. Unable to believe you might actually love him and painfully aware of all the things you don’t know about him. That you’ve not seen what he’s capable of. Would you fear him if you knew the truth? Recoil in horror and disgust? Demand to be freed? Even if you hated him, he’s not sure he could let you go at this point. You’re his.

• Looping your arms around his neck as the kiss deepens, becomes something urgent and demanding, you whimper. His mouth almost bruising against yours as his hands shift to your hips and lift you. Feel the head of his spike slide against you, before he’s stretching you again even though you’re still tender from the last time. Gasping into his mouth as he encourages you to ride him, letting you set the pace as his denta nip your bottom lip. Those red optics luminous and hungry when he brushes his helm against your forehead, your breath mingling with his rough venting. And even if he doesn’t love you, for now this is enough. But he’s right, you’re a terrible liar.

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