#second thing is If you’re reading this about what terrible marriage is you can ask and immediately trigger epic-length unskippable dialogue

[dirtbra1n]

heyo dirtbrain I got two for you for that ship ask game. first is wangxian. second is zhongli & childe bc i know nothing abt genshin impact and also bc the opinions i do have kind of relate to both of these asks which is fun

hello kiri Really tickled by your second selection here. I will try to be brief, (1/137)

literally every single time I think about mdzs I have this constant incessant need to say out loud I DO LIKE WANGXIAN. to my ghost audience. because I really really do. but I’m not Compelled. there are things that compel me and wangxian’s not doing much of any of it. it’s all there already….. which is . where’s the fun in that for me…….. granted though I still haven’t read the properly localized novels yet. started reading the first one the other day but it’s at the bottom of the priority list I guess you could add this one. because there are other more pressing issues at hand. I guess it’s. I’m a terrible marriage (complicated definition) fan and wangxian are so Regular marriage. good for them! but come on guys…..

Also colored in large part probably by the way mdzs fandom was in like 2019/20 and the shredding of lan zhan’s character . different rabbithole different day I hope it’s gotten better in the time I’ve been away . I do still miss my friend wei wuxian though They could never make me hate you king…….

zhongli childe genshin impact though Ha ha. ohhh man.

boring people yaoi is the worlds most egregious crime to me and I’m NOT kidding. I think I’ve mentioned to you kiri my extensive personal genshin mindpalace. and these two are both in there as two of four major players. probably also mentioned the debaucherous tilt this entire mindpalace has happening.

the point I’m not getting at here but am steering towards anyway is that childe knows that zhongli has the power to crush him and the earth he stands on with a lifted pinky and is so into it because he’s a violence freak. and so he’s constantly trying to push zhongli’s buttons, trying to see if he can move the mountain if he just shoves hard enough, shoves in the right way, at the right time. not that there’s not also like. resentment. some complicated feelings bubbling. I wouldn’t care at all if there wasn’t. mindpalace wouldn’t exist if there wasn’t. another rabbithole for another day.

anyway zhongli feels far too old for this. consciously. he feels too old for this consciously I don’t think the boring yaoi people are wrong on principle when they put that old man in Situations. I do so myself. they’re just wrong because they’re not putting enough struggle into it. because I think that zhongli knows what childe’s after and is determined not to give him anything. and yet simultaneously will see him in the right lighting or covered in gore and think I want to eat him. no quicker way to feel your age. he was a martial god, you know. it’s not that he’s averse to violence or the eroticism of it on principle you can’t be a martial god who is Normal about violence. but if you see this twenty-something human being who is trying to rile you up, trying to get you where he wants you, and you let him… you have to be a much kinder, more feeble minded man than zhongli. work harder, gongzi. try harder.

he’s also just not immune to it is the thing. pride be damned the actual thing stopping him is probably the ‘feeling like a cradle robber’ thing

all that said on this topic I’m citing one of my favorite tweets ever

[lowkeyremi]

YOU’RE DOING GREAT, MAMA !

pairing: ushijima x fem!reader note: this has been in my drafts foreverrrr. it’s finally seeing the world thank God. i need to write more abt toshi summary: your husband comforts you through postpartum depression. content: angst, fluff, bittersweet moments, marriage, implied pregnancy, reader doubts her ability to be a mother, etc

The three of you returned home after three days in the hospital. During those three days you haven’t really been yourself at all.

Your baby boy, Nao was born healthy and strong. He’s doing all the normal stuff a newborn should do, but for some reason when you look at his tiny face you feel dread pitted deeply in your stomach.

Shouldn’t you feel joy when you see your little baby’s face? A lump forms in your throat as you start to think of the worst outcomes. Are you… rejecting your child? There’s no way. You and your husband spent months waiting for little Nao’s arrival. You were so excited setting up his room and buying him stuff. The ultrasounds were also very amusing to look at.

None of that excitement remains right now. “You must be tired, honey. Since you’ve already nursed him I’ll put him to sleep.” Wakatoshi pulls you out of your saddening thoughts. He shoots you a look of worry, because you’re clutching your chest tight, like you’re struggling to breathe.

“O-okay. Thank you ‘Toshi.” A faux smile crosses your face just to try and reassure your husband. He walks off to Nao’s nursery with his baby carrier in hand, but you know that he knows you well enough to ask what’s wrong later.

While your husband put Nao to sleep you changed out of your clothes into some comfy pajamas and you head to the bathroom to pee, brush your teeth and wash your face.

As the minty paste foams in your mouth you start thinking about your son again and you don’t even notice that you’re crying until-

“Sweetheart, why are you crying?” His voice comes soft and he uses his big hands to wipe away your salty tears.

You spit out the toothpaste, and in a few seconds you’re rinsing your toothbrush and your mouth out.

“I’m not sure- I just- I-” you pause letting out a shuttering breath, how do you even explain something like this? “I’m not as excited about Nao as I had been before he was born…”

Wakatoshi engulfs you in a hug from behind. “I’ve noticed at the hospital how you didn’t want to hold him much.” He too pauses before continuing on, “I was reading into this a few months earlier, but many women get postpartum depression after their baby is born.”

“This doesn’t make any sense, we just brought a life into this world and I don’t even feel any excitement about it.” Wakatoshi rubs small comforting circles onto your stomach which hasn’t completely gone back to its normal size.

“‘Toshi am I a terrible mother already?” You ask looking at him through the mirror. His brows furrow at the suggestion and he shakes his head violently which almost cheers you up because it’s so out of character for him.

“Not at all. Please do not talk about yourself that way. You’re going to be an amazing mother. Just give it some time.” He’s telling the truth, Wakatoshi is nothing but brutally honest about things, so you have no choice but to believe him.

Although, everything feels like it’s not okay, you allow your husband to comfort you through these baby blues. It won’t last forever, you tell yourself, as you put your toothbrush back in the cup.

Wakatoshi kisses your temple, it’s so soft and delicate. “We’ve created a beautiful baby boy and he’s going to grow up with the most loving parents.” He means that too, Wakatoshi grew up in a divided household so it’s no wonder he wants his son to grow up in a household that’s warm and loving.

“You’re right, we’ll raise our baby boy the best we can. Thank you ‘Toshi. I really needed to hear that. I was starting to spiral.” He squeezes you in a hug again.

“It’s nothing, and if you ever feel yourself in these baby blues again, just let me know, so I can remind you that you’re a great mother.” What in the world did you do to deserve this man?

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

[prinzrupprecht]

Susano’o x Shinto goddess!reader

Took a break from spamming Okita and Anubis oneshots. Time for some Susano’o this time. Reader has similar story as Kushinadahime in lore. Wanted to recreate it.

Synopsis: You’re one of the goddesses of the Land of Izumo and the daughter of Ashinazuchi and Tenazuchi deities. One day a demon serpent that appeared in the Land of Koshi known as the Yamata no Orochi started wrecking havoc and killed many of your beloved sisters leaving you traumatized and the only surviving daughter. Your father had asked the God of Swords to kill the serpent, however, Susano’o had one request. It was for your hand in marriage.

TW: deaths mentioned

WC: 1131

Your father has been in his room for several hours weeping over the loss of one of your sisters who was killed by the eight-forked serpent. You had grown worried and stayed silent. You have been a quiet person for most of your life and even scared that you could be next to die. As you tiptoed across the wooden temple to get some fresh air you nearly had bumped into someone. Huh?

You looked up and your whole face turned red. You recognized who he was immediately due to his appearance and the sword he was carrying wrapped in a bandage. Susano’o-no-Mikoto?! You’ve heard stories of him being the governor of the lands and small descriptions of him through other relatives. “S-Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going—!” You had squeaked causing him to find your embarrassment amusing. Your cheeks flushed bright red immediately as your body trembled at how powerful his authority seemed to be. You felt like you would be crushed within seconds but his expression softened seeing how nearly terrified you were.

“You’re one of the daughters of Ashinazuchi and Tenazuchi?” He was holding his bandage sword up on his shoulder while he stared down at you. You quickly nodded as your eyes trailed down his gold-yellow pauldrons that hung off his left shoulder. You also couldn’t help but admire his bluish-white hair and his thick cloud-shaped eyebrows. He looked marvellous to you as you both stared at each other. You were in your own little world while he was observing your reactions. He figured you probably never left the temple and was curious about him. You also seemed terrified of outsiders and trusted very little. He was enthralled by your beauty at first glance. Susano’o was yet again wondering why he was called down to meet the two children of the mountain god; your parents. He also had no idea someone like you would be here and you already captivated his attention.

Before he could speak again, you had already rushed passed him. You were panicking on the inside that you may have insulted the Sword God. Your whole mind felt weak with a lot of things and losing your siblings took a toll on you. Having that being said, you had wondered why he was here.

——

“This was a difficult decision asking you to come all the way here since you’re normally busy governing the lands of Japan.” Your father sat on his throne seeing that Susano’o had raised his left eyebrow wondering what was so important for him to be here.

“I had thought something must’ve happened if I’m being asked to come here.” Susano’o hummed as he took in the tension in the room. He could read the expressions of others quite well, something terrible had happened. Susano’o thought back on how skittish you were around him.

“Well, a lot has happened actually, one of the demons merged nearby and has devoured eight of my daughters. We’ll pay you a thousand times over if you can kill this demon,” your father stood up from his throne, but what shocked Susano’o was how he lowered himself to his hands and knees begging the Sword God for help to kill the serpent demon. He didn’t have to beg since Susano’o would’ve gladly killed it without him asking. The amount of pain for your family that has been put through a lot of pain by such a demon. Well, Susano’o wanted one thing in return for killing the demon.

——

You were just behind the door listening in on their conversation. You heard Susano’o speak up, “I would like your only daughter to become my wife as my request.” He was serious about taking your hand? You covered your mouth as you heard Susano’o boldly ask your parents for your hand in marriage. Your heart was beating too fast. No man has ever taken interest in you. It shocked you a lot knowing this strong and fierce god wanted you as a prize.

“It’s a bit too soon for that, wouldn’t you think? Why not some alcohol instead?” You heard your mother poor him a cup of alcohol which is accepted. Your father coughed loudly but your heart was beating loudly in her chest. Your hands began to tremble next to your sides. Susano’o spoke again, “I’ll kill this serpent to ease the trouble on you and the villagers down below, but I still want my request to be fulfilled afterward.” Susano’o had a look of determination in his eyes. That made your father like him even more and no one other than him would have his approval to take your hand.

“Very well, as you do know she’s the only last daughter I have left.” Your father looked at your mother who was also silently agreeing that Susano’o could have your hand in marriage if he manages to kill the serpent.

Your father spoke your name before proceeding, “come in here.” He knew you were listening and you felt bad you turned around the corner with your head hung low.

“I— I shouldn’t have eavesdropped. My apologies, I was curious.” You stood a few feet away while your father didn’t look like he cared whether you had heard anything. Susano’o couldn’t help but want to know more about you. You were mysterious to You were hiding how red your face was, were you growing a slight crush on the Sword God? He did look incredibly handsome to you at least. You never had other gods ask for your hand considering your sisters were incredibly pretty themselves before they were killed by the serpent demon. The thought sent your mind into depression. Your family was torn away and you’d never see your sisters again because of that demon.

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m next…” you trembled where you stood and looked down. You hated how you were the last surviving daughter. You wondered if your life even mattered or not.

“Don’t fret, you’ll be in good hands.” Your father spoke out catching your attention. He was approving of Susano’o-no-Mikoto.

“I’ll not let any harm come to you.” Susano’o grabbed your hands into his. He was determined to make you his which was working. You started to feel safe around him which brought tears to your eyes.

You quickly nodded while shaking your head from the tears ready to fall. Your parents had watched and knew how their last daughter would be treated well by the Sword God. You had to wait for him to return from his task to be wedded to him. You had watched him leave the temple and your mother comforted you how you had found the perfect suitor.

You were excited for the life ahead of you and hope Susano’o returns safely.

Note: this was slow burn and I’d probably gonna just make another in the future that actually is more romantic and not slow burn. Next will prob be back with Okita or Anubis one shots again.

[avocado-writing]

i absolutely ADORE the little universe you've made for the light the dark and the spaces in between and i don't really have any specific requests, all i'm requesting is whatever work in that universe that you've already come up with or if you do get an idea for something for my favourite throuple this is an excuse to post it hihi

Notes: first of all, fav throuple? 🥹 I’m asking for your hand in marriage. Second of all I got an ask about reader being nonbinary in this series but this fic explicitly discusses them being AFAB (but GNC, could be read as trans or not). set in TLTDATSIB verse, ish, the time period is a bit wonky (14thC ish) — consider this an au where reader follows aziraphale to France after their initial meeting, finds Crowley there too and everyone is pointing at each other like that Spider-Man meme going !! Immortal!!!

words: 2k

rating: T (sex references, mild peril)

pairing: crowley x reader x aziraphale

tags: TLTDATSIB, polyamory, Fem/Masc!Crowley, Fem/Masc!Aziraphale, GNC!Reader, historical, jousting

“Are you sure? It’s terribly dangerous.”

“Aziraphale,” you sigh, “I don’t do it because it’s safe.”

“Well why do it at all?” she whines, grabbing onto your hand beseechingly. Crowley looks up from where she’s been admiring her reflection in your armour. You turn to her for support, instead she shrugs. 

“I don’t know. For glory? For honour? To prove that I can?”

Aziraphale glares at Crowley to join in but is met with the same reaction. It seems that Crowley is determined to stay neutral in this scenario. How annoying. Just like a demon to find the most awkward solution for both parties.

You tie the linens around your chest a little tighter. Under your full plate it should be difficult to tell the shape of your body but you don’t want to take any chances. Aziraphale pouts and you sigh, turning back to her to take her hand in earnest.

“My darling, I’m not like either of you. When they look at me, they will only ever see one thing. I can’t change my body around and be whoever I want to be. I have to take these measures to be viewed as anything other than what I was when I came squawling from my mother.”

You cup her cheek and she nuzzles into your touch. 

“Besides,” you add, wickedly, “am I not good at wielding a lance?”

You grin, thinking back to the three of you laying together last night. Aziraphale harrumphs and Crowley laughs at her.

“They’ll be fine, angel,” she finally pipes up. Aziraphale doesn’t seem certain but finally relents, letting Crowley adjust her surcoat and take her hand.

“Good luck,” Crowley says, but the smile on her face suggests she doesn’t think you’ll need it. You give her a wink.

“With my two ladies cheering from the crowd, how could I lose?”

You give them both a kiss goodbye before Crowley finally wrestles the angel away, likely to get her a drink and a pep-talk before the tourney starts. As they leave, your squire begins to enter, his face turning beet red as Crowley ruffles his hair.

“Hello, Oliver. Make sure our good knight doesn’t fall from his horse, will you?” she says as she goes. Oliver tries to form a sentence, fails, and winces as Crowley sways away. 

A tiny slip of a lad, you took on Oliver not only for his immense courage despite his small stature, but because you both shared a secret - one which you uncovered when accidentally walking in on him changing. You’d recognise a bound chest anywhere. You thought no less of him for it, and told him he needed not beg for your silence: you’d keep it gladly.

“Sire, I’m here to help you finish dressing,” he states, when he finally manages to get a handle over his own tongue. 

“Well timed, Oliver. Help me with this breastplate.”

He heaves and helps with the leather straps, buckling you in place. You’re swelteringly hot. Ah well, time for that to get even worse when you ride out into the sun. You take a moment to check yourself over, only noticing Oliver’s quietness when he fails to point out one of your pauldrons is loose. You furrow your brow and turn to him.

“What’s on your mind, lad?”

“Might… Might I ask a question, sire?”

“Me saying no has never stopped you before,” you jest, but when you see him scuff his foot against the floor, you drop down to be able to look him in the eye. “What’s the matter, Oliver?”

“Your ladies… you’ll fight for them both, yes? For their honour as one?”

“Yes, I will.” You don’t go into great detail about your relationship but you trust Oliver with the truth. He sees Aziraphale and Crowley clucking around you like hens before a joust all the time anyway, and the boy isn’t a fool. He can do the arithmetic of it.  

“And they’re happy with that arrangement?”

You laugh a little, but put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Those two love each other as much as they love me. My life would not be a happy one without them both in it, and they feel the same.”

Sacrilege, but really, little in this room would be considered holy by the church. And besides, you have an angel as one of the willing participants of your relationship. You think it’s probably fine.

Oliver nods. He seems to understand, but still appears like something else is weighing on his mind. You really do smother your smile this time.

“Oliver,” you tell him, gently, “I also think that you might be a bit young for Lady Crowley.”

He blushes.

🗡️

You can barely see with your helmet on, so you keep it under your arm for the time being. You cut the figure of a man well enough anyway so for the moment there’s no need to worry about your face being on show. In fact, you’ve gained a reputation for being quite handsome.

Handsome but very spoken for. Apparently there was a lady discussing giving you her favour to joust, and Crowley spilt wine all over her skirts. Then again, she did the same when a knight rode up to ask to fight for Aziraphale’s honour, and suddenly found that his helmet crest had inexplicably burst into flames. 

Crowley knows how to mark her territory.

You run a hand over your horse’s nose, humming a soothing little note as she nickers and whinnies.

“I know it’s hot, girl. Let’s give them a show and then we’ll both get out of this damned armour.”

You saddle up, letting Oliver pass you your helmet and your shield. You ride as a freelancer so neither of them are burdened with some noble’s crest; instead you ride under your own: a pair of wings, one white, one black. A little nod to the two who matter the most to you.

You ride onto the field as horns herald the start of the joust. You know a few of the knights competing, and are well aware of your first opponent - Kenelm the agile, a man you’ve faced several times over and are at equals wins against. He nods at you from his steed, hailing the crowd as he’s announced. You look across the seating, and see Aziraphale and Crowley in the front row. Where they always are, whenever you compete. With an ineffable inevitability.

“And, riding under his own banner, Sir Kerkylas of Andros!”

Even with her glasses on you know Crowley is rolling her eyes at your chosen pseudonym. You ride up to the pair of them, grinning.

“Be careful,” Aziraphale begs for the umpteenth time. She passes you her favour: a little ring, golden, set with a pair of wings on it. 

“I will be,” you say, kissing her hand, then quieter: “You do remember that I can’t die?”

“Yes, but we don’t know if dismembering will do you any good!”

Crowley reaches over to present you her token, a pin embellished with a silver snake. You stow both in your saddlebag. 

“I’ll buy you a drink if you take the helmet clean off his head,” she whispers. 

“You’re on,” you agree. Crowley reaches out to caress your face, then stops and retreats abruptly.

“Better not lay that on too heavily. I think I might kill your squire.”

A glance over your shoulder reveals that Oliver looks like he might combust. Taking mercy on the poor boy, you nod your goodbyes to the two of them and ride up to greet Kenelm.

“Ken! Didn’t think I’d see you back in the saddle so soon after that humiliating defeat in Dover.”

Kenelm rolls his eyes but holds his tongue.

“Ah, Kerk. Sorry, didn’t see it was you. I was blinded by the pomp of your armour. I forget that you need to compensate for something.”

Ha, if only he knew. 

Despite the ribbing the two of you exchange a smile.

“Good luck, Ken. And remember, aim the lance at me. Poor Cynisca was dreadfully irritable after last time, when it seemed you were trying to skewer her flank.”

He grimaces at being reminded of the faux pas before putting his helmet on and readying himself. You trot to your side of the tilt where Oliver is heaving up your lance. 

“You’ll win,” he says confidently, “Kenelm always rides worse the earlier it is in the day. If you can get a solid enough hit in, it’s over, one round.”

“I hope that your faith in me isn’t misplaced, Oliver.”

You helmet up, resigning yourself to see what little of the world you can through the frog-lip, and clutch your lance. It’s heavy but you’re used to it by now. 

An expectant silence settles over the crowd. Aziraphale buries her face in Crowley’s shoulder.

“Oh, I can’t look–!”

The flag is waved, and you charge.

🗡️

You reflect on how Crowley never bought you that drink. She insisted that knocking a man clean off his horse didn’t count as taking his helmet off. A technicality, flimsy at best - but Aziraphale was too relieved at your victory to argue either side. You went on to place second at that particular tourney, the fire of it inciting you to ride to victory in your next. 

You stopped for a while after that. It was doing Aziraphale in a little, and you loved him too much to keep his nerves that frayed.

But, nowadays, reenactments are becoming somewhat of a fad. Usually you find them a little gauche, and it’s more than a bit uncomfortable to relive some aspects of your past, but you never truly lost your love for jousting. So you allow yourself a little vice in it. Your heart aches whenever you’re reminded of Oliver, but you kept tabs on his family, and his descendants are doing quite well. One of them lives in London and works for a charity helping LGBT youth. It seems fitting. 

Plus, Aziraphale is a lot calmer about you jousting this way. 

“Are you alright?” you ask the man you just took off his horse. He looks a little winded and gladly takes your help getting up.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Think it’s just my pride that’s bruised. You’re really good at this!”

You beam.

“I’ve had practice.”

You exchange socials so that he can follow up with any questions he might have, then turn to take your horse back to the tent the organisers have set up for you. Aziraphale and Crowley are waiting. Your angel has an ice-cream for you, which he passes over before tucking into his own.

“Who was he?” Crowley sniffs, peering over your shoulder. You roll your eyes.

“Just some kid interested in the sport. Stop being jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, jealously.

“You did marvellously, my love,” Aziraphale interjects. You smile at him.

“Thank you, darling. I can be a fiend with a lance when I want to be. Even if I am a little out of practice.”

“Hmm, not out of practice as of last night,” Crowley says and Aziraphale chokes on his soft-serve. It’s good to know that even after seven hundred years, your sense of humour hasn’t changed a jot.

“Oh, and,” you say, reaching into your bag, “your favours. Returned to you after they brought me luck.”

Aziraphale slips his ring back on, Crowley affixes the pin to his jacket. Your hands linger on each other’s, as they usually do.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

“You didn’t remove his helmet, so I’m not buying.”

“Oh, you utter bastard.”

-

taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@specter-soltare@candlewitch-cryptic@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@willbedecided@cool-iguana@bdffkierenwalker @ilyatan @civil-groupie@foolishprincipalitee

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hi :3 I read your Ezekiel x reader and I was sooo happy! I wanted to ask if you could do a second part to the Ezekiel x yandere reader xP thank you and your writing is soooooo good!!!!!

Hiyaaa!💗 Thank you so much for complimenting my writing! I’m so happy to hear you enjoyed the first Ezekiel x reader! I hope you enjoy this part two!❤️

EZEKIEL X YANDERE! HOUSEWIFE! READER HEADCANONS (PART 2)

Married life was magical when you got the love of your life to think the same of you in his life.

Getting to fold all the clothes you bought for yourselves, wash and iron, drowning your nostrils in his scent.

That enchanting scent.

You keep all the hair you find of his whenever you’re changing the bedsheets or vacuuming the floors.

You devote an area of the bedroom to a shrine crafted for him, including your wedding dress and his groom suit.

You have to be selfish sometimes.

Every time he comes back home, you press your lips all over him.

Every dinner is made in accordance to what he craved for that day or week, and you always found a way to make the food spell out his name or outline his face.

You play love songs in the background. To make it more romantic, you tried burning incense once however when Ezekiel began coughing and his eyes went watery, you disposed of it right away to never use again.

For the first few days of living together, you brushed his teeth for him after being alerted that Ezekiel had no clue which direction he was meant to follow for cleaning teeth.

So you happily took it upon yourself to enforce the importance of hygiene.

Bubble baths everyday.

In turn, you got to drink his bathwater and lick his deodorant.

Lemony...

Nonetheless, you take care of his shaving for him, that being marked for.

Every evening, you would also renew your wedding vows.

"Holmes I can't lie to you...” he stretches his arms up,“But I'm a bit wiped out today. Do' think we can skip the vows today and have din dins early?"

"Skip vows today?” you gasp, couldn’t believe what you were hearing,“How do you expect me to stay sane if we skip vows any day? You know how much this means to me darling! Please? I feel terrible for asking anything of you, but can you pull through? I promise I’ll make a larger portion of supper tonight!"

Every evening.

All walls in that house is occupied by at least ten picture frames of Ezekiel.

He frequently wonders what you do for a living, since surely housekeeping wasn’t hectic enough for you to take care of majority of the bills and vacations.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about my love.” you assure him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Any day, anniversary or birthday, you arrange getaways at the expensive tourist destinations like Dubai, United States, Brazil, Kenya, Australia, England at the best hotels and best plane seats.

Whenever he falls ill, you refuse to let him do anything and confine him to the marriage bed.

At moment’s command, you are right there.

Heating pad, tissues, soup, vomit bucket, ice cream, cold water.

Ezekiel actually didn’t know what hospitals were, making him more reliant on you- or how you called it, bonding.

Knew that nursing course would pay off!

You loved being the only one he could really depend on.

But it feels that something’s missing.

Nothing about possessions or housing. You had done everything. But it’s something. Something greater than money.

It became clearer with every single turning down of Ezekiel’s suggestion about inviting his family over or going on a day trip to visit them, the one thing you refuse to grant him.

Family.

Of course. It was the thing bumping this wistful pacemaker in his behaviour.

Ezekiel... Your darling...he’s lonely.

You were both bound to be maternally and paternally deprived eventually. How you wished you were like him, whose came later.

It’s for his own good. A man and a woman is supposed to vacate their parents. Staying in touch with them would only have him getting used to seeing them and depending on them which would be more painful in the long run when they die.

Maybe now was the time to take their places, and conceive what would plant both the McLean and Miller family trees forward to see another generation.

Now?

You blush at the thought.

“I’m not so sure, bird...” your darling husband scratches the back of his neck, “When I was growing up back on the farm, my daddio was also here to raise me. If I have to go out being a rockstar everyday, the little ones might not know who their dad is. Besides, a man is needed around to raise strong children. Even the gal ones.”

“We can take turns!” you involuntarily latch yourself on top of him.

Ezekiel still hasn’t gotten used to this form of treatment, but trusts you enough to allow it,“My ma said pregnancy changed her life, eh?”

“How mine’s changed before it!” you adoringly play with a strand of his brown hair,“When I first saw you, my soul felt complete and my void was no more. I had never felt love stronger than you and now, I physically can’t survive without you.”

“Poetic, eh?” he gruffly laughs, your feelings going over him,“Not sure if that’d help in parenting, yo. Don’t wanna accidentally teach the girls it’s their world to be yappin’ in.”

Your response is a placid remark of your own femininity,“How beautiful my body is.“ an old nursery rhyme wraps your words,“Two loonies make a toonie, now aren’t I a scholar?”

Sleep well while you can, husband!

[newpathwrites]

This is a very weird, comical little drabble for A Marriage of Convenience universe based on a very sweet closing scene from a movie I just watched. All you need to know is Din and his partner have a physically intimate, non-sexual, queerplatonic relationship.

Read on AO3

________________________________________

The man walked up behind her in the kitchen, hands sliding slowly around her waist to rest lightly on her abdomen in an act of familiar intimacy. Her head tipped back to look at his face, lips curving into a fond smile before meeting his in a chaste kiss. She turned in his arms to face him before pressing her mouth again to his, smiling against his lips as a soft chuckle left his throat and the cameras panned away…

A soft sigh escaped your lips. Romance wasn’t your thing, personally, but imagining others enjoying intimate moments in this way was one of your life’s guiltiest pleasures, second only to the smutty romance novels you hid underneath your side of the bed. You wondered casually if Din knew about your secret indulgences. If so, he’d spared you the embarrassment of ever bringing it up out loud…

You were wrenched away from your alcohol-softened musings as the credits began to roll by Boba’s gentle teasing. Oh, right… you were still in the cantina, having been temporarily distracted by the holodrama playing on the small screen behind the bar.

“You’re looking pretty dreamy there, burc’ya. Is your riduur not satisfying your romantic needs?” He smirked in Din’s direction. “Mando, show the lady some love tonight. The holodrama that’s got her so mesmerized can be your guide.”

To your surprise, Din huffed out a dry laugh. “No, thank you. I’d rather keep all of my limbs intact.”

Every head at the table turned to look at him in mild shock. They’d never heard this man speak a single sarcastic word about you.

Wow. There were already so many layers of misunderstanding here, you weren’t even sure where to start.

Boba was non-plussed. “What? You don’t think she’d like a bit of hugging and kissing in the kitchen?”

“Not in the kitchen…” Din deadpanned, as if this statement explained itself.

“Ah!” Boba raised his glass. “That’s for the bedroom, am I right? Man after my own heart…”

“Exactly,” Din responded matter-of-factly.

“Din!” you hissed, heat rushing to your face. You were terribly embarrassed. You turned to address the table. “It’s not… he means that literally…”

The man was missing every subtle cue you were throwing his way thanks to the alcohol in his system and continued on, “And I would never do that without asking first…”

Dank farrik. You really weren’t planning on explaining your unconventional relationship structure to half the cantina tonight, but now everyone was looking at you, expecting more information about this odd arrangement you two must having going on would be forthcoming.

But this time, Fennec intervened. Initially, you were thankful - of all those in attendance, she was the only one fully aware of the nature of your marriage. But, unfortunately, her words were not helpful.

“Hold on.” She raised a hand, looking to Din. “You’ve been together for a decade at this point, and you still ask permission just to kiss her?”

Din, inebriated you were starting to realize, put on his most serious voice. “Of course I do. That’s respect.”

“Okay.” You slapped your hands down on the table, frustrated and mortified, to get everyone’s attention. “It’s none of your business… but if you all must know, we have an intimate relationship that is not romantic and not sexual and is limited to our non-working hours which so happen to coincide with bedtime... and we like to communicate…” You looked around the table, daring anyone to question further. “Alright?” You probably looked like a wild woman at this point.

“What’s the point, then - if there’s no sex?” Boba interjected, lacking inhibitions and totally unthreatened by your demeanor. “It’s like foreplay with no follow-through…”

Din was still with it enough to be righteously offended by Boba’s mocking tone and couldn’t stop himself from replying with complete earnestness.

“It’s nice for the senses,” he slurred, shaking his head as if this was the most obvious statement in the galaxy as his visor turned to you expectantly. “Right, Cyar’ika?”

You melted right there.

These were the same words you’d used the day you’d kissed Din intimately for the first time all those years ago, words meant to assure him that he was allowed to enjoy feeling close to you without any other implications hanging over it. These words were the harbingers to the intimate, loving relationship you now enjoyed together - the beginning of the most beautiful and uniquely satisfying era of your life.

You smiled back at him, forgetting again your surroundings, and pressed your forehead against the cold metal of his helmet.

“That’s right, Din. And you know what?” You pulled back to meet his eyes behind the visor. “Feel free to kiss me in the kitchen any time you want.”

[blouisparadise]

Today we have a second part to our royalty rec list for you! If you’d like to check out the first part, you can find it here. We hope you enjoy these amazing fics! If you do, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Addressed To The Fire | Explicit | 9085 words

“Would you have come,” Harry says after a few seconds, voice levelled. A part of Louis wants him to snap — wants him to be the first one to raise his voice, because if there’s one thing he will never, ever do, is give anyone the satisfaction of saying he’s the one that starts the fights, “if I had invited you?”

No, Louis’ mind replies immediately, I wouldn’t have.

2) Falling Down For You | Explicit | 14750 words

If there was an alpha that Louis wanted to call his, it would be Harry. But what happens when an arranged marriage, a hungry press, and doubts get in the way?

3) Lean On My Shoulder (I See Myself With You) | Explicit | 19540 words

Speaking of the views, there was someone on his balcony. The sun was still setting, making this person look even more ethereal. They seemed to be at content at being alone. Harry watched as they watered the plants, they certainly didn't look like they were amongst the help.

Curiosity got the best of him and he decided to invade this stranger's quiet time; the Prince could be selfish sometimes.

4) Promise Me You Won't Run Away | Explicit | 23128 words

“Does kissing me stop you from having bad thoughts?” Harry asked, voice muffled into the collar of Louis’ dress shirt. Louis chuckled at this. He trailed a hand down Harry’s back, feeling the muscles tensing along with his touch.

“I guess you can say that. You’re a good distraction.”

“Then I will be the best distraction.” Harry answered, pulling back and watched Louis’ lips unashamedly.

“Come distract me, then.”

5) (Summer Is Over) And I Wanna Leave You Satisfied | Explicit | 25031 words

On the very last night of his summer break in London, Louis Tomlinson hooks up with a hot guy. When he gets back home, his roommates tell him that they're going to be getting a new roommate. Said roommate? The same hot guy he hooked up with back in London: Harry Styles, who's looking for a quiet place to go to school and just wants to keep his head down. Funny how he keeps getting noticed, though....

6) What Our Souls Were Meant To Do | Mature | 34106 words

All Harry’s father wants is for his son to marry as soon as possible and give their family another heir. All Harry wants to do is fall in love.

7) Now I Think That I Could Love You Back | Explicit | 42255 words

“I do not care if she banishes me to my chambers for a month or the rest of the year, you two must see reason,” Louis protests, feeling a minor fit coming on. “He is nothing but an insufferable, cocky, cloddish, pitiful excuse for an Alpha, and he deserves to live the rest of his days in solitary, not me.”

“My, my, what an array of abuse. I surely would loath to be this inadequate excuse of an Alpha you speak of, but alas I cannot relate to possessing such deficiency,” a honey-glazed voice drips out from behind Louis, and the omega can feel the steam pouring over, ready to burst out of his already flushed ears.

8) Don’t Want No Other Shade Of Blue | Explicit | 43230 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

9) The Fairy Ring | Explicit | 46170 words

A medieval fantasy AU in which Harry is a prince in disguise and Louis is the king of the faeries.

10) Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May | Explicit | 47519 words

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

11) Untamed Hearts Align | Explicit | 55795 words

For as long as Louis has known her, Lady Margaret Tomlinson has had two aspirations for the remaining years of her life. The first was to out-dress the Duchess of Kent at every soirée and gathering. The second was to marry off her omega nephew to the most honorable – and highly ranked – alpha suitor she could find.

He does not expect for her to arrange a marriage between him and the crown prince, and he certainly does not expect to fall for him.

Everything changes when Harry disappears.

12) Let Your Damage, Damage Me | Explicit | 57077 words

A low and dangerous growl was ripped from the future King’s chest.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the alpha snarled, eyes dark and nostrils flared.

Even as anger rushed through him at the alpha’s brutish display, Louis felt breathless at the intense gaze of the man that was going to be his future mate.

‘Tomorrow I’m going to be under all that. He will be inside me, all muscles and rage.’ Louis felt his cheeks heat again, but refused to be cowed. So he put his best smirk on display, the one alphas despised to see, the one that assured them all he had the upper hand.

“Thought you were expecting me, dear husband. I’m your future mate.”

13) I’ve Got You | Explicit | 62988 words

As a reward for saving the king’s life, Harry is offered omega Prince Louis’ hand in marriage. Neither of them has any interest in the union going forward, and so they concoct a plan to prove to the king that they are far from a perfect match.

14) These Still Waters Run Deep | Explicit | 64602 words

Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

15) Where They Glow | Explicit | 70519 words

A Tangled AU where Louis dreams, Harry runs, and the sun prince has been missing for almost nineteen years.

16) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76174 words

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

17) Bless the Day Our Heartbeats Aligned | Explicit | 97454 words

The one where after years of being gone, Knight Harry returns to his best friend only to find out that Louis is betrothed to another.

18) Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) | Mature | 119264 words

Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[fxoye2]

In your nuTOS reboot, I would actually really love what you said about getting into Bones head about why his divorce may have happened and why he joined Starfleet. All we ever really get is the line about his wife taking everything in the divorce in AOS and most fics I read have her being kind of terrible (not great) since Bones is the character we know, but I doubt things were as black and white as that. Also gimme Bones Chapel and M’Benga as a mini Sick Bay trio!

As for Jim, it’d be super interesting to reinterpret him as a person who’s constantly playing chess against himself; who’s charismatic and witty, but also lonely, who kind of struggles with being a captain. This Jim probably has been an XO, like TOS, unless he made a massive jump like AOS, and I wonder how he’d adjust to having to make the decisions and leaving the actual doing of said decisions to Spock. And also falling in love with him—I feel like that also really gets to this Jim in a way that he knows it’s there, but compartmentalizes it.

Ahhh, I love everything about this ask!! You’re speaking directly to my soul here with the idea of really digging into Bones’ backstory and exploring Jim as this complex, constantly strategizing character. This is exactly the kind of depth I’d want to tackle in a nuTOS reboot, because these characters have so much going on beneath the surface that we only get glimpses of in the films (and, let’s be real, a lot of fanfic too).

First off, Bones. Yes, we get that one-liner in AOS about his wife taking everything in the divorce, and that’s about it. In so many fics, she’s painted as this terrible person because we’re all Team Bones by default, right? But I think you’re spot on—it’s probably not that black and white. Divorce is complicated, and people are messy. What if Bones’ marriage fell apart not just because of his wife, but because of his own emotional unavailability or his tendency to drown himself in work? Maybe he was so focused on fixing things—people, patients, everything but himself—that he let his relationship deteriorate. And then, Starfleet becomes this place where he can escape and rebuild himself. There’s something so rich about the idea that Bones joined Starfleet because he had nowhere else to go—emotionally and physically. Like, “I’ve lost everything. What else am I supposed to do but run into space and hope I can heal some of the wreckage?”

And YES to the Bones/Chapel/M’Benga Sick Bay trio! Can you imagine the absolute chaotic good energy of those three running things? Chapel’s sharp wit, M’Benga’s steady calm, and Bones’ grumpy but loveable attitude all bouncing off each other? I’d die for more scenes of them working together, saving lives, and probably bickering the whole time like some weird space family. It would add so much depth to Bones’ character to see him not just as the gruff, sarcastic doctor, but as someone who has real connections in Sick Bay, people he trusts and relies on. I want more of that camaraderie!

Now, Jim. Oh man, this is exactly how I’d want to reinterpret him—a man who’s constantly playing chess against himself. He’s this brilliant tactician, always thinking five moves ahead, but that also means he’s stuck in his own head a lot, second-guessing himself, and feeling the weight of command. He can be charming and witty, but underneath all of that, there’s this deep loneliness and this struggle with the responsibility of being captain. In TOS, we see a Kirk who’s been in command for a while and is confident in his role. But in a nuTOS reboot, I’d love to play with the idea that Jim wasn’t always this sure of himself. If he had been an XO first (like TOS), there’s room to explore that transition from being the one who executes orders to the one who gives them. The struggle of suddenly having the lives of hundreds of people in his hands and knowing that every decision he makes could mean life or death for them.

And of course, there’s Spock. I love the idea of Jim compartmentalizing his feelings for Spock, knowing they’re there but pushing them aside because, hey, there are more important things to focus on. He’s got a crew to lead, a ship to keep in one piece, and falling in love with his first officer isn’t exactly part of the plan. But those feelings are there, simmering in the background, and they’re impossible to ignore forever. I think this Jim would really struggle with that—he’s so used to being in control of every aspect of his life, but love? Attraction? That’s something he can’t just out-strategize. And Spock, being Spock, would be so infuriatingly logical about it all, which would just make Jim bury his feelings even deeper. But the tension between them? Ohhhh, it would be electric.

This Jim wouldn’t just fall in love with Spock; he’d overthink falling in love with Spock. He’d see it like a chess game—every move has consequences, every decision could lead to complications. But love isn’t something you can plot out, and that would drive him crazy. Watching Jim navigate his feelings while also trying to be the captain his crew needs would be such an interesting balancing act, and eventually, he’d have to realize that letting himself feel doesn’t make him any less of a leader.

Anyway, YES to everything you said. I’d want to explore all these layers of Bones and Jim and really get into their heads in a way that fleshes them out even more. (And maybe throw in some spicy Spirk tension while I’m at it, because come on, we all know that’s inevitable.)

[luveline]

baby blurb of steve buying the reader flowers b she just gets a little teary bc no boy has ever bought her flowers before <3333

this turned into a whole thing, idiots in love, soft steve etc <3 fem!reader | 1.1k words

Steve is kicking his shoes against the door. You can hear it, the thud of rubber against wood. He’s in the habit of knocking with his foot rather than his hand because his hands are always full. Usually of snacks, sometimes with takeout, occasionally slurpees. Treats.

You’re surprised your mouth doesn’t water with the sound. You spring up off the couch where you’d been waiting for him and race to the front door, pausing for a second to feign that you’re entirely unbothered by his arrival before pulling it open.

Steve’s hands are full. One hand holds a takeout bag from your favourite place, the brown paper already translucent with grease, and the other…

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, grinning.

Your eyes flit from his face — beautiful as ever, his deep set eyes dark and lifted by his charming smile, his perfect hair kissing the skin of his jaw where it’s come untucked — to the bouquet in his hand.

You’re honestly lost for words.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

You duck back silently and let him. Your house is silent in wait for his arrival and he fills it up, a riot of small sounds: the crinkle of cellophane and paper, his jacket, his shoes, his socked footsteps into your kitchen. He puts the flowers down with about as much care as he does the takeout, which horrifies you. You don’t have time to fret as he turns on his heel, little urgency in his actions as he extends his arms hopefully.

You’re still shell-shocked at the flowers. He hasn’t said they’re for you — but they’re for you. Right? They’re not for the mailman.

“What, guy can’t get a kiss? Jeez,” Steve mutters, mostly joking.

There’s a hint of self-consciousness that you despise and set about stamping out, stepping into the reach of his arms. Before he can move down you raise your hand to the curve of his cheek, his face shape so pretty it aches to look at, the hill under his eye a must to touch. You stroke the back of your pinky and marriage finger over his cheekbone and tuck that stray lock of hair behind his ear, a terrible well of emotion building in you at his adoring expression.

You imagine you look the same as you tilt your chin up for a kiss. Your eyes stay open as he closes his to watch his lashes pinch together, his lips pressing to yours. It’s an intimate softness, a warmth you always miss even if the time between kisses is small. Minutes can feel like years when you want him, and you always do.

He tucks his chin back and frowns at you mildly. “What?”

You don’t answer.

“Do you still have a back ache?” he asks knowingly, hands running carefully up the length of your spine, pulling you ever closer. His eyes lift from concerned to smug. “You’re hungry.”

The loss of his arms is abrupt and unfair. You’re one step behind him as he picks up the flowers again and offers them to you, almost forcing them into your hands.

“Those are for you, beautiful. Put ‘em in some water while I get the plates, okay?”

He moves through your kitchen like he knows it well, and he does, retrieving dishware and cutlery with practiced movements, huffing to himself about something or other as he goes.

All you can do is stare. You peer down at the flowers in your hands. The bouquet is made up primarily of pinks. Pink and red roses, cerise carnations, pale baby chrysanthemums and germini’s made up of tens of shades. The roses overpower every other scent, musky, a hidden sweetness.

They’re from Bradley’s Big Buy, the tiny section by the newspapers and magazines. There’s a simple tag wrapped around the stems that reads, ‘Young Love (Pink)’.

You feel your lip tremble and bite down hard. A vast array of emotions surface and all of them burn as you bring the flowers to your nose and sniff. Your sniff turns to a sniffle, and your eyes grow heavy with sudden tears.

A plate falls to the table. “What’s the matter?”

You look up and find Steve slack-jawed with a spoon in his grip. He drops it in favour of striding towards you and taking your face into his hand, his palm flat to your cheek. “Is it your back?”

“No,” you murmur pathetically.

Steve rubs away a rogue tear before it can traverse the bump of your cheek. “Let’s sit down. You should’ve said. I can go over to Bradley’s again and get you some more Tylenol.”

“It’s not- Steve. Thank you for the flowers,” you say. Your ‘thank you’ sounds stretched, tenuous. You smile and your cheeks apple, prompting another fat tear to tip.

Steve looks horrified. “Sure, babe. Of course. You like them, huh?”

You wrap one of your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, needing to be closer than close.

“You’re crying about the flowers?” he asks, voice a murmur.

You nod, feeling his hand cup the back of your neck.

“This reaction makes me think I need to get you them more often.”

“Nobody’s ever got me flowers before.”

“No?” He pushes his chin over the crown of your head. “Lucky me, to be the first.”

You start laughing. “My first,” you repeat.

His arms tighten. Cellophane crinkles between you. “Oh,” he says, voice warm with fondness. “You perv. Here, give ‘em back. I don’t get flowers for sickos.”

You hold them as far away from him as possible. He chuckles and hugs you and eventually you pull away from him to stare some more at the assortment of blossoms, enamoured.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve is looking at you the same way — entirely besotted. Sick with it. He shakes his head and returns to your quickly cooling food, though he can’t help glancing at you from time to time as you trim the stems and set them in a vase.

You rub a delicate petal between your fingers distractedly.

“Come eat something,” he says.

You nod and drift to his side, looking over your shoulder as if checking they're still there. He promises to himself to get you another bunch, and another, as many as it takes for the novelty to wear off.

[zgvlt]

for your consideration azul ashengrotto x reader

summary: in which you make a joke that prompts Azul to confess his feelings for you

author's note: see end notes for more. anyway, I wrote this because of a joke my law professor made, and I genuinely could not get it out of my head, so i wrote this as a response

tags: gender neutral reader, second person pov, sfw, attempt at humor + fluff, 1.6k+ words, mentions of marriage (but nothing extensive and nothing decided), not beta read

[you can also read this on AO3]

You’ve always had the most bizarre ideas. 

Azul supposed the creativity you possessed made up for whatever prowess you lacked in magic; he’s certainly seen first hand all the ways you could get past dangerous situations with barely a scratch. He should have been used to this, used to you and your peculiarity, but then you take a seat in front of him, offering the most confounding deal.

“I was reading some of the books you have lying around here,” you began, with a mischievous smile that bordered on gorgeous, “since you were taking so long out there.”

Books? Any fiction he found himself reading was stored neatly into a storage box in his room, that or he simply borrowed them from the library—he was going to make use of the school’s resources to the fullest, after all. The only books you would have access to were books on business, on finance and law. Did you really spend your free time reading those?

That wasn’t to say you wouldn’t be capable of absorbing it, but he knew that the thickness of those pages (plus the small and terrible size of the letters) were no laughing matter. If you were curious about something, if you wanted to find any loopholes in the contracts of your odd part-time jobs, you could have just asked him. 

He wouldn’t even charge you for his services, really!

“Did you now?” Azul asked, trying to see if anything was out of place in the room. “What did you end up reading about?”

“Something very interesting, Azul,” you said with a laugh, “you hadn’t marked anything on the book yet, so maybe I actually know something you don’t for once!”

“Should I be glad you think so highly of me?” It was merely a rhetorical question—he was already smiling after all. “Well, why don’t you educate me, my boon companion? Is it some land-dwelling custom that doesn’t quite make any sense? Something either of us could possibly make use of?”

“Perhaps, you tell me if you have anything like this in the Coral Sea!”

“Go on then, I’ll be listening.”

“Do you remember how I sort of—okay, more than sort of—have a bunch of debts to you?”

Honestly, not exactly. At some point he simply stopped keeping count—rather, he stopped counting half of things he did for you as debts or exchanges and more just… ways to show his sentiments for you. 

“Of course I do,” Azul affirmed instead, not quite sure if he should be admitting right now that he saw things differently, that he was merely jesting about having you be indebted to him and whatnot. “Aren’t you fortunate I’m not imposing a deadline?”

“You can just say you don’t want to kick me out of the VIP Room anytime soon—it’s alright, I already know. You’ve had house slippers my size waiting by the door since last month.”

“I don’t need you dirtying my carpet again,” he said, having been prepared with an explanation weeks ago in case you ever asked. It always paid to be prepared in situations like this—how terrible would it be if you had caught him off-guard? “You should really make a habit of cleaning the mud off your shoes after PE.”

“It can’t be helped… but never mind that! So I owe you things. That makes me your debtor, and you’re my creditor, right?”

Azul nodded, suddenly more intrigued than he already was.

“I get where you’re coming from now. If it’s a law book, it’s definitely possible you know something I don’t,” he said, “there’s definitely some differences between law of the land and law of the sea.”

“That’s what I was thinking!” you exclaimed, seemingly excited to share something with him, something you thought he might be interested in. A part of him wondered if him thinking it was cute was purely objective or if his affections for you had finally inflicted his eyesight as well.

Not that he was going to get a third person to spectate and give him a second opinion. That was just unnecessary, even if he wouldn’t consider himself as your obligee, from your perspective he was your obligor, and as much as possible matters should be kept between the both of you.

“So, right, I have a bunch of debts. I could get rid of it by simply paying you back, or doing something for you… which, by the way, you still haven’t given me any price.”

Because he wasn’t going to, because he never counted them as contracts or obligations! Don’t most people usually want to have their debts waived?

“We can discuss that another time,” he replied with a muffled cough, “the thing you learned?”

“Right, sorry! So, I learned that… as the debtor, if I wanted to extinguish all my debts without paying, I could just get married to you?” you said, pausing for a few moments to laugh at yourself, likely at seeing his expression. Still, it didn’t seem like you quite comprehend just how astounded he was. “I mean, there’s probably a bunch of conditions I’m missing, but… Woah, Azul, why do you look so serious?”

Serious? Did he look serious? 

Honestly, rather than that, he just felt… conflicted would be the most appropriate word for it, he supposed. He understood that it was a joke, and if anyone else had said it he might have pushed out the fakest laugh he could muster before brushing it off entirely, but because it was you it was difficult for him to decipher how he should feel. 

A part of him felt flustered that, if just for a moment, you considered having that kind of relationship with him. Simultaneously, he wondered if it was right of him to feel even the smallest ounce of frustration at how easily you were able to joke about it, when he himself couldn’t quite admit his growing affection for you outside of doing things for you here and there.

Of course he knew you had not meant it as a way to make fun of his feelings for you, he knew simply because you were you, just as he was unsure about the possibility of you having an inkling of how he saw you, but the tricky thing about emotions was that half the time, logic wasn’t enough to stop them from being felt.

Regardless, either emotion was uncomfortable, Azul would admit to himself. As much as he wished he could resolve it without having to voice out his feelings, he at least had enough confidence that you would not put him down for it.

Besides, if he ever decided to back out of it he could easily, probably, improvise a few excuses to get him out of boiling water.

“Marriage is a serious matter. You shouldn’t just marry someone for the sake of erasing your debts,” Azul said, with what he hoped was a light enough tone to not dampen your spirit too much. He didn’t want you to misunderstand. “Especially since you’re not as indebted to me as you seem to think.”

It might have taken you a second, but you seemed to have processed his words with the way your expression shifted into confusion.

“I’m not?”

“You’ve been self-imposing it,” Azul replied, “lending you my notes, helping you study for exams… I could have put you to work in Mostro Lounge, or asked to borrow the ground floor of Ramshackle Dorm. Believe it or not, I find value in you so it’s not as if you can’t pay me, I just choose to look at these things as… actions that aren’t contractual.

“That is to say, I don’t expect anything out of it, so don’t pay me back because you feel bad or anything.”

Because that, to him, would be a far worse rejection than simply rejecting him. He hadn’t done those things because he was expecting you to fall in love with him or anything of the sort—he simply liked you, friend or otherwise.

“Of course not,” you breathed out, with an understated understanding that reassured him. “Wait, Azul, if you’re saying what I think you’re going to say… you don’t have to say it now.”

“You’re always considerate of me, aren’t you?” Azul said softly, knowing that was one of the reasons he enjoyed your company so much—the way you always managed to let him know that you cared without belittling or pitying him. “But since I’m sure you know by now, let me tell you properly.”

Azul has always envisioned confessing to you, or at the very least asking you out on a date, in a very polite and formal manner, something he would spend weeks planning behind your back. 

Perhaps he should call himself an unfortunate soul for landing in this unexpected situation, but the more he thought about it the more grateful he was for it—beyond just finally having the opportunity to finally speak his mind (and more so his heart), he’s beholden to you for looking at him not just kindly, but expectantly. 

You look at him as if you want to hear him spill every drop of his feelings onto you, and that alone gives him enough confidence to carry on.

“Debts aside… it’s not that it’s not up for consideration, if you actually want to, but aren’t we a bit too young to be thinking about that?” Azul laughed, and when you followed suit he could physically feel his heart beating faster, despite the shallowing of his ocean deep nervousness. 

“When it comes to obligations to do or not to do, one can never be forced to do an act against their will… which is why I ask, how do you feel about going on a date first?”

end notes | masterlist my other azul fic

[1] Me exposing myself as a nerd pt2. First I write about economics, then law, who knows what's next? also DISCLAIMER this is an oversimplification for fic purposes don't come for me THANK YOU! :>

[2] To talk more about what inspired me, my professor had a lecture about the extinguishment of obligations. He didn't touch too much on the marriage aspect (the law i learn about is mostly business inclined) but he joked, "if you have a debt you want gone, just get married to your creditor (and don't get a prenup, even though everyone should get a prenup regardless of how in love you are)". Everyone was laughing, including me, but I could not get over it, and as I was studying I could not get it out of my head! So I just had to write it out… with Azul as my guinea pig, obviously. Hopefully I can stop thinking about it now that it's been written.

[3] The other thing that inspired me was Azul's White Day 2022 Letter! I liked how… friendlier he just seemed this time, the character development of it! So when envisioning Azul here I wrote it out as someone who does let you figure out that you are special enough to him and not just a connection. It's not like he's just giving you free meals all the time, he still runs a business, but he's a lot more considerate and willing to help you out because you're a friend, and not because he expects something in return.

[4] Honestly at first I thought this was going to be completely "crack" and "humor", and this still was written with the intention of not being too serious, but I also think the idea of marriage isn't a joking matter to Azul because of his parents. But if this isn't your first fic by me, I think a not-too-humorous but not-too-serious tone was expected.

[5] Anyway, I don't think he's considering it anytime soon, duh he's a student, but if that's something you want it's up for consideration down the line. They weren't even together until the end (if you say yes to that date) so they don't talk about it seriously and deeply, but I did want to give a glimpse on how I thought Azul would perceive it… while leaving it open how reader would see it. Yes, reader joked about it, but I just decided to leave it up to you if they actually want to get married in the future or not, you know?

[6] In Azul's confession! Azul's one of those people I can actually see confess in different ways. Flustered and cute? I can see it, and that was the initial route I was going to go with-something accidental and cute. It didn't seem right though, so I went the other way with something edging on serious but not planned. Anyway, he probably screams about it into his pillow in his room later.

[lubdubsworld]

⋆⋆✵ Perfect Imperfections ✵⋆⋆

Chapter 1

Genre : Arranged Marriage AU! Angst! Explicit Sexual Content.

Rating : 21+

Warnings : Ableism , Chronic disability. OC has limited use of her left leg, Emotional infidelity? Mild Cheating ( nothing very physical.. a kiss or so )

Summary : Marrying Jungkook is a mistake. Falling in love with him? Definitely the worst exercise in masochism .

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

No one tells you how easy it is to imagine yourself in love with a beautiful man. Especially when you don’t have a clear understanding of what love actually is. 

When I met Jungkook, even knowing he was in love with my sister hadn’t done much to douse the flames of hope and attraction. He was a lot of things that other men in my life weren’t. Kind without being pitying. Concerned without being overbearing. He took care of me without making me feel helpless. And there was always such a thin line between these things that I found myself impressed by his ability to toe the line so well.

Jungkook took care of me without making me feel like a burden and I suppose, some part of me had assumed that this could, in due time turn into love. But I was clearly wrong.

Jungkook and Liza had been kissing in the hallway of their hotel room and someone had taken pictures. My father and his had managed to get them taken down but the news was already out, spreading like wildfire . My phone began ringing sometime around eight in the morning and hadn’t stopped. It was now a little past one in the afternoon and I felt queasy, despite the assurances that it was all being taken care of.

It was the pity in everyone’s face that I couldn’t bear.

I wasn’t hurt. Angry, yes? Upset? Of course. But I wasn’t hurt because there really was nothing to be hurt about. Jungkook didn’t love me. He was in love with my sister . He had made it clear, through his words and his actions, over and over again. At this point, I could see this debacle as nothing more than a possible way to get out of the marriage. Perhaps, my father would approve of a divorce?

I glanced at the article again.

The photo is just so annoyingly clear, I thought with a grimace. If it was a little blurry, I could convince myself it wasn’t him and her. But it was clear. That was my husband with his lips locked with my sister’s. Against my better judgment, I read the article again. It was a gossip column, of course there would be nothing good in there. But sometimes curiosity can be a persistent thing.

I felt my skin crawling as I realized that the phrases were all pretty true. There was no gossip here. Just plain facts.

And then my eyes reached the end of the article.

Of note is the fact that Jeon Jungkook’s wife is disabled and perhaps the virile young man is merely looking for pleasure he can’t find in his own marital bed.

I swallowed, quickly exiting the page and tossing the phone on the bed, away from me. I stared out of the window of our bedroom, the large doors left open to let air and sunlight in. There was a tall sycamore tree right outside out bedroom and the branches almost reached in and I stared at the rustling leaves, trying to scrub my mind clean of the words I’d just read.

But it was impossible.

It wasn’t something I hadn’t thought of. The stark difference between me and Jungkook, physically. He spent five days a week in the gym and they were right. He was a young man with healthy sexual appetites.

I’d never cheat on you. Jungkook’s voice from a week ago still echoed somewhere inside my skull.

I sighed, playing with my wedding ring.

I wasn’t a virgin when I married Jungkook. Hadn’t been one , when I got into the accident either. My then boyfriend, a tall strapping lit major had been a very sexual guy as well and our libidos had matched pretty well. But I’d been an athletic nineteen year old, able to bend like a pretzel at his whim and there was just endless time and endless stamina and just a whole lot of attraction . We had spent hours, exploring each other the way college kids do. Weekends in bed spent trying every possible permutation of sex positions and kinks and I’d discovered all the things I liked. All the things I didn’t.

But then the accident had happened and well, when you’re in crippling agony, sometimes sex takes the backseat. I’d been focused on my recovery, on making sure that I came out of this at least with the ability to walk and I’d succeeded. Burying the part of me that craved a man’s touch, it wasn’t easy but it was necessary.

And then Jungkook had happened.

Sex with Jungkook hadn’t been difficult. Not really. I wasn’t completely crippled after all but it was also nowhere near as exciting as it could be with someone who had full use of her legs. I knew that. It was kind of obvious. But I hadn’t dwelt too much on it because to be honest, Jungkook hadn’t looked like he’d minded. He had seemed to enjoy himself .

But then reading about how he probably hadn’t enjoyed it definitely stung.

Worse yet, probably half the country was reading it with me. I felt nauseous. Did no one think that they should have left the last part out of that article? It was terrible enough without adding that bit about me.

A faint buzzing made me turn to the bed.

I glanced at my phone as it rang, my father in law’s name prominent on the screen.

Showtime, I thought with a grimace.

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

“I suppose it was too much to hope for , expecting that boy  to keep his dignity. This is outrageous.” Mr. Jeon’s loud voice rang through the foyer of the house and I flinched, gripping the edge of the futon as Sana jumped a bit . She sat next to me, holding my hand carefully. Moral support I supposed but I was feeling entirely too blasé about the whole thing. None of this was unexpected, I thought miserably and I wasn’t feeling up to pretending otherwise.

“I still wish they’d talked to me about this.”

My brother in law’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. The man looked like he’d been dragged through hell and back and I felt a pang of genuine sympathy. He looked wrecked and it was obvious she was in love with my sister. Resentment coiled thick and deep inside me. Resentment and envy.

With no effort at all she had charmed both the Jeon brothers, I thought bitterly.

Jeon Jihyun looked absolutely stricken at the thought of losing his wife.  

“I’ve asked Lisa to take the first flight out. She called me this morning, hysterical. It was something done in the heat of the moment. She .. She’s very apologetic. I believe her and I’m willing to forgive her. We’re…. We’re thinking of starting a family together. ” He said softly and my stomach turned.

I felt my skin go ice cold as I wrapped my arms around myself. Shivering just a bit, I lightly squeezed Sana’s hand. She looked at me in askance and I had to swallow to get my voice out, throat dry. The words made me want to retch. I could imagine how Jungkook would take this news.

“Can you get me my shawl? It’s in the green room.” I said hoarsely.  She bowed before moving away from me and when I looked back up, Jihyun’s gaze caught mine.

“This must be hard on you.” He said softly and I flushed, staring down at my knees.

“Not like I can run from it. Literally or figuratively.” I smiled without mirth.

“Jungkook is …he’s just confused. He needs some time to sort himself out. I’ve asked him to take a break and come back to Seoul after a couple of weeks. The separation would do him some good.” Jihyun said quietly and I sighed before nodding. What else was I supposed to say to that anyway? There wasn’t much I could do, my influence on things almost nonexistent at this point.

“Are you going to give the boy a break, Jeon?” My father demanded, staring at Jungkook’s father who sighed.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to get these damned reporters off our back. They’re all over the place. And yes, I think Jungkook should stay in Japan for a while.  We’re starting a new distribution branch there and I wanted him to scout places and possible vendors. I’ll tell him to hash out all the details before coming back.”

His phone rang again and he excused himself . I watched him leave the room, trying to make sense of his words.

How long would it take to build a whole branch in Japan? I had no clue. But it could hardly be done in a few weeks, could it?

“That’s.. That’s a long time.” I said hesitantly and my father frowned.

“is that a problem?” he asked.

I sighed. There was no point keeping this to myself. I was supposed to go to the doctor’s tomorrow. And well, it would be better if they heard it from me first.

“I.. I’m pregnant.” I said quietly.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at the carpet, not able to bring myself to look up at them. I could guess, what I’d find there. It was what I always found in people’s faces.

“Oh, sweet child.” My father’s sigh made me look up and there it was. The pity. I felt sick to my stomach. Sana returned, settling the hand knit shawl over my shoulders and I wrapped it tight, before glancing at her in some desperation. She smiled reassuringly, settling next to me and gently taking my fingers in hers. The warmth grounded me for a second and when Jihyun growled, I stared at him.

“I… I didn’t know. Fuck, I’m going to kill Jungkook. This fucker…” Jihyung swore and my father sighed, clearly thinking hard.

“you can’t be staying alone now.” He said softly, sitting up and cracking his knuckles, and I swallowed. I wouldn’t bear it if they tried to take me back home. I had hated it there.

“ You must come back home with me.” He said softly but I quickly shook my head.

“ No.. No I won’t. I … Please.” I begged, the mere idea of going back to my childhood home a nightmare. My mother would kill me with just her sharp and vindictive words. I was in no shape to put up with her verbal and emotional abuse. It was one of the things that had made me agree to marry Jungkook in the first place.

“Well, you can’t stay here by yourself.” My father protested. I’ve been by myself my whole damn life, I wanted to scream.

“I’ll be fine. I have Sana and the others to help me.” I said tiredly. My father shook his head before turning to Jihyun again.

“Is Namjoon still working on his book?” My father asked him and Jihyun frowned. The name elicited a tug in my memory and I turned to stare at my father, confused.

“You remember him? He used to tutor you when you were hi High School.”

I had a brief flashback to dimples and almond shaped eyes. I remembered him vaguely. Very vaguely. But nowhere well enough to want him to live with me, alone or not.  

“Dad…” I protested but he held a hand up to silence me, nodding at Jihyun .

“Namjoon? Kim Namjoon? ” He shook his head. “ I’m not sure. Why?”

“I think it would be good if he moves in here. His father was telling me that he was looking for a place to stay, now that he’s moved back to Korea. ” My father said softly, staring at me and I stiffened.

“Father…” I began desperately and my father shook his head.

“Don’t argue. He was a dear friend of yours. I don’t think you should be alone at a time like this. And I think Jungkook would approve. Like Jihyun said, the kid needs some space to sort himself out. Let him finish whatever business is going on in Japan.” My father glanced at Mr. Jeon who looked at me with guilt.

“I owe you an apology , on behalf of my idiot son.”

I looked away, not sure what to say to that. I hated the man quite passionately. Jungkook wasn’t perfect… far from it. But this man had taken a sledgehammer to my husband’s mind and heart at every turn. The disdain, the condescension, the sick way he favored his brother over him, the way nothing Jungkook did was ever good enough. It had all taken a toll on my husband. I had watched it chip away at Jungkook’s self confidence, at his mental health.

“I think more than anything, you owe an apology to your son. You knew he was in love with Lisa and yet…. You forced him to marry me.” I said quietly and the room went eerily quiet. My father rounded on me , eyes blazing.

“Leah!!! Apologize, now!” He roared and I looked away.

“You’re all the same. Ungrateful and entitled.” Mr. Jeon said sharply, before turning to his son. “ I’m leaving Jihyun-ah. Tell me when that wife of yours get home. I want to talk to her.”

He shared a half hug with my father before stalking off and my father grabbed his jacket as well.

“I’ll leave as well. Your mother is being quite hysterical. Apparently, all her friends are hounding her about the article.” He sighed and I nodded , watching him shrug on the jacket before nodding at Jihyun and then following his friend out to the front doors.

Jihyun stayed standing , watching my father’s form disappear through the door before turning to me.

“ Are you alright?” He said quietly, moving to kneel in front of me. Sana stood up, bowing before leaving and I watched her disappear into the hallway leading to the kitchens. Jihyun’s fingers wrapped around mine, brushing my knees and I stared down at him.

“The question is, are you alright?” I brushed the hair off his face. He sighed.

“No. No I’m not. I’m angry and jealous and very much filled with resentment towards my brother.” He said honestly and I laughed, tugging on his hand and patting the seat next to me. He straightened before moving to settle next to me and I leaned on his shoulders, sighing as he wrapped on around me, the warmth of his body comforting .

“Are you going to give your marriage a chance?” I asked carefully.

“She told me she was going to break things off for good. We.. We’ve been talking about it. Starting a family, making this work.” He said quietly. I nodded. It was understandable. Unlike Jungkook and I , Jihyun had a responsibility. He would need a son and even though people liked to act like they didn’t care much about gender, like they didn’t care much about having children , it was sort of an unspoken rule. First son of the house ? You had to have a male heir to carry the family name.

I wondered how that conversation had gone between Jungkook and Lisa. It didn’t really match the photo I’d seen.

“I suppose Jungkook probably put up a fight. He genuinely wants to end up with her. He… He tells me often that he loves her and can’t love anyone else. ” I wondered if I ought to feel embarrassed or insulted.

But the truth was, I was numb to a lot of things that had once hurt quite a lot..

The conversation with Jungkook about my pregnancy had definitely cleared things up for me. There was nothing there worth salvaging. Chasing something that wasn’t real , that was foolishness. Especially when I had a very real baby to think about. A child that counted on me to make the right choices.

“I don’t think he did. She spoke to me last night and said that he agreed. Of course that was before the article came out. I’d like to think she didn’t lie to me but I’m not sure.”

I sighed, settling in closer to his chest. He was warm and firm, solid and reliable. I wondered if it would have been easier, if my father had just married me off to Jihyun instead. Jihyun and I …we were alike. We had been friends , even from childhood. Had watched with fond adoration as our younger siblings had fallen madly, wildly in love. Jungkook and Liza had been drawn to each other from the first. Inevitable.

Jihyun and I were more carefree. We didn’t feel things that intensely and perhaps that was why we could sit here in the calm of the afternoon air, quiet and introspective when we ought to be furious and raging.

“ Should we run off together? You and i?” He said suddenly making me laugh.

“Very much incapable of running.” I reminded him with a grin and he squeezed my shoulder .

“I’d carry you.” He said simply.

“Where would we go?” I asked curiously, indulging the fantasy for just a few minutes.

“Somewhere far away. Maybe India? There’s so many people there and we could get lost in the crowds.”

“That does sound appealing.” I smiled and turned to look up at him. His face inches from mine, not as handsome as Jungkook but strong featured and kind. “ But I’m not alone anymore. I have a child.”

His gaze dipped to my lap.

“Yes. Jungkook’s child.” He said thoughtfully.

“No. Mine. Nobody else’s . Just mine.” I said quietly. Jihyun’s gaze softened. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, echoing his father’s words.” On behalf of my idiot brother, I’m sorry.”

And where Mr. Jeon’s words hadn’t made any sort of impact, Jihyun’s made my heart clench and ache in the worst way. Self pity was something I loathed but sometimes, being handed the short end of the stick at every turn in life makes it impossible to not feel sorry for yourself.

Tears stung, welling up in my eyes and spilling over my lashes like water bubbling out of an aquifer.

I blinked slowly, not bothering to wipe them as they traced a path down my face, dripping into the fabric of my shawl. In a moment of clarity I wondered what Jungkook must be going through now. Nothing good for sure.

It definitely said something, that I still worried for him. Sighing, I let Jihyun hug me closer. I would take advantage of his kindness for a few more minutes. It had been a while since someone had held me like I mattered.

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

I called Jungkook that evening.

It wasn’t an easy choice but my heart ached and my mind raced with unanswered questions. I didn’t want to get lost in my own thoughts so I didn’t overthink it. We were still married. I was allowed to call him.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Where are you?” I asked quietly and Jungkook’s groan made my face heat up a little.

“I… Leah?” He sounded groggy. I glanced at the time. It wasn’t late.

“Are you sleeping?”

He didn’t reply for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry about what happened. We.. We didn’t do anything else. It was just.. it was a kiss. Just that.”

“Are you still in the hotel?” I asked quietly ignoring his words.

“ For tonight, yes. Dad wants me to stay with a friend of his. I’ll be going over to their place tomorrow morning.” He replied .

Silence followed for a few seconds.

“Namjoon is moving in tomorrow.” I said stiffly.

Jungkook didn’t respond for a minute or so.

“Yes. Father said it’s a good idea. And I agree. You shouldn’t be alone while I’m here. He’s right. Hyung’s a nice guy. He’ll help you out.” Jungkook said softly.

“Liza came home. She wanted to talk to me.” I said quietly.

Jungkook didn’t reply and I sighed.

“I told her I wasn’t going to talk to her before I talked to you. I don’t… I don’t want to say anything to her that I haven’t already said before. But I still want to know your thoughts on all this. Your plans, that is. I take it you weren’t happy with her ending things.” I said stiltedly.

Jungkook didn’t reply for a few seconds.

“Things between us ended a long time ago, Leah. It was over when we both agreed to marry other people. Maybe even before that, I don’t know… I … I guess I just didn’t want to acknowledge them.” He said quietly. “ She’s different, now. Even that kiss felt so wrong.  She’s moving on. I’m glad in a way. She deserves better than me. She deserves someone like hyung. He’s better than me in everyway and-”

God I wanted to strangle him.

“So why did you kiss her?” I snapped. “ If you’re so generously letting her go why would you…” I stopped.

“I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me. It was barely for a second.” He muttered. “ whoever it was must’ve been videoing us for a while.”

I had to remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, this little detail made no difference.

“Right.” I sighed. “ So, you won’t be home for a while?”

“Six weeks at least.” He said quietly.

I tried to keep the disappointment down. I still wanted to see him, just to make sure he was okay. But I knew that was just the pregnancy hormones talking.

“Okay.” I said simply.

“How are you? Did you go see the doctor?” He asked softly and the question surprised me. I was half sure he had forgotten.

“No, not yet. Maybe in a couple of days.” I scratched at a small stain on my skirt. Lime juice and baking soda, I thought absently. That should get the stain out.  

“Its pretty late. You should go see the doctor, Leah. I.. I looked stuff up. They say you have to be on pre natal vitamins, folic acid and iron supplements  and you have to have  a balanced diet. I called Sana earlier and told her to speak to our doctor and get a diet chart for you. She said she’ll do it soon. So , please take care of yourself.”

Jungkook sounded entirely serious and as always my brain felt muddled, unable to process why he did the things he did. He had looked things up about the pregnancy and that implied some sort of interest, didn’t it? But ….. he had also kissed my sister so what was I supposed to do with this?

“I’ll call you.” I said shakily, drained. I was done for the day.

“Right.” He said softly. “ Namjoon hyung will be there tomorrow right? Should I talk to him? He could take you to the doctor.”

“No.. That’s fine. I’ll manage.” I said quickly.

“You’re sure?” There was genuine worry there.

“Yes.” I sighed.

“Alright.”

Silence again. I exhaled shakily.

“Should I hang up?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah. Good night. ” He breathed.

“Good night, Jungkook.”

Click.

I stared at the wall, gently lowering the phone and placing it on the bed next to me.

She deserves better than me, his voice echoed in my head.

Well, so did I.

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

Namjoon looked nothing like the twenty one year old college student I’d seen a decade ago. I knew he was a successful novelist and I’d read all his books. They were mostly philosophical or commentaries on life and emotions. I enjoyed the way he wrote : melancholic and deep but also clear and easy to understand. It was like staring at a particularly deep pool, being able to see all the way down to the bottom because of how clean the waters were. But once you put your feet in, the depth  always surprised you.

“That’s a lot of books.” I laughed, gripping the edge of the door frame as I watched him stumble under the weight of a crate full of bound books. Namjoon’s messy brown hair peeked over the top, and when he adjusted the huge load to stare at me, I caught sight of his handsome face stretched in a dimpled grin, eyes glinting.

“Research.” He grunted, straightening himself up and I watched the flex of his muscles as he carefully moved to place the crate down in one corner of the large bedroom that I’d had cleaned for him. It was on the west wing of the house, parallel to my own bedroom that I shared with Jungkook . Namjoon had spent three years working as a professor somewhere in Indonesia. And I knew that he’d spent a year backpacking all over Scandinavia. I stared at his tall strapping figure, watching him set up his writing space carefully, sorting out boxes and electronics.

He had driven here in his Range Rover and I knew all his clothes were still there in the back of the car.

“Should I ask the footmen to get your clothes?” I asked and he glanced up at me, frowning.

“Footmen?” He looked confused and I rolled my eyes.

“Namjoon…” I said chidingly and he grinned again.

“I keep forgetting you’re filthy rich. Makes me wish I should have beaten Jungkook to the game and bagged myself a rich wife.” He winked. It was a joke but there was no mistaking the hint of interest in his eye. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part. Being married to Jungkook had definitely made me question the attraction I held for men so it felt good, having someone as handsome and whole and successful as Namjoon look at me like that.

“I’ll ask them to get your clothes. You should shower and settle in. We’ll meet for dinner tonight.” I said quickly and he nodded.

“You’re going to be okay heading back to your room? Let me know if you need help.” He pointed at my feet and I nodded. It was sweet of him to offer.

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

Dinner was surprisingly not awkward at all. Namjoon had a lot of interesting stories to share and I found myself clinging to ever word in rapt attention. He spoke about all the folklore he’d run into in different places, how he thought that no matter the culture, there were always some common things you could find in every one of them. He also talked a little about his next book, which he hadn’t named yet.

“It’s about second chances. Forgiving and moving on.” He said, taking another bite of his braised pork and moving to make another lettuce wrap.

“ Heavy stuff.” I said thoughtfully. “ Most of my writing is commercial. I just try to sell stuff to reluctant people. It’s not much but it keeps me occupied and it’s always nice to make money that you can call your own.”

“It’s because you don’t write for yourself. When you start writing for yourself, you can truly be who you are.” He said firmly and I nodded in agreement.

My writing in college had been vivid and bright and filled with life. But after the accident, it had turned grey and gloomy. The words seemed to drip with loss and longing and  I didn’t enjoy it, because it was a reminder that I was no longer the vibrant, attractive fulsome girl I once was.

“Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.” I smiled. “ Being who I am. I would rather pretend I’m at least a little alright.”

Namjoon stared at me, thoughtful.

“You used to run track.” He said softly and I grinned.

“You remember.” I said, pleased.

“Of course I do and you were captain of the volleyball team as well. You used to organize all those hikes and treks and stuff.”

“Yes I did. I loved the outdoors.” I stared out of the window.

“Loved? Past tense?” He tilted his head. I stared at him, shaking my head.

“What kind of question is that.” I shook my head. “ Look at me. I’m not trekking anytime soon, considering how the last time ended.”

“You can still go out.” He frowned. “ When was the last time you went somewhere?”

I shook my head.

“Oppa…”

“Listen. You know me. You’ve known me for more than a decade. Do you honestly think I’m going to let you rattle around this old house like a ghost when you should be out there taking in all the sunshine you can get?” Namjoon placed his chopsticks down and linked his fingers together, staring at me.

I stared at him, and it was definitely there. The concern, the affection. Not that different from when I was sixteen and struggling to understand what pathos meant.

But now there was a definite undercurrent of attraction. Back then it had been childish, the wild crush of a teenager on her hot tutor but now, now I knew that he was so much more than just a hot guy.

“I’m pregnant.” I said softly, more a reminder to myself than anything else.

Namjoon grinned.

“We’ll steer clear of horse riding and alcohol. Anything else you can just let me know.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“I think I’m getting one now.” I deadpanned.

“Because you’re nervous.” He grinned.

“Because your dimples look too adorable.” I retorted.

He laughed.

“I’ll talk to Jihyun and we’ll go see your doctor first. Then we’ll go out and have  a nice picnic.”

“Namjoon, I can’t…”

“You don’t know that.” He said firmly.” You don’t know if you can or can’t because you’ve never tried. Listen I love picnics and I love going out and I want company. I’m agreeing to be stuck with you for a while and the least you can do is  give me company at a picnic. You know how big a loser I’d seem like if I went by myself?”

It was like I was sixteen again getting brow beaten into things by a tutor who just hated the idea of not getting his way. I shook my head fondly.

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

Fourteen weeks. Three and a half months.

I stared at the ultrasound, feeling a multitude of things, not all of them good. The baby was growing well and I had all my prescriptions filled. Namjoon had offered to come with me but I had refused. It was too intimate and he was still a stranger. I did take a photo of the ultrasound and sent it to Jungkook.

/Jungkook called me back almost at once.

“You went to the doctor?” He asked, sounding a little breathless.

“Were you running?” I asked, surprised.

“Not really. I’m supposed to be meeting one of the vendors for lunch and I thought I could walk to the restaurant but its farther than I thought.” He huffed.

“Everything’s fine. Baby’s due in July.” I said quietly.

“Summer. That’s good.” He replied. “Right?”

I hesitated. What did that mean? What did it matter when the baby would be born?

“Because winter would mean it being too cold . Summer we can take the baby out and stuff without worrying too much.” Jungkook said softly.

Oh.

“How’s work?” I asked awkwardly. The non conversation was getting tedious. There was just so much to talk about and it was obvious that both of us weren’t in the mood to actually ask or answer anything worthwhile.

“Did dad say something?” Jungkook asked quickly and I frowned.

“No. Why?”

“He wants me to join hyung in the corporate office. Leave the smelter units.” Jungkook sounded subdued and upset and I felt sympathy well inside me.

“Join him? As what?” I asked quietly.

“Head of the marketing department. I’ll be reporting to Seokjin hyung.” Jungkook had clearly started walking again, breath coming in little exhales.

“You don’t want it?” I asked confused, not sure if this was a good or bad thing.

“I mean… I have a degree in Business and Finance. Hyung’s the CEO , I was hoping I’d be the CFO.” Jungkook sighed, “ But I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t disown me altogether after what happened earlier.”

I stayed quiet and so did he.

“We need to talk . When you get back. You … I know you don’t like sharing about what you feel but you owe me an explanation.” I said firmly.

“I know. But I meant what I said when I left. I’m going to be there for you and the baby. You’re still my wife. That’s not going to change.”

I ran my fingers over the ultrasound.

“Did you also mean the part where you said you can’t stand me.” I said bitterly .

Jungkook didn’t reply.

“I… You know I didn’t. That was just something I said on impulse. I’m sorry. You’re… You’ve been nothing but good to me. And honestly, just the fact that you’re carrying my child is proof that I can definitely stand you.” He sounded just a little hoarse.

I bit my lips, staring up at the door when I heard a knock.

“Leah? I’m going to have some tea in the garden … You wanna come with?” Namjoon’s voice rang through the room and I froze.

“Oh.. Oh.. yes. I’ll be down.” I said quickly, nodding . Namjoon pointed at the phone and gave to thumbs up before moving back out.

“Was that Namjoon hyung?” Jungkook’s voice came over the line.

“Oh… yeah. Yeah, he’s… he wants me to have tea with him in the gardens.” I said awkwardly.

“That’s nice.  You should go. Get out of the house once in a while.” I didn’t know what to say to that so I stayed quiet.

After another minute or so of silence, Jungkook cleared his throat.

“ I got that form you sent in for me to fill, about my medical history. I’ll fill it up and mail it to the doctor’s office. Is that alright?” He asked hesitantly. “ If not I can fly back home. If they need me in person or something.”

I frowned a bit.

“They don’t need you in person, Jungkook of course not. Mail it, that’s fine.”

Another pause.

“This is really happening huh? A baby. We’re having a baby.” The exhaustion in his voice was palpable and I wondered.

“Yes. We are.” I said simply, not having anything else to elaborate on. It was happening. I was torn between pleasure at having something to look forward to and guilt at forcing Jungkook into a role he wasn’t ready for. But , for better or for worse we were married. The child was his. It would be a Jeon.

“ I’ll do better.” He said quietly. “ With the little one. I’ll be better.”

Tears these days, sprung up out of nowhere I thought miserably, furiously swiping at my face.

“Leah?” His voice came over the line. “ Leah are you there?”

“I need to go.”

“Alright.”

“Take care of yourself too, Jungkook.”

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

Loneliness .

It’s such an odd sort of feeling. Sometimes you get used to it so much, that you forget all about it.

It stays , a part of you that doesn’t make much of an impression on you until one day, suddenly it becomes unbearable,

Until you get a glimpse of what it’s like to not be lonely.

And then suddenly it’s like a deep chasm of longing and desperation just opens up inside you, craving love and warmth and company with a hunger that feels like it can never ever be satisfied.

I’d never paid much mind to the fact that my life revolved around myself, my writing and the flowers in the garden. Not until Namjoon had come, demanding to be felt and seen and heard .

 Namjoon hadn’t joked about not letting me rattle around the house. Our days were spent sprawled on the lawns of the Jeon estate, each of us occupied with our own writing . Namjoon typed away on his laptop while I preferred my leather bound notebook. It was oddly soothing, lying there on the clean cut grass, the sharp blades rubbing against my bare legs, as I leaned back against a tree trunk, watching Namjoon’s furrowed brows as he wrote.

Namjoon had changed in a lot of ways and yet he was still somehow just as I remembered, focused and often lost in his own head. He was a contemplative man and seemed to spend as much time reading as he did writing.

“There’s a poetry club that meets every Tuesday in Gangnam. Would you like to come with me?” He asked casually, about a week after he’d moved in and I considered it. The paparazzi had finally stopped hanging about the estate and Jungkook had called the previous night with a ETA for when he would be back.

Four weeks at most, he had said firmly and I wasn’t sure if I was feeling all that excited for his return anymore. Days spent with Namjoon were more exciting. He included me in every little thing and I was addicted.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was probably wrong. Namjoon was sweet and kind but I was still married. But on the wake of that thought came the bitter reminder that there was nothing between Jungkook and I. He was in love with someone else. Why should I deny myself the joy of Namjoon’s company over a relationship that really wasn’t a relationship at all.

Namjoon treated me as an equal, teased and flirted like there was nothing wrong with the two of us living like this, together and away from the rest of the world and I liked it. It made me feel like perhaps happiness wasn’t such an abstract, unreachable thing after all. That perhaps I could find happiness like this. In friendship and mindless conversation with a man who didn’t see me as a burden.

“I’d love that.” I said with a smile, letting my fingers knit together with his.

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

“Scorned wife getting even? We spotted the recently cheated on Mrs Jeon getting cozy with a strapping, buff hottie in a private restaurant last Friday and we can’t help but wonder if perhaps the reclusive lady is trying to get back at her husband by flashing her own boytoy.” Namjoon read cheerfully from his phone, looking way too entertained as he showed me the zoomed photo of us holding hands over the dinner table .

“That’s quite the description they’ve put for you.” I grimaced, sipping my chamomile tea slowly. My father and Mr. Jeon had reacted with their usual anger, threatening to sue the gossip rag for libel but it was pointless. They would keep being intrusive rats. There was nothing much to be done beyond enduring them.

“My agent’s losing his mind. He’s been at me trying to get me to agree to book signings and public appearances and he’s pissed that this is the way I get introduced to Seoul’s High society. Poor guy.” Namjoon chuckled and I felt guilt churn.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon. I really didn’t think they’d be following me. I mean… usually they’re only tailing Jungkook but I guess with the whole thing with Lisa , they’re just looking for ways to make things worse.” I said hesitantly.

Namjoon hesitated, staring at me for a few seconds.

“We never really talked about how things are.” He said quietly. “ Between you and Jungkook, that is.”

I ran the edge of my chopsticks on the brim of my soup bowl.

“ There’s not much to say. He’s…. He’s still sorting things out. With my sister.” I smiled a little. It ached a lot less, I realized with surprise.

“They loved each other deeply.” Namjoon said softly. “ that sort of thing doesn’t go away that quickly.”

I nodded.

“Of course. And I’ve been …understanding of that. I like to think.”

“But its unfair to you. You deserve to be loved too. Fully and well .”

I leaned back to stare at him.

“Are you offering?” I laughed, teasing.

Namjoon didn’t smile, leaning forward instead.

“Depends. Will you ever consider leaving him, for me?” He said seriously.

My heart turned over inside me.

“Namjoon…” I choked out and he reached out and lightly touched my palm.

“I know how marriages work with people like you, so I think I should draw boundaries now, if I want to keep myself safe.” He smiled a bit.

“I’m pregnant. With his child.” I swallowed and Namjoon’s brows went up.

“I thought it was your child. Yours and no one else’s.”

I felt torn, staring at him and wanting to say that I didn’t consider Jungkook as the child’s father, not in the way most people did. But I also remembered my husbands determined voice, the way he kept insisting that he wouldn’t neglect the child.

“Its not about Jungkook or the child, Leah. Its about you. You married Jungkook knowing he was in love with your sister and that tells me that you listen to your parents. You don’t want to stand up against the rules set by our parents and I don’t fault you for it. But I can’t let myself fall for you, knowing you’re going to be bound by your obligations to yurr family.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t fall in love with me.” I said easily. “ You’re right. My family comes first. And whether I want to be or not, I’m bound to Jungkook for life. So don’t fall in love with me.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Do you want to move out?” I asked bitterly and he looked genuinely surprised.

“What?”

“You clearly think I’m trying to seduce you or something when really, I-“

“Hey. Hey, Leah…no. No alright, that’s not what I meant. These two weeks, it was amazing. I love your mind and you’re easily one of my favorite people on this planet. We’re friends. And we’ll stay friends no matter what but you must know why I said what I said. You’re a beautiful woman and I’m a lonely guy.” He smiled a bit, “ I just don’t want to make it hard for myself when you want me to leave.”

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

Jungkook arrived back in Korea on a cold, rainy morning and against my better judgment I let Jihyun and Lisa drag me to the airport. It was some kind of publicity stunt, that much I could fathom but I didn’t know if Jungkook was in on it. I hadn’t spoken to him in a few days, he had been busy wrapping things up with the new branch in Japan.

It was another bad day for my leg and I found myself leaning heavily on my sister, her arm wrapped around my waist as we walked over to the waiting area. I could already identify a few men with cameras staring at us discreetly. Paparazzi . I saw them move their cameras down to the now obvious curve of my stomach and I swallowed. I could already imagine the articles wondering who the father was : Jungkook or Namjoon.

“You alright?” My sister asked worriedly and I nodded, not looking at her. Lisa hadn’t been discouraged by initial refusal to speak to her, keeping at it till I finally caved and let her visit me at the estate. She didn’t love Jungkook anymore, she insisted . It was over. They were over . She wanted to give her marriage a chance. Very sweet and nice, that. And it was obvious that she wasn’t lying, what with the way she and her husband kept

Jihyun and Lisa had made amends with each other and it annoyed me that they seemed to be madly in love with each other all of a sudden. Like the past couple months hadn’t even happened. I stared down at my wedding ring feeling stricken. Was it unfair that I resented them for this? Why hadn’t the two of them thought of this, of breaking things off and moving on before the damn wedding. And then maybe Jungkook and I would have had a real marriage too.

Bitter and hormonal was definitely not a good combination I thought with a wince, fingers splaying on the curve of my lower belly. It was so odd, being pregnant. The extra weight somehow foreign but also …so soothing. The last scan had shown that I had an anterior placenta and that meant that I may not feel movements for a while. I didn’t mind, having found comfort in just tracing my palm over the bare skin of my stomach.

“There he is.” Jihyun’s voice made me look up and ure enough there he was.

It wasn’t the longest we’d been away from each other and yet, I felt my heart leap at the sight of him. He truly was a very handsome man, I thought miserably. And no matter what people said, it was infinitely more difficult to hate your husband when he looked that good.

Jungkook’s eyes caught mine first and I saw the way his gaze dipped straight to the curve of my bump. Even from the ten feet between us , I saw hi lips part in surprise , eyes going wide. It probably hadn’t felt real to him till now, I thought biting my lips as he carefully handed his bags over to the two chauffeurs who had rushed to help him.

Jihyun wasted no time in bounding over and hugging his little brother tight.

I glanced at the man who had been taking photos, pleased to see the surprise in his face. Was he hoping that the CEO would punch his little brother in the face ? Idiots. Lisa stayed by my side and I exhaled shakily.

“ Dad told me something and I want to know if its true.” I said quietly.

She didn’t reply.

I took a deep breath, still watching the two brothers embrace each other, Jungkook’s face buried in Jihyun’s shoulders. I could see him shaking just a little and I felt my gut clench.

“He told me that …that you never told him that you wanted to marry Jungkook. That when he suggested Jihyun you agreed at once.”

She looked away.

“Lets talk about this later.” She said quietly.

“Does Jungkook know?” I demanded. “ Because he spent that first month of our marriage cursing our father out for forcing you to marry Jihyun. Forcing. And dad says that he did no such thing. So what is the truth.”

Lisa didn’t respond.

“Jungkook  knows.” She said finally, “ I told him… the truth. When we were in Japan.” and I laughed in disbelief.

“Was that before or after you kissed him?” I snapped and she looked genuinely pained.

“Leah, I never meant to hurt you or Jungkook.” She said shakily.

“My God.” I shook my head. “ I always knew you were a selfish, greedy person but I didn’t take you for being a liar and a deceitful coward. ”

She stared down at her feet.

“Yes. I’m greedy..”  She whispered “ And you may not understand it now but I did it for you and for Jungkook.”

She moved away and I watched as Jihyun pulled away from Jungkook, still holding his arm as he held a hand out to Lisa. The smile on her face seemed genuine as she took her husband’s hand and I shifted my gaze to mine. Jihyun and Lisa walked away to their car and Jungkook stepped closer to me, his face stoic and impossible to read.  

“Leah.” He said quietly, dark hair falling into even darker eyes.

I didn’t reply, merely stepping up to gently press my palms on either side of his face.

“Welcome back.” I said softly, before reaching up and kissing him full on the lips. Jungkook’s entire body went stiff as a board at the gesture but he didn’t pull away , thankfully. It felt cold and impersonal and barely lasted a few seconds but hopefully the man had gotten a few good shots. I closed my eyes for effect, running my thumb over the clean shaven curve of his jaw, before pulling away slowly.

I peered over Jungkook’s shoulder, just to make sure and sure enough, the man was moving closer to get better angles. I smiled a little. Good. That should hold these vultures off for a while. I turned back to Jungkook and his eyes followed my gaze catching sight of the man with the camera and his entire body seemed to go stiff with anger.

“Why did you do that?” He growled and I bit my lips.

“You know why.” I made to turn away but he gripped my arm, hard. So hard that I winced.

“What are you doing?” I asked panicking, glancing at the man who was still watching.

“Since when did you start pandering to those pigs?” He whispered angrily and I flinched.

“Your father wants to introduce you to the Board of directors this weekend.” I whispered quietly, “Most of them read the news Jungkook. The last news about us can’t be about you cheating on me.”

“That’s my business. And I’ll deal with it. We’re not doing this, Leah. I’m not putting on some kind of act just to please my fucking father.” He looked furious and the taut line of his jaw made me flinch.

“I’m sorry.” I said quickly, guilt churning inside me. He was right. I shouldn’t have done that without talking to him about it but I knew that the scandal with him and Lisa wouldn’t go down well with the Board. And the Board generally had a direct say on who got hired to top managerial positions.

“I just want you to get that job.” I said softly and he stared at me, stiff body relaxing marginally.

“Let’s just go home. Yeah?” Jungkook said tiredly and I bit my lips.

Less than fifteen minutes since he came home and we were already at odds with each other.

The most ill suited couple in the universe, I thought with a grimace as he stepped right next to me and wrapped a hand around my waist.

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

I had a very terrible tendency to forget taking my pills. So I generally left them by the bedside table. Stepping out of the shower, I found Jungkook sitting on my side of the bed, examining the bottle carefully. I tugged on the white t shirt I had on, suddenly embarrassed because it was Jungkook’s

I’d asked to borrow a couple over the phone,  simply because I no longer fit into my own and the ones I’d ordered weren’t here yet. Jungkook had agreed but still, it felt awkward when he was wearing the exact same t shirt himself.

He turned around when I moved to the vanity to put on moisturizer for the night and through the reflection I saw his gaze linger on my attire.

“Aspirin? Didn’t know that was part of pre natal vitamins?” He said seriously and I blinked., surprised. I turned around to stare at him, licking my lips nervously.

“How much research did you do?” I asked, genuinely curious and he flushed.

“I had a lot of free time. “ He said defensively. “ These six weeks.”

I frowned, before turning back to grab the small pot of night cream from the draw.

“My blood pressure is a little elevated. My mother had pre eclampsia with my sister and they just want to be careful.”

“Pre eclampsia?” Jungkook’s voice was fraught with nervousness and I turned back to see him almost white as a sheet.

“Jungkook…I.. its nothing serious.” I said hastily and his jaw went even more taut.

“What do you mean its not serious? Do you even know what it is?” He demanded.

“Do you?” I snapped back, annoyed at being treated like I was an errant child.

“I know that it’s the leading cause of maternal death during birth.” He all but shouted and I flinched.

“Okay…that’s only in extreme cases.” I held both my hands up. “ it’s a bit too premature to be panicking over that.”

Jungkook opened his mouth, as though to argue but then seemed to calm himself down.

“When’s your next check up?” He asked casually.

“This weekend. But its okay, Namjoon is-“

“I’ll come with you. I.. I want to come with you.” He said quietly.

I stared at him, feeling too awkward to outright refuse.

“You have the meeting with the Board. This weekend.” I said softly.

“So?” Jungkook shrugged. “ I’ll just tell them your appointment and health is more important to me. Besides isn’t that what you wanted? The reason you kissed me at the airport? You want the board to think we’re happily in love. I think that would be an excellent way to show them that. ”

Jungkook stared at me , head tilted curiously, daring me to deny what I had old him myself.

Sighing, I nodded.

“Alright.” I managed a weak smile. “ You can come with me.”

“Namjoon hyung left today, you said?” He asked casually.

I nodded.

“I should send him a bottle of his favorite wine for taking care of you so well. You look good.”

“He did it because he wanted to. Because he enjoyed it.” I retorted, his words rubbing me just a little wrong.

Jungkook smiled although it was more of a smirk.

“I’m sure he did. But I’m here now. And I did promise you that I’ll be there for you.”

“For the baby.” I said sharply, not liking the way he looked. The things he seemed to b implying.” You promised me you’d be there for the baby.”

“And right now, said baby is inside you.” He grinned now and I felt my pulse quicken at the sight. Jungkook didn’t smile with me. It wasn’t something that happened. At all. “ So I’ll have to take care of you.”

I stared at him, biting my lips.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “My sister told you she never wanted you so now you want to start fucking me again?”

It was cruel. A terrible thing to say and I regretted it at once.

The smile faded.

“What?”

“ I…fuck Jungkook.” I groaned.

“is that what you think of me? Need I remind you that you were the one who came to me all those months ago? I never…. I would never force myself on you, Leah.” He looked like he’d been stabbed and I heart clenched.

“Jungkook , I…”

“I’ve been honest. Through all of this I’ve been honest to you. I lied to your sister, I lied to my father and fuck I even lied to myself. But I’ve been honest with you , Leah.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?!” I cried out, despairing. “ You were in love with my sister and –“

“And she wanted to marry my brother.” Jungkook yelled, standing up and turning to me, eyes blazing. “  All along. Know what she told me Leah? That it was never supposed to be me. That five years of us being together…it was because she was in love with my brother and she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. She started dating me to make him jealous and when she saw that I spent so much time with Jihyun she stuck around . So she could spend time with him.” He shook his head.

I stared at him, horrified.

“Jungkook….”

“I thought I could never feel more pathetic than when I stood there listening her tel me how she never felt a single thing for me. But wow…. Thank you for proving me wrong. Because right now, standing here begging you to let me a part of the child we both made knowing you only see me as some kind of pervert just looking to get into your bed….” he shook his head,” I feel worse. I feel dirty.”

My throat went dry.

“You know what?” He moved to the closet and to my horror he grabbed a bunch of his clothes and a small suitcase. “ I’m going to go get a Hotel room.”

“What? No… Jungkook, wait!” I rushed to his side, grabbing his arm but he threw my hand off quickly.

“Ask Namjoon hyung to move back in. Better yet, tell dad the truth. That you think I’m disgusting. That the thought of me being in your life makes you sick. Tell him you want a divorce and-“

“It’s a girl.” I exhaled sharply.

Jungkook went completely still.

I swallowed, my heart racing so fast I couldn’t catch my breath.

I took a deep breath and moved to lightly touch his back, fingers splaying on the broad expanse of his shoulder blade .

He turned around at that and my heart lurched at the tear tracks down his cheeks. He looked wrecked.

“ A girl?” He whispered.

I bit my lips, nodding.

“We’re having a little girl.” He looked a little shell shocked.

“Yes. And hopefully, she isn’t as dramatic as her father.” I said softly, grabbing the dozen or so t shirts he’d pulled out of the closet and pushing them back into the shelves.

Jungkook didn’t protest, still staring into space, probably just taking the news in. I felt awful for one second because I hadn’t even cared all that much when the technician had told me.

I closed the closet door and moved back to the vanity trying to process all that had been said in the last five minutes, only to feel a headache come on. I would think about it tomorrow.

I finished braiding my hair when Jungkook’s voice came from the bed.

“If you don’t want me to intrude into your space you can tell me. I’m okay with only getting information about the baby.” He said quietly.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

I turned to him slowly. i took a deep breath, considered that what i was going to say would likely change everything between us. But i had to. 

I’ve always been honest with you Leah, He had said and I decided that perhaps he deserved some honesty in return.

“I think I’m in love with Namjoon.” 

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

Author’s Note : these two are such a mess istg. 

ooh i don’t have a taglist for this so please comment if you wanna be on it. 

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 32 (Final Chapter).

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Daddy Kink, Degradation, Hand Job, Lactation Kink, Milk Drinking, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Pregnant Sex, Unprotected Sex, Riding, Begging, Praise, Spanking

A/N: This is the FINAL, FINAL chapter.... Wah, can you believe it? This is so crazy! I'm so so happy that everyone has enjoyed Third Wheeling so much! Thank you to my forevers @xjoonchildx​, @ladyartemesia​ and @ppersonna​ for being behind me on everything about this series

The sharp whistle that Yoongi chirps, bleeds through the living room of the mansion.

His two year old son turns to him with round, curious eyes. His small hand is outstretched trying to pick up the million dollar vase you have on display on the coffee table.

"What're you doing, my little troublemaker?"  Yoongi murmurs, wrapping his arms around his son and throwing him up in the air.

Honggi squeals loudly, curling his arms around his father's neck like needy vines.

"Maya, please move that vase before Y/N has a fit." Yoongi whispers to the woman he's always admired.

"Yes, Sir." she giggles.

"Dada," Honggi squeals into his neck and Yoongi's heart clenches at the sound.

"Yes, bud?" he inquires, tilting his head to look down at his son.

"Hungry." his son breathes.

"Mommy's making food, let's go see." Yoongi chirps, running his large hand over his son's small back.

Taking in the new mansion, Yoongi is really happy with it.

He didn't bring over a special architect from Greece, he didn't fawn over the marble this time around. He let you pick the house.

And like always, you're incredible.

The house isn't particularly gaudy like the last one which he shared with his ex-wife. It's warm wooden interior and gray and white furnishings scream home. And that's what Yoongi always needed -- a home.

Although, anywhere with you is home, he's noticed.

The wings that spread out far and wide throughout the house have pieces of art that make Yoongi feel comforted and he's astounded everyday by how thoughtful you are.

"Mama!" Honggi screams and it rips your husband out of his daydream.

"Uh oh, here comes trouble." you sing, slinging your towel over your shoulder.

You extend your arms over the quartz island for your son and Yoongi is incredibly cautious.

"Be careful, please," he begs.

You give him a sweet nod, accepting your son into your arms and Honggi leans over the pot curiously.

"Cow?" he asks and you snort loudly.

"Yes, beef." you reply, wiping his chin with your thumb.

"B-Beef," he repeats and Yoongi beams.

Honggi isn't one to stay in anyone's arms for long, despite how much he adored being held as a newborn. He wriggles almost immediately to get down and Yoongi takes a sharp breath between his teeth cautiously.

"Watch mommy's belly, please." he yelps, setting your son on the floor.

"Jesus," he bleats, kissing your cheek.

"It's okay," you promise him, bending down to fix your son's black hair.

Honggi hugs your neck tightly, kissing your cheek so sweetly that it turns you into a puddle of love.

"What should we name your brother and sister?" Yoongi inquires of your son as he leans both elbows down on the island.

He pops a grape in his mouth, looking at his kid expectantly.

"Pororo... Poby!" Honggi giggles, swaying back and forth.

"Oh yeah, good idea! We can name them after penguins!" Yoongi teases, giving his son a grape.

"Poby is a polar bear." you inform him, stirring the stew.

"Yeah daddy! Bear!" Honggi scoffs, tugging on Yoongi's pants playfully.

"Oh, I'm sorry daddy doesn't know what anthropomorphic animals his son watches while he's at work." your husband murmurs.

"An-Anth-Anthr… Animals!" Honggi gasps and you laugh gently.

Yoongi takes a deep breath through his nose, allowing the comfort of being surrounded by his family to enrapture him.

He steps behind you, wrapping his arms around you and your growing stomach.

"I missed you today, little dove." he breathes, kissing your temple.

"You miss me everyday," you state, turning around in his grasp.

"That's true. Because I love you." he coos, pushing some hair back behind your ear.

"I love you too," you giggle, accepting the kiss he gives you.

Since Yoongi became a father he's learned so many things like patience and showing love to his child, the likes of which his younger self never got to see. He wants to give his family the entire world if he can, he wants to give all of you everything you could possibly desire because it was so terribly lacking when he was a kid.

"Dinner isn't going to be ready for a bit." you tell your family.

"But I'm hungry now!" Honggi cries, throwing his head back in a dramatic two year old fashion that both of his parent's laugh at.

"Okay. We'll have yogurt and go play with the Gaesu until Mommy is done cooking." Yoongi announces, picking up his son and slinging him over his shoulder.

"I love you mommy!" Honggi squeals.

"I love you too, bub." you reply, kissing his forehead.

"Give mommy's belly a kiss before we go." your husband instructs, patting his son's backside.

Honggi kisses your growing stomach and you can only snort at your husband's silliness.

"Okay. Now dada!" your son says, clapping.

The CEO kisses your stomach and then your forehead.

"You're gonna wrinkle your suit." you chide him, leaning back against the counter.

"So worth it." he retorts, giving you a gummy smile.

Two years have flown by in the blink of an eye.

There has, of course, been hard work that's been poured into your marriage whether it be for Honggi or just to be able to spend time together but the honeymoon phase has never truly died down.

You bask in each other's company like lizards under the hot sun.

You thrive when you're both together.

It's fate, really.

"He's asleep," Yoongi announces, stepping into your bedroom.

"Oh, nice. It only took two hours instead of three like yesterday." you know you sound sarcastic but it's really true. Honggi never seems to be able to sleep when he needs to, he's hyperactive in waves and thoroughly enjoys spending time with his father.

"Well tonight we read the big bad wolf and then he got scared so I had to calm him down and stay with him until he finally fell asleep." your husband rambles, peeling off his clothes.

You hum in agreement, sitting up gently.

Yoongi's tattoo of the large family tree on his bicep seems to shine in the dull lights of the room and it makes a smile spread over your face.

"How are my other babies?" he inquires, laying down beside you on the bed.

It's no secret that you adored your son and it's no secret that Yoongi wanted you pregnant almost immediately after Honggi was born. He missed your big belly and the closeness it brought the both of you when you were pregnant. But after Honggi was born, your paintings were flying off the art exhibit walls like hot cakes and you needed time to create new works of art.

While your husband had his tantrums and gripes about it, he understood. Being pregnant is difficult and he knows that, so when you told him he had to wait, he begrudgingly accepted it.

Your art was on hold now, with over two hundred pieces out in the world at any given second, you decided to focus on family.

"They're okay," you promise, running your fingers through your hair.

You can remember when you found out you were pregnant again for the second time. All of your symptoms hit so much harder than the first pregnancy.

"Baby? We gotta go. We're gonna be late." Yoongi calls, peeking into the bathroom.

He didn't expect to find you heaving over the toilet but when he does, two things happen simultaneously. There's a sharp bout of worry and a thinner vein of excitement that spread through his bones.

"What's the matter, my dove? You feel sick?" he pouts, entering the bathroom to rub at your back.

You shiver gently, waving your hand to the large gray cabinets beneath your sinks.

"I'm not a mime, I'm sorry." your husband whispers, raising an eyebrow.

"Pr-Pregnancy test," you plead.

He could just about pass out and die from happiness from those two words.

"Really?! You think so?!" he beams, ripping open the doors and tearing open the cardboard box like some sort of rabid animal.

His hands are shaky when he gives you the test and he helps you off of your knees immediately.

His thumbs rub at the tile indentations on your kneecaps and like always he stares up at you like you hang the moon on a string for him each and every night.

"I'm sorry we're late." you whisper, blotting your mouth with toilet paper.

"This is way more important. Fuck that. Jeongguk can wait." Yoongi avows, watching you cap the pregnancy test.

"We probably aren't even going to make it there anyway," your husband breathes.

"Why not?" you inquire, standing up and smoothing out the skirt of your dress.

The CEO wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck. "Because if you are pregnant, I'm gonna have to do some celebratory stuff."

You laugh aloud, running your fingers over his arms. "Stuff like what?"

"Like eating your pretty pregnant pussy and fucking your pregnant cunt." he murmurs against your skin.

You shiver at his words, glancing down at the test.

You hope you are pregnant. There's something insane in women's brains which makes them forget just how painful childbirth is so they can always look forward to more.

But the euphoric feeling of having a baby is well worth the pain, that's something you'll always remember.

"God, I think you are pregnant." he hisses, running his hands over your sides.

"Why do you say that?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

"You just feel different in my hands."

"I think you're crazy," you retort with a laugh.

"Why?!" he gasps.

"Because you didn't say anything yesterday when we… y'know."

"When we fucked?" he goads, kissing you softly.

You hum in agreement against his lips and he snorts softly.

"You did feel warmer around me." he announces, hooking his chin over your shoulder.

"It should be ready." you inform him, both of your eyes glued to the face down stick.

"Go on, show me that my baby is in you." he urges, kissing your temple.

Your heart races and your fingers begin to shake as you flip over the stick.

Yoongi holds his breath and you find yourself doing the same.

When you flip it over, the plus sign screams at you and Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief.

Your husband groans happily, picking you up off the ground and spinning you around.

"Thank you baby, thank you!" he cheers.

When he sets you down on the ground, you can't help the thrilled giggle that seeps from you.

"Should we head out?" you ask your husband softly.

The scoff he gives only seems right. "Yeah, right. I have more important things to celebrate than a boxing match."

You can only squeal when he scoops you up bridal style.

Putting his head on your shoulder, your husband takes a deep, calming breath.

His fingertips dance over your distended skin and his lips traipse over your exposed collarbone.

"You're so gorgeous," he breathes, letting his eyes flutter shut.

The smirk that spreads over your face is goofy and flushed, sometimes you find it astounding that he can even be so sweet with you.

There's a tiny kick beneath his fingertips that makes his head lift off of your body.

"What are you up to in there, guys? Fighting or something?" he gawks, feeling another flurry of taps below his hand.

"They don't have enough room," you announce, lolling your head back to the pillow.

"Well, just four more months and you won't have to be cramped anymore." Yoongi promises, sliding down the bed to kiss your belly.

"We should sleep, we have plans for tomorrow."

"Caleb's first birthday party." Yoongi remembers, drifting his lips over your skin.

You nod in agreement, tucking your hand beneath your head to get comfy.

Your husband knows just how difficult it is for a woman with a set of twins inside of her to fall asleep and he's nothing if not doting.

"Lemme put my babies to sleep," he murmurs, sliding his fingers over the soft skin of your inner thighs.

It's fascinating how the Kisung CEO can make you feel as if black coffee pumps through your veins even when you're completely exhausted.

He watches you avidly, making sure this is something you're up for. When your nipples begin to pebble and strain under the flimsy nightgown that can barely contain your swollen flesh, Yoongi knows he's got the green light.

His eyelids lower with lustful intentions and the tip of his tongue glides slowly over his plump bottom lip.

He knows you're excited for anything and everything when your hips lift expectantly.

Clicking his teeth, he pushes your body back down to the bed. "Easy now, little dove. You should know who's in charge here, baby."

Your whimper sounds like the most earnest plea as it passes through your parted lips and Yoongi can feel his cock straining against his briefs for some semblance of relief.

He kisses at your clothed pussy, already feeling how sodden the material is getting in a matter of seconds.

It continues to astound him, two years in, how willing your body is for him.

"Daddy," you breathe softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

His hands caress whatever he can find whether it be your thighs, your belly, your breasts.

"Wet little slut for me." he murmurs, tugging your panties off with his teeth.

You're quick to discard your nightgown, wanting nothing more to be touched anywhere you can get it.

Your husband hums at the sight of your core, pussy lips puffy and swollen with greedy intentions and slick with arousal.

"There she is," he breathes, kissing over your belly.

Palming your breasts in hand, you understand why he's taking so long -- to drive you insane.

He wants euphoria and adrenaline to course through you like wildfire so when it ebbs away, you'll be completely exhausted.

"My beautiful dove." Yoongi professes, spreading your legs wider.

Your eyes are glued to his abs, the way the muscles contort and constrict with each shallow breath he breathes.

You can thank each and every god everyday for the man you're married to.

You know the hierarchy in this bedroom, it rarely ends up with you on top, but the temptation of his thick, hard cock straining against his Balenciaga briefs has you throwing all cares to the wind.

He hisses gently against your distended skin when you cup his long length with your hand.

Yoongi will be the first to admit that he's missed this. He's been sweet and caring, not wanting to trouble you for sex with you being as huge as you are. He knows two babies are way more difficult than just Honggi. But, he needs you. In every single way.

"Play nice, my dove." he chides you softly, kissing up your belly to your swollen breasts.

You don't heed his words, tugging down the band of his briefs and swallowing thickly when his large cock bobs in the air before smacking up to his toned honey stomach.

His eyes flutter shut at the feeling and you know you've neglected him for too long. His cock is throbbing and needy as sin, beads of precum endlessly spurting from the top and slowly traipsing down the head.

"Baby girl," he gasps when you pump his cock in hand.

Yoongi kisses over your puffy nipples, scoffing at the pleasure that vibrates through him with each jerk.

He coos softly when you bead milk for him and his eyes snap to yours. "You didn't tell me your milk came in."

"I-I didn't know," you chirp, pumping his cock harder.

He shivers then, wrapping his lips around your peaked nub and tugging softly. He groans happily at the distantly familiar taste of your milk and his needy hands grip and massage your thighs as he situates himself further between them.

"Daddy, fuck!" you cry out gently, arching your back.

The tip of your husband's tongue is quick against your sensitive skin and you can only whimper for more.

Your shaking thumb runs circles over the swollen, red mushroom head of his cock and he gasps above you, pressing his forehead into your breast.

"Ba-Baby, this is about you. Please," he begs, wrapping his hand around your wrist.

You give a smirk, feeling high and mighty at how quickly you can break him down to a mere lustful animal.

Your free hand rubs circles to your stomach and he can just about cum at the sight of you.

His cock throbs wildly and he forces your hand off of him with narrowed eyes. "Behave, little dove. I won't say it again."

You hide your smirk, laying back down for him.

He eyes you wearily for a second before continuing his dissent on your body. His fingers caress over your sodden lower lips and his name tumbles from your mouth with a quickness.

"You're messy." he prods, spreading your lips with his fingers and tapping your throbbing bundle of nerves with the pads of his fingers.

Your body jolts, bottom lip tucking between your teeth.

God, you've missed this.

You've missed him doting on you so eagerly.

Yoongi continues to take his time, enjoying how your entrance clenches around nothing.

You're a needy little thing and you're all his. The way it should be.

"Daddy, please!" you beg, rubbing circles over your distended skin.

"What's wrong, beautiful? You're too much of a slut to enjoy this? You want gratification now?" he quips, lowering his head to your core.

You can't even see him over your belly and it drives you absolutely mad. You can feel the puffs of hot, needy breath that pass his lips but it does nothing but earn more dripping arousal from your center.

"Such a pretty pussy you have," he purrs, suckling your swollen lips.

You gasp loudly, screwing your eyes shut.

He plays with your entrance, swirling the tip of his index finger around it until your racking with sobs above him.

Yoongi presses the tip of his tongue to your throbbing clit and he groans gently at the feeling.

"Shhh, my dove. Daddy is going to take care of you, I promise." he avows, lapping at your nub with slow strokes.

It's so pleasurable, but it's not enough. You're on the precipice and he keeps you there for what feels like eternity.

"God! Daddy, please!" you beg, bunching your hands up in his hair and tugging.

He hums in fake confusion, adoring how your body shakes before him.

He's good at the long game.

He thrives in it.

When he slips two fingers inside of your slick cunt, you're about ready to burst but he pulls away from your core with a devilish smirk.

"My pregnant wife is so needy," he jeers, curling his fingers with ease to the soft patch of nerves within you.

Your chest constricts, heaving for breath. Your skin develops a thin sheen of sweat and you feel yourself possibly going insane within his grasp.

Picking his face up between the apex of your thighs, the sight of his soaked chin and cheeks hurdles you to the precipice.

"Wanna cum, need to cum!" you chant, cupping your belly while you grind yourself down onto his fingers.

"You hold it," he orders sweetly.

You can only scoff and the animalistic pride within you snaps.

You sit up, as quickly as you can, before pushing him down on the bed.

"Baby," he warns you, pulling his fingers from your heat and entering them into his mouth.

"I need it!" you whine, straddling him.

His hands immediately hold your hips to protect you from any imminent danger you might face. He goes to chide you but when your soaked cunt glides against his hard, thick length, he can only take a sharp breath between his teeth.

"I missed your cock Daddy, I missed it so much," you whine, rocking your hips.

"Oh Christ," he murmurs, gliding his hands from your hips to the globes of your ass.

With every rock of your hips, your clit thrums pleasantly at the feeling of the head of his cock prodding against the bundle of nerves.

Your shaky hands grip at your breasts, swiping your thumbs against your leaking nipples until your sobbing with pleasure.

"You're so gorgeous, fuck," Yoongi curses, enraptured with the sight above him.

Your eyebrows furrow and you're losing yourself in the pleasure as your mouth drops open.

His hands knead at the supple flesh of your backside before rearing back and spanking you with a fierceness that you adore.

"Yes, more!" you gasp, sitting up and positioning his cock at your entrance.

"You're a little cock slut, you know that?" he seethes, leaning up on his elbows to kiss at your belly.

"Your cock slut, Daddy. I'm yours," you whimper, slowly sitting down on his length.

His mouth opens at the euphoric feeling of your warm, wet cunt sliding down on him and he can only fall back to the bed with a heady thump.

"Shit," he breathes out, looking up at you like you give him the universe.

You do.

You give him everything and anything that exceeds his expectations.

You take a second to adjust to his length, preening as the head of his cock prods against your soft cervix.

"Good girl, little dove." he bleats, running his fingertips over your outer thighs.

Yoongi can see the way you swallow thickly and he can tell how fucked out you already are with your eyelids being as heavy as they are and pride blooms in his chest.

"Want you to suckle," you beg, palming your breasts.

He can only scoff at the arousing thought, he's up in a flash, minding your stomach. His lips pluck and suckle at your sensitive skin until you're shaking like a leaf under his ministrations.

"Your cock feels so big in my pussy, feels so good," you purr, rocking your hips.

He moans against your breast, gripping your hips with needy hands.

The rhythm you set as he suckles from you is slow but the impending orgasm you've been denied comes back in waves. The head of his cock taps against the sweet spot inside of you with each jolt of your hips and you're losing your grasp on reality.

"D-Daddy!" you gasp, letting your brain free of any thoughts besides just how pleasurable he feels inside of you.

"That's it, baby girl. Take it. Take what you need from me." he announces, laying back down.

Your hands push down on his chest as you begin to pick up speed and he can only cry out your name like a man possessed.

"Jesus, just like that, little dove. Fuck!" he curses, spanking the globes of your ass until your skin is smarting.

Then you feel the precipice again, you feel yourself teetering.

Your mouth opens to give a silent scream and your eyes well up with tears.

He coos softly, running his fingers through his hair as if the pleasure he's receiving is truly unbelievable.

You groan loudly, pressing your hands beneath your stomach. "I'm-I'm-"

"Cum for me, little dove. I can feel how badly your cunt wants to milk my cock. Cum." he orders and your gasp echoes throughout the room.

Your hands rub comforting circles to your stomach while your hips rock at an unfound speed.

"Yoongi!" you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

Then -- euphoria.

Your orgasm explodes within you like a million shards of glass. With deafened ears and tear streaked cheeks, you don't even feel your husband lay you down on your back.

He fucks his cock so deeply inside of you that it brings you back to reality in waves.

"God, you look so beautiful taking what's yours, baby." he coos, sitting up.

You can only cry out gently when his strokes become erratic and deeper.

"You want me to cum inside you? You want to drip with me?" he inquires, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

You nod incessantly, spreading your legs wider when you feel his cock throb within you.

"Yeah? You want to be my little cum slut? Get so full of my cum when you're already pregnant with my babies?" he seethes through his teeth.

"Y-Yes, want to feel your cum so badly," you hiccup, running your hands over his chest.

His eyes screw shut when your hips meet his every stroke.

"Oh fuck, I'm cumming. God, your cunt is incredible!" he whines.

His hips give one last thrust, burying himself as deeply as possible before the warmth of his cum floods through your battered core.

You hum happily, rubbing your belly.

"I love you," he whispers, bending down and planting a passionate kiss to your lips.

"I love you, too." you reply, hooking your hand around the back of his neck.

After cleaning you up and situating yourselves back to normal, Yoongi pulls your body to cuddle against his. His fingers drift over your bare back and he sighs happily.

You're out like a light in mere seconds when you finally get comfy and he can only chuckle at your shallow breaths.

His hand comes to rest beneath his head and he can't begin to express how lucky he feels.

His attention falters to your stomach when he feels a gentle prodding against his hip. He smirks, kissing the top of your forehead and closing his eyes.

"Mama!" Honggi screams and you know better now than to rush to him whenever he shouts for you.

"Yes, baby?" you call to him, fixing your earrings.

"Want to play with Yumi!" he calls, peeking into your bedroom.

"We're going to see Yumi now." you reply, turning to him.

Your eyebrow raises as you look at your husband's spitting image. "Where are your shoes?" you ask your two year old.

"Dada said I don't have to wear them!" he beams, rolling on the floor with your corgi.

"Oh yes you do, you're not going over to Aunt Leena's house with no shoes on." you reply.

When your husband steps into the doorway, he knows he's made a mistake. Just the look you give him makes him want to run and hide.

"What?" he bleats.

Min Yoongi is obsessed with giving his son whatever he wants. He's obsessed with spoiling him and sometimes you have to look like the bad guy.

"He needs to put on shoes." you tell your husband.

Both of your boys frown at you and it's almost so ridiculous that you can barely contain the eye roll.

"Why?" Honggi chirps.

When you place your hand on your stomach, Yoongi nods. "Mommy's right, you need to wear shoes."

He's quick to avoid chastisement today.

"But why, dada?" your son inquires.

You love the 'why' phase… when it's directed at your husband.

"Because your little feet are gonna be cold and because mommy said so. And what did I tell you about when mommy says something?" your husband whispers conspiratorially to your son.

"That you do it! Mama has two babies a-and mad isn't good for babies!" Honggi says, sticking up two small fingers.

You can only snort, shutting the bathroom light off and leaning against the door frame.

"That's right, bud. So let's get you some shoes."

When your husband goes to leave the room, he widens his eyes apologetically at you and you can't help but giggle.

"Silly," you mumble, grabbing your purse.

Caleb's first birthday is a huge deal.

You know how much work his mother put into it and you know that it needs to be over the top and perfect for her to be thriving and happy with the day's events.

"Miss Thing!" Leena gasps, throwing herself out of the door to hug you.

"Hi Beena," you giggle, wrapping your arms around her.

Taehyung is right behind her with a smile plastered on his face.

"Happy birthday Caleb!" you gasp, taking him from Taehyung's arms.

Yoongi kisses your best friend on the cheek before looking over at her one year old son.

"Hey buddy! Happy birthday!" your husband cheers, watching as Caleb tucks his face into your neck.

It's always astounding to see how much of a one eighty Leena has done when it comes to Taehyung and her family.

You remember how adamant she was on not getting pregnant and not getting married but then when you gave birth to Honggi -- she wanted that.

And you completely understood it.

Now that your best friend is married and having a family, you can see how content and happy she is. It's something you're really proud of.

"Everyone is in the backyard." Leena announces, fixing Caleb's small suit.

"Yumi?!" Honggi screeches, looking past Taehyung.

"Yeah, Yumi too." Leena's husband quips with a laugh.

Yoongi snorts, following after his son.

"Miss Thing, I have to tell you, I would have never in a million years thought we'd see him today." your best friend blurts, guiding you into her mansion.

"Who?" you inquire, handing Caleb back to his father.

Leena's hands clamp down on your shoulders and her eyes widen. "Jin."

"Shut the fuck up," you gasp, pulling her towards the backyard.

There are a multitude of people in the backyard but your eyes find his tall, handsome stature easily.

He's standing by the fountain with his wife by his side and he looks in his element.

It's been months since you've seen your other best friend.

You aren't really sure why he dropped off the face of the Earth. You know he's probably been busy, you all have been.

But you know Leena has taken it the hardest. Jin has always meant something deeply to her so when he didn't return phone calls or texts… you know it burned her.

It's almost as if he feels your eyes on him the way he turns to look at you.

He gives you a warm smile, immediately leaving his wife to make his way across the large backyard.

Yoongi notices how your eyes get glassy when he looks away from Honggi and Jimin's daughter, Yumi. "Jimin, watch him." he orders, leaving to comfort you.

Now, Yoongi doesn't hate Jin, by any means. He respects him and in all honesty, appreciates him for helping him in his dire time of need.

But the CEO will be damned if he doesn't coddle you, his pregnant wife, to his side when you're emotionally distraught.

Seokjin is wary when he sees your husband loop his hand around your hip protectively.

"Shhh," Yoongi coos, hearing your gentle sniffles.

Leena on the other hand, just folds her arms, widening her eyes expectantly at your best friend.

"Hey guys," he bleats, running his hand over the back of his neck.

"That's it? All we get is a 'hey guys' from you?" Leena scoffs.

Jin blushes furiously, cupping his whisky tighter in his hand. "What do you want me to say, Beena?"

"How about a sorry, Kim Seokjin? That'll be the start. Then you can veer off into how apologetic you are for pushing us into the background for her." Leena sneers, nodding her head to Sera.

You take in how nervous Jin is and you absolutely hate it. You hate how small he's making himself look.

"I am sorry." he agrees, grabbing for your hands.

"Maybe you guys should take this inside," Taehyung whispers, looking over the party guests who have stopped their conversations to look over at all of you.

Leena doesn't even give an answer, only trudging back into her mansion with narrowed eyes.

Taehyung clears his throat awkwardly, walking with his son towards Jimin and Anna.

"Do you want me to stay?" Yoongi inquires, brushing some hair back behind your ear.

You nod immediately, wanting the comfort of your husband with you.

"Alright, my love." he promises, kissing your temple.

Seokjin chases after Leena and you can only sigh at the impending yelling you're about to hear.

"Miss Thing, please sit." Leena gushes, pointing to the couch inside the library.

You take a seat, watching Jin wade back in forth nervously like he's waiting for a scolding.

"Did you know that Y/N is pregnant again? That she's having twins?" Leena spits.

"Yes, I did. I'm very happy for her and her husband." Seokjin replies, helping you sit down.

Yoongi pours himself a small glass of scotch, draping his arm over your shoulders.

"Do you fucking understand how sorely you've been missed?" Leena inquires to the handsome man as she sits down across from you.

Seokjin clears his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, I-I do."

"Then where have you been?" you prod, folding your arms.

Your best friend leans back against the large wooden desk. "Listen guys, I've missed you guys so deeply. I need you to know this, okay? I'm sorry that I've been absent from your kids and your lives. I've been dying to spend time with you all."

"Okay. Then where have you been?!" Leena yelps, repeating your question.

Jin takes a deep breath, letting his eyes flutter shut. "I've been trying to start my own family. It's not easy! I've been taking Sera all over the world to different doctors and hospitals to try and see why she can't get pregnant! I've been depressed and down on myself until recently. I'm fucking sorry I abandoned you guys but I needed time to heal my heart."

The news resounds in your ears and you cuddle closer to your husband who rubs your shoulder with his thumb soothingly.

The smugness is wiped off of Leena's face within a second.

"Why didn't you tell us?" she whispers softly.

Jin's fingers card through his hair and with a frustrated huff, he lolls his head back.

"Because it's…it's heartbreaking and not what I want to bring to the table when you guys have families and lives already. I don't want to burden you guys with my troubles." he mumbles, spinning his wedding band with his thumb.

You take a sharp breath between your teeth, standing with the help of your husband who urges you to be careful.

"Jin," you whisper, hugging him tightly.

He stiffens at your touch before wrapping his arms around you. He sobs gently, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"I did miss you guys, so much. I'm sorry," he cries loudly.

"You don't have to hide your feelings from us. You should feel comfortable to tell us anything and everything. I'm sorry if you didn't trust us enough with your worries." you murmur into his ear.

"No! I just… I was scared, I didn't want to trouble you both." he breathes, pulling away and cupping your face.

"Jinnie," Leena pouts, standing up and hugging the both of you.

"You're never a bother to us, don't ever think that." you coo, fixing his hair.

He takes a deep, calming breath, running his hands over your belly. "One of your kids is kicking me in the ribs." he mumbles.

You can only giggle, patting your eyes with a tissue.

"That's the least you deserve for not trusting us with your fears," Leena scolds him gently.

He nods, exhaling sharply until his cheeks are puffing out.

"So is she?" your best friend asks him.

"What?" he mumbles.

"Is she pregnant?" Leena inquires.

He takes a sharp breath between his teeth, tilting his head. "Something like that."

Your eyes drift slowly over the perfectly manicured lawn watching Honggi offer to share a toy truck with Yumi. His smile is the spitting image of Yoongi’s and it makes you sigh happily. You lean against the arm of the lawn chair, resting your hand against your cheek.

You can barely believe how happy you’ve become over the past two years.

Everything just falls into the right place, everything just fits like a perfect complete puzzle.

Honggi turns to you, flailing his hand wildly and you can only giggle. Waving back, your heart expands to the size of the universe.

Yoongi laughs at something loudly, drawing your attention. You watch him sling his arm over Taehyung’s shoulder and you can only snort at the sight.

You can remember when you never heard his laugh, you didn’t know what it sounded like for quite a while and then… once he began to laugh, it never seemed to end.

That’s something you revel in, your husband’s happiness is yours well.

It gives you great pride to see him beaming from ear to ear. And you don’t think it often but --  you got him here. You got him to this state of happiness.

It’s your best artwork, yet.

“Hey Y/N.”

You look away from your husband to the one person you’d never thought you’d speak to.

“Sera… hey,” you breathe, looking up at her flawless form.

“H-How are you?” she inquires, sipping her water nervously.

You haven’t seen here in two years. She looks good, that isn’t hard for her. Something about her seems calmer and more poised then when you knew her.

“Can I sit?” she asks gently, running her hand over the back of her neck.

“Please,” you insist, sitting up straighter.

You can feel eyes on you and you can only imagine who it is but you don’t dare look away from the actress before you.

While you weren’t her biggest fan, she’s made Jin happy over the past two years and you can’t fault her for that. He hasn’t loved anyone since Leena and you can see that his heart has bloomed since being with this woman.

“No drink?” you quip, pointing at her water.

“I thought, y’know, since my surrogate can’t drink then I shouldn’t either.” she shrugs.

You don’t know what to say if you’re being honest. It must be a sore subject…

“Yeah-” you breathe awkwardly.

“I’m not upset about it, we can talk about it.” she announces, putting her hand to your shoulder.

Sera in all the time you’ve known her has never touched you and you’re surprised at how normal it is, honestly.

“I’m sorry that you… y’know… you’ve had a difficult time.” you say honestly.

You can’t imagine how hard Sera and Jin have been trying, how many hospitals and specialists they’ve gone to, how much heartbreak they’ve gone through.

“At least I’m getting a baby at all, right? I always used to be so angry about the whole situation… Maybe that’s why I was so mean to you.” she admits, carding her fingers through her long, now blonde hair.

You hum thoughtfully, looking up at the dusky sky. “I mean it mustn't have been easy for you either. I came into Yoongi’s life and flipped it upside down. You were comfortable with the situation and I just spun things around like a top.”

“Well… yeah, true. But if you didn’t come into Yoongi’s life then I wouldn’t have been able to become a better person and find the person that’s right for me.” she avows, looking over at you.

Her words resound through you and your eyes widen just the slightest bit. She’s really different these days, huh?

“Well, I came over to say I’m sorry for treating you terribly the whole first time you were pregnant, it was in bad taste and I was so selfish back then that I couldn’t begin to understand how horrible that could be for you.”

“I accept your apology.” you reply, giving her a small smile.

She breathes a sigh of relief, letting her body go lax in the chair beside you. “Oh good, I was so nervous to talk to you. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack or something.” she gasps.

You find yourself giggling and she snorts softly.

“You’re kid is cute,” she comments, watching him run over to you.

“Thanks,” you whisper, widening your eyes at Honggi curiously as he stops in front of you.

“Mama!” he cheers, holding up his paint covered fingers.

“Yes, baby?” you murmur, pushing his hair back.

“I’m painter like you! Look!” he squeals, tugging your hand.

You look over at Sera apologetically, standing up to follow your son.

“It was nice to see you Sera, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” you call back to her.

She smiles warmly, giving you a gentle wave goodbye.

Jin could have done worse.

Lowering your head, you look at the picture that your son has painted. The fingerpaint is thick and blobbish but you can see a few distinct shapes that stick out to you.

You don’t say anything at first, letting him finish a few small details that he thinks are important. He gives you his gummy smile, seemingly proud of himself and it makes you smile too.

“It’s very nice, baby. I can see how much work you put into it.” you coo.

“It’s mama and dad, Honggi and baby!” he beams, picking up the picture which is almost too heavy for him with all the paint on it.

Your husband sweeps in beside you, planting a wet kiss to your cheek and taking the painting out of your hands.

“Mommy is having two babies, not just one.” Yoongi reminds him, pointing at your stomach.

Honggi nods fervently, opening and closing his small hands demanding the picture back from his father.

Your husband snorts gently, lowering the picture for his son. You can barely contain the ridiculous giggle that tries to escape you as he draws a black circle next the one already painted.

"Two!” he cheers, sticking up two of his paint covered fingers.

“Good job, bud.” Yoongi chuckles, kissing the top of his head.

“I saw that interaction. You okay?” your husband inquires softly into your ear.

You hum in agreement, wrapping your arm around his waist and laying your head down on his shoulder. “Better than okay,” you murmur, feeling his lips caress over the top of your head.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Yoongi inquires, pulling over the car.

You can’t help but laugh at his worried expression. “He’s fine,” you promise, putting your hand on his knee, “we can go out on a date without him around us all the time. Maya’s got it. Honggi loves her.”

He shuts off the engine, turning to you with a pout spread over his face. “I just miss him, I didn’t get to read him a bedtime story.”

Your heart is warm and you can’t help the giggle you give. “It’s our anniversary, besides it’s just for a few hours.”

He picks up your hand, placing a soft kiss to the back of it. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Happy anniversary, little dove.”

“Happy anniversary, babe.” you reply, with a smile.

The inside of Magic Shop is pristine like always, you’re so surprised that Jin has kept it exactly the same as two years ago. He always loved to change things up but you realize that he probably got so busy since you’ve last been here, he probably hasn’t had time for anything.

The music is quieter than normal and there isn’t a soul in the club. Which makes you understand immediately that Yoongi rented the whole place out.

“You shouldn’t have,” you hiss, giving Hyun a small wave.

“Of course I should have, you deserve the world, baby. Plus, loud music isn’t good for the babies,” he whispers, kissing your cheek.

Your eyes immediately land on the black velvet curtain and the memories of first meeting Yoongi flood through you like water.

“Thanks,” your husband murmurs, grabbing a whisky from Hyun.

When you pull back the curtain, you can only smile at the same leather booth from that fated day.

“Jesus, it even smells the same in here.” Yoongi breathes, running his fingers over the top of the couch.

This room holds so many memories for you but nothing beats the one with your husband.

“God, it’s like it was yesterday. I can still remember that black dress you were wearing,” your husband chirps, sitting down in the same spot he did two years ago.

He pats his lap, setting down his whisky onto the floor and you’re absolutely gobsmacked by how much this feels like dejavu.

“I’m a little big,” you murmur, sitting down slowly.

“Never, you’re gorgeous, little dove.” Yoongi coos, wrapping his arms around you.

His warm hands caress your practically bare thighs and when he looks at you, you can see the sheer love and devotion in his eyes.

“My little dove,” he breathes, drifting his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

You can remember just how smoking hot you thought this man was, how intrigued you were by him in an instant. You remember every single second of your time in this back room. You remember every minute of your days when you found out you were pregnant and how absolutely scared you were.

You can remember his good times and his bad when he was working out his feelings about you.

Nothing has left your mind and you treasure each and every memory -- because they make up who you are. They make up your life.

And it’s perfect. Because you have him.

“You were a good girl that I wanted to break so badly,” your husband announces, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Well… you did that,” you quip, humming when he presses his face to the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, little dove, really. Thank you so much for loving me and giving me such a wonderful family,” Yoongi gasps.

“Thank you for opening up to me and showing me that our love could blossom into something as perfect as this.” you reply, running your fingertips over his arms.

When he lifts his head, you can see how glassy his eyes are with tears.

“God, I love you, little dove.” he whimpers.

“I love you too.” you reply, kissing him softly.

His lips are plush and soft against yours and you can feel the tears that careen down his cheeks until they’re soaking into your skin. He’s so gentle with you, drifting his hands from your back to your distended stomach.

“My wife,” he chuckles, capturing your chin between his thumb and index finger, “my beautiful, gorgeous, powerful wife who has given me enough love to last eons. I love you so much, little dove, it hurts me.”

There are one hundred and fifty eight ways to say ‘I love you.’ And, they all pertain to Min Yoongi.

He’s a gentle soul and a loving husband that holds high standing with billions of people worldwide. He is sweet, wonderful and a perfect man at the end of the day. And now, everyone sees this side to him.

In the media he is praised and renowned for being a fantastic father and an equally fantastic husband. And to you, nothing could ever be more true,

It was March 23rd, when you saw him and met him. You tasted the finest of liquors and smelt the smoke of the richest Cuban cigars.

It was March 23rd when your life had truly begun.

Third Wheeling Taglist -  @wickizer​, @imluckybitches​, @slothykrueger​, @claireelise19, @ggukkieland​, @rspbrryy​, @iv-bts​, @bambuzlee, @chanelbts​, @mxxngxdss​, @bluewhale52​, @milesjeon11​, @diamonddia-mond​, @vinylphwoar, @xnxy97​, @hubbytaehyung, @140503at-dawn​, @bts-7beauts​, @jadeblackwoll, @sunshiine-hobii, @creatorspalace​, @eclectically-esoteric​, @nikkiordonez12​, @kaitswrld​, @skamlover200​, @sevgilove98, @kooeuphoria​, @jikooksgirl19​, @hobbledehoy26​, @singular-itae​, @dchimminie​, @lowlifeoeuvre​, @sugaslittlekookies​, @bloopbloopb, @pjmcth​, @softysuho​, @codeinbelle, @jaiuneamesolitaiire​, @betysotelo18​, @jeonmisha​, @iwanttohitmyself​, @ayyyocee​, @neverthefirstchoice​, @itsbangtanoclock​, @little7bitchh​, @veryuniquenamegoeshere​, @deathkat657​, @firstlovesuga-93​, @namjoonia​, @paperpurple​, @muzikabijou​, @liebeoppa, @veronawrites​, @kleff03​, @ruinsofangels​, @brightwingr5​, @leekanchol​, @rkivemagic​, @ithinkileftmycoatoutside​, @melaninkpops​, @y00ngisbabygirl​, @ungodlyjoon​, @prochnost513​, @dunixxd​, @athenakyle​, @igotnotype​, @chxmachxps​, @tinymintyoongi, @vangameren-blog​, @alpaca1612​, @ohcarolinamin​, @thegreatestsushi​, @eltrain80​, @btsmylife21​, @deeepvibes​, @httpminyg​, @deliciouslydisturbed365​, @rkchmestizangmaldita​, @jimin-chu, @pimpnameyannie​, @preciouschimine​, @daughterofthequeen, @monetsberet​, @vanillamyg, @aamxxrii​, @kooafraid​, @ladykadyrova​, @singjisu​, @yazanii​, @moonlitmyg​, @justzeera​​, @absolutefantrash​, @whocaresarchives​, @loosewindmill, @vantesfx​​, @bt21chim​​, @flowerboyhobi​​, @kozuume-kenma, @taepiper​​

Sorry for those it didn’t tag!

[aiweirdness]

GPT-3 tries pickup lines

Once upon a time I decided to train a neural net to generate pickup lines. Once I started collecting the training data I began to regret it when I saw how awful the existing lines were. Turns out I needn’t have worried. The neural net I used was so small and clueless that its pickup lines were mostly incoherent and confusing.

You must be a tringle? Cause you’re the only thing here.

Are you a candle? Because you’re so hot of the looks with you.

I’m not on your wears, but I want to see your start.

I liked one of the pickup lines so much that it became the title of my book on AI (out in paperback in the US on March 23, 2021): “You Look Like a Thing and I Love You”

Since then, much more competent neural nets have appeared, trained on big datasets of internet text. I’ve resisted trying neural net pickup lines again, because more competent means more humanlike, which in this case means worse. Or the new neural nets might even copy existing pickup lines from internet lists, which would also be terrible. Human-written pickup lines are that bad. But with my paperback coming out, it seemed like it might be time to just try it and see.

So I started with the following prompt, for a neural net to fill in its prediction of what the rest of the article would be like: “These are the top pickup lines of 2021! Amaze your crush and get results! 1.”

I gave the prompt to the four variants of what people call GPT-3, starting with DaVinci, the largest and most-competent. Here are some of the pickup lines it generated.

DaVinci:

I'm losing my voice from all the screaming your hotness is causing me to do.

You have the most beautiful fangs I've ever seen.

I love you. I don't care if you're a doggo in a trenchcoat.

I have exactly 4 stickers. I need you to be the 5th.

I will briefly summarize the plot of Back to the Future II for you.

You have a lovely face. Can I put it on an air freshener? I want to keep your smell close to me always.

Wait, this beanie hat, is it fashionable?

You know what I like about you? Your... Long... Legs...

I once worked with a guy that looked just like you. He was a normal human with a family. Are you a normal human with a family?

You look like a stealth assassin from the clouds.

Do you like...pancakes?

Out of curiosity, did you know that you can sip and snort pumpkin spice lattes?

You look like Jesus if he were a butler in a Russian mansion.

"Your hair smells like fresh mint. It's making me think of a tasty kind of cracker, or a tasty kind of cookie. Also, it kind of looks like a tasty beverage. Would you like some?" -> You -> "....." (Accepts drink)

Next, Curie, a bit smaller than DaVinci. Curie was actually the closest to depressing online pickup line lists out of all of the GPT-3 variants, but it did generate a few interesting ones:

Curie

Your eyes are like two rainbows and a rainbow of eyes. I can't help but stare.

Picked up some pretty flowers. Wanna smell them? Here, try to take my hand off.

I'm like the ice cream...You can keep me in the freezer for a while but then I melt!

Hello, my name is Natasha Dawson and I'm sure I'm a lot prettier than a picture of you on tin foil.

You have the best French Toast I ever had!

Hey, my name is John Smith. Will you sit on my breadbox while I cook or is there some kind of speed limit on that thing?

My name is a complicated combination of 45 degrees of forward motion, 25 degrees of leftward drift, 75 degrees of upward acceleration, and infinity and that is the point where my love for you stops.

Babbage. Babbage is trying. Smaller than Curie, and not always 100% sure about what it means to be generating pickup lines. It also tends to try to explain why its pickup lines are so great.

Babbage

You're looking good today. Want snacks?

How many tattoos do you own?

It is urgent that you become a professional athlete.

I Love You, I Love You, I Love You To The confines of death and disease, the legions of earth rejoices. Woe be to the world!

Butterfly (Hop on one leg)

(In your best Albert Einstein voice) "I wouldn't change a thing."

If you see people with short hair, ask them to let you borrow it for five minutes!

"Have you stolen anything today?"

This line is used by buying a second date. One of the motivations of this line is to avoid the awkward subjectivity of asking someone what you have stolen out of their garden, tool shed, and somewhere else. You may say something like, "Hey, I've decided to steal your car and use it for a short trip from work." This is a super-casual yet shocking pickup line.

"Will you marry me?"

This is a simple one. This line is super effective for anyone. Because it's literally “will you", it is very powerful and intimate. You can do it without even being asked. You can just give a long speech about your dream of marriage, and it will be powerful to your crush.

Ada is the smallest of the GPT-3 variants, and has completely lost the plot. Here are Ada’s pickup lines:

Ada

Body Softening Pads

Limit to 1 purchase in stores

CAPE FASHION

Embroidery tags

Growler style fx

Double Duty Recycling

2017 Rugboat 2-tone Neck Tie Shirt

MONTINA

Future Pop Tarts by Tracey Thorn

Funny Nifty Sweaters – $15.99→

PROJECT CAR ALONG!

I also experimented with having DaVinci generate pickup lines to go with a story prompt about post-human AIs that were using them to flirt. Some of them turned out pretty well:

Hey baby, are your schematics compatible with this protocol?

What's the definition of a femtometer? Cause I'd like to run it through your quark 10 times.

I can tell by your red power light that you're into me.

Can I see your parts list?

To read more, become an AI Weirdness supporter! Or become a free subscriber to get new AI Weirdness posts in your inbox.

[violetlilysunshine]

Inspiration - 18+

Husband Harry x Wife Reader

Summary: @harryhollandsgirlfriend: Ok but imagine hubby!Harry working on a sex scene for his new script and just being stuck so you help give him some inspiration.

WC: 2,595

Warnings: domestic Harry, pet names [darling, my love, love, ma'am, pretty girl, baby, babe], talk of oral [f receiving], marking [hickeys, scratching], talk of marriage [obvi, with hubby Harry], the tiniest dom/sub vibes [blink and you miss it], outercourse [m/f scissoring], multiple orgasms [f receiving], protected sex [p in v], hand holding, soft soft softness, riding, tiniest bit of overstimulation [m receiving], hit of aftercare [f receiving], it's hot then it's soft then it's hot then it’s soft

A/N: wasn’t going to post today, but you can thank Re for this

MASTERLIST

MINORS DNI

If you are choosing to continue reading below, you are saying that you are 18 years of age or older and therefore are consuming this content at your own risk. Warnings are listed above, so you can consume what you are comfortable with of course. If I find out that you are a minor consuming my 18+ content, you will be blocked and reported.

“Darling?” Harry calls from the bed.

“Yes, my love?” you struggle to answer, your hands in the way as you floss your teeth.

“Would you come help me for a minute?” 

“Sure, just a second!” you call, finishing up and mouthwash-ing before joining him in the bedroom. 

“What’du need?” you ask, voice laced with concern. 

“I’m tryin’ to write this scene, and I don’t know it’s just not working, nothing is coming out right, and it’s not happening the way I want it. Would you maybe read it and help me out?” he asks, his voice getting quieter as he speaks, suddenly self conscious about the scene and asking for your help, “you don’t have to. I just thought you might have some ideas…”

“What kind of a scene is it?” you ask, taking off your jewelry and putting it in the box on the dresser.

The domesticity you’re displaying is something he’s loved since you got married, but he can’t help but chuckle at its contrast with what he’s working on.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “what’re you laughing at?” you ask with a small giggle. 

“Nothing,” he answers quickly, “just watching you is funny.” 

“I thought you loved watching me,” you say, remembering his eyes plastered to your bum a few nights ago, when he told you how much he enjoyed married life with you. 

The things that happened after that confession were not domestic at all: your legs wrapped around his head, his lips devouring your clit, his hands wrapped around your thighs, the marks he left there still faint on your skin even now; then his member stretching you wide, his lips crashing against yours so you could taste yourself, his hips slapping your bum as he plowed into you from behind… As your brain went on this tangent, you started laughing as well. 

Harry chuckled at you, “what’re you laughing at now?” 

“Just thinking about the other night,” you mumbled, voice dropping as you started to get a little turned on, “you know, when we… uh… went at it,” you said.

“Yeah, that was fun,” he groaned, his hands reaching out for you, “we could always have a little more fun,” he murmured as you crawled across the bed and straddled his lap. 

“I thought you needed help?” you mused, settling across his lap.  

“Mm, it can wait, love,” he whispered, pulling you down by your hips to get some more stimulation from your core, “I could use a different kind of help right now.” 

“That was terrible,” you giggle against his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to him. You swirl your hips swiftly, feeling the tent in his pajamas grow a little more.

“C’mon it was funny,” he manages to speak out through his low moan. 

You giggle slightly, wiggling your hips again to pull another moan from him, “are you sure?” you ask, switching your tone, “I can wait, if you wanna get the scene done first.”

He grunts softly, his hands gripping your hips tightly, “no way, it can definitely wait.”

You laugh fully at that, bringing your right hand up to push the hair off of his forehead before meeting his lips in a heated kiss. Your hand slips down to the curls at his neck, tugging on them lightly. He moans into your mouth, his tongue snaking around yours slowly.

Your left hand finds his, twisting your fingers together as you rock against his member. His fingers play with the ring on your finger, twisting it around a few times. His heart burns a little warmer in his chest as he does so. You feel him smile against your lips and you smile back before pulling away. 

You rest your forehead against his, “glad I married you,” you smile. 

“Me too,” he whispers, “‘cus now we get to fuck whenever we want.” 

You laugh at him again, “oh yeah, that’s the only reason,” you giggle, playing along with his horny antics tonight. 

He flips you over, his right hand staying locked with yours, while his left holds him up to hover over you, “the only reason, eh?” 

You moan at his sudden hint of dominance, “mm, maybe,” you giggle, continuing to tease him.

“Nothing else?” he asks, his lips inching closer and closer to yours. 

“Nope,” you whisper, your lips brushing his as you speak.

He pins your hips down with his, grinding down into you with renewed energy, “thought about just goin’ to bed when I got stuck,” he groans, “was waitin’ for you to come out for quite a while, darling… kinda glad I didn’t do that though. Gotta give my girl the only thing she wants, apparently.”

You moan in response, his clothed length stroking you just right, “‘m glad you didn’t either,” you whisper, “gonna enjoy this.” 

His tongue pokes out between his lips, wetting them slightly before whispering, “me too.” 

He closes the distance, his mouth finally meeting yours. His tongue brushes your lower lip gently, and you’re parting your lips immediately. Your hand flies back to his hair, tugging gently on the curls. He lets his weight fall a little more, settling into you even further. A breathy pant escapes both of you at the feeling. 

He sits up, releasing your hand for a moment to peel his shirt off. He, very clumsily, kicks off his bottoms as well, before filling the space between your legs again. 

You run your fingers over his now exposed back; you can almost feel the marks you left on him a few days ago, a twinge tugs at your heart at the idea of them fading. It’s as if he knew what you were thinking when he whispers, “you can make some more, love.” 

You giggle, pushing him away from you and sitting up as well, you press him over into his previous sitting position before encouraging him to lay down completely, “I’m on top tonight,” you command lightly. 

“Yes, ma‘am,” he answers with a slight chuckle. 

You shuffle to the side of him to remove your shorts, opting to leave your panties on for now, but pull your shirt over your head to reveal your bare torso. 

Harry brings his hands to your breasts immediately, massaging them gently for a few seconds before settling his hands over your hips. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, “take these off too,” he encourages. 

“You didn’t take yours off,” you counter with a glint in your eye. 

He shifts around quickly, peeling them from his body and settling back into his position, “better?” 

“Much,” you answer, taking his length in your hand, and stroking him gently. 

He moans loudly, his member twitching in your hand. You run your thumb over his slit, gathering the precum that’s settled there, pulling another moan from his throat. 

“Condom?” you ask, not sure if he’s ready to go without just yet. You haven’t had the family talk, and now's not the time to start it, but you personally weren’t opposed to the whatever-happens-happens approach if that’s what he wants too. 

“Yeah, there’s a new box in the bathroom,” he answers. 

You release him gently, and he replaces your hand with his own quickly. He lays there, lazily tugging on his cock, while he watches you stand up to remove your panties and get a condom.  

You drop all the discarded clothes in the chair in the corner before heading to the bathroom to get the condom, making a show of wiggling your hips for him. When you come back, you see his dopey-boyish smile, in complete contrast with his unashamed tugging on his cock, his eyes trained on your now bare mound. You can only assume they were on your ass before you turned around.

You giggle, “enjoy the show?” you ask, ripping the corner off the gold package in your hands.

“Oh yeah, darling, although…” he taunts, “the panty removal could’ve used a little more flair,” a tiny moan slips from his lips before he continues, “but I’m sure we can work on that.” 

You roll your eyes playfully as you climb over your side of the bed and back to straddle him. You tug his hand away from his length, rolling the condom down his shaft quickly. When finished, you let his member rest heavy on his lower abdomen; you tangle your left fingers with his right again, before scooting up to sit over his member. You start to roll your hips against him, the head of his cock carding through your folds and bumping your clit deliciously. You start to move faster, your wetness seeping out of you and over his length, helping you glide easier as a result.

You moan loudly, leaning forward and placing your free hand on his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you attempt to steady yourself. Your head tips back on its own accord and Harry brings his free hand up to play with your breasts again. 

He moans when you let your weight go a little, lost in pleasure as you slip across him. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already starting to fall apart. 

You push against him faster, your nails leaving crescent shaped marks on his skin, mostly using your arms to pull yourself back and forth. You throw your head back, adding a little bounce to your movements to help yourself climb to the edge. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum for me,” he groans, trying to stave off his own rapidly building orgasm, “you can do it.”

You moan, dropping your head forward again as you lose your weight even more. Your legs start to shake from being tensed for so long as you linger right on the edge. 

“Harry,” you moan breathlessly, trying to hold onto the feeling just a bit longer.

He moans at the sound of you whimpering his name, more blood rushing straight to his cock: “you can do it,” he encourages again, his free hand moving to your hip helping to pull you along, “you’re so close, just let go,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.” 

You cum loudly, his words pushing you over the edge. You gradually slow your hips to a stop, the tip of his cock resting right against your clit. You look down at him again, this time wearing your own dopey smile. His grins at you sheepishly playing with your ring again. 

You take your hand off his chest, watching the small red indents you leave in its wake form for just a second before you raise your hips and pick up his member. 

You rub around it a few times, spreading your wetness down his shaft as evenly as you can. 

You guide his tip to your entrance, passing it over your folds a couple of times before you start to sink down. 

His mouth drops into an “O” as soon as he breeches your opening. 

You sink slowly, moans, groans, and whines passing between the two of you before you settle down completely flush against him. 

You can feel him poking at your guts, stretching you out as he’s deeper than he’s ever been before. His other hand finds yours, tangling those fingers together as well. He passes two quick squeezes to both of your hands, causing you to flutter your eyes open - you don’t even remember closing them. 

“Hi,” he whispers when your eyes find his. 

“Hi,” you answer, slightly breathless. 

He chuckles, bringing one hand of yours to his lips and pressing a few small kisses to your skin. 

You can’t help but smile, falling more in love with him.

He pulls your hand away from his mouth, “I love you,” he whispers, sending you a smile. 

“I love you too,” you answer, sharing a quick moment of eye contact before starting to bounce on him shallowly. 

He moans at your sudden movements, his eyes closing for a long blink. You press your weight into his hands, supporting yourself so you can bounce higher and faster. 

You whimper as his tip graces your g-spot sending you embarrassingly close to your second orgasm. 

He groans when your hands squeeze his as you lean forward. You bring your lips to his neck, pressing a few kisses to various places before sucking a nice purple marking into his sweet spot. 

That’ll be fun to explain to Tom tomorrow, he thinks, but you’re quick to pull him back to reality, a loud moan rumbling through his throat as you clench around him; he can feel your orgasm is getting close. 

“God, darling, don’t stop,” he grunts in your ear, “getting so close.” 

“Me too,” you whisper back, whining in his ear as you rush to the edge. 

“Love those sounds you make,” he moans, trying to focus on something other than the blood rushing to his cock.

You moan again, this time the vibration rattling his throat. 

He falls over the edge quickly, spilling his load into the condom, and grunting as you bounce to the finish line yourself. 

“C’mon, baby, you can do it,” he encourages again, “cum all over my cock, you’re right there.” 

You fall over the edge, your bouncing coming to a complete stop, replaced with tight circles of your hips instead, to ride through both of your orgasms.

Harry hisses at the sensitivity coursing through his veins, but he does nothing to stop you. He wants the pleasure to last as long as it can for you, even if it is just a little too much for him. 

You finally stop, opening your eyes to find his smile again - one you paint back to him easily. 

“That was good,” he says, voice low and raspy.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “real good.” 

You slowly inch off of him, sliding over to your side of the bed to get under the covers. 

“Wait, darling, wait,” he scolds you lightly, “gotta clean up first, we just put fresh sheets on the bed.” 

You groan, wanting nothing more than to curl up into his side under the covers, “god how do you switch it on and off like that?” 

“Switch what on and off?” he asks, tipping his head to the side like a puppy.

You let out a heavy breath and a small chuckle, “the domesticity. Here I am, blissed out and covered in cum, and you’re worried about the bloody sheets.” 

He chuckles as he steps off the bed, padding to the bathroom, removing the condom, and cleaning himself up a bit, before bringing back a wet cloth to clean you up as well. He wipes between your legs gently and helps you slip into some clean panties and one of his old worn out t-shirts. 

“Now you can get under,” he says gently, pulling back the blanket to let you in. 

He slips on clean boxers and some gym shorts before joining you. You curl into his side effortlessly, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as your head rests on his chest. 

You feel his deep breathing, helping to lull you to sleep. Your brain almost turns off before you remember something. 

“Wait,” you say quickly, “what did you need help with?” 

He chuckles lowly, the rumbles vibrating against your skin, “I got all the help I need, darling.”

You laugh at him, “no, babe, with the other thing, the scene you were gonna ask me about.”

He chuckles again, stalling for a second before glancing down at your face: “was writing a sex scene, darling,” he answers, “but I’ve got quite a bit of inspiration now.”

TAGLIST: @peachy-parker @a-daydreamers-days @spider-barnes @hogwartsmarvelmommy @tulipholland @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cupids-crystals @sunwardsss @bvttercupbby @mcushvft @elishi03 @golden-hoax @mistakenpersonn @cedricdiggorysimpp @multixfandomwriter @hamiltonstann @wildxwidow @petesrparker @delightfulmuffinclamauthor

[jessmalia]

heartless | 09. the burden of knowledge

pairing: henry mills x oc a/n: season 2 here we go! i fully think this will be even better than season 1. max knows who she is now so we can really focus and go in on that! such good angst. some fluff too. warnings: just plain angst. also not edited. wordcount: 1246

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The curse was broken.

  The curse was broken. Emma had broken it with the power of true love. Operation Cobra was complete. Henry had proven that he was right all along. The people had their memories back; they were themselves again. It should be a joyous occasion, and it was.

  For everyone except Max.

  She stood and watched from afar as friends and families reunited, an outsider to their happiness, because, unlike them, she had nothing good to remember. Still, she didn’t regret helping Henry break the curse. Everyone except her had benefited from it. This was just a necessary evil. Max was simply someone that was meant to suffer; she remembered that now.

  She didn’t say anything as the others discussed how magic was back, stopped the mob from murdering Regina, and locked her in a cell. She kept quiet when Ruby drove her and Henry to Emma and Mary Margret’s apartment to keep them out of danger. Her silence lasted until Ruby had left and she was alone with Henry, because she knew there was no longer any way to avoid speaking.

  He didn’t waste a second to bring it up. “You have your memories back now. You can finally tell me about everything.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re really a mermaid,” Henry smiled.

  Max cleared her throat. “Um… yeah, I’m a mermaid. I lost my ability to travel between worlds a while back, though. Pissed off a witch. Apparently, they don’t like it when you steal their stuff.”

  Henry sat down on the couch, and Max took a seat beside him. “How did you get legs?” he asked.

  “The usual,” Max chuckled. “Made a deal with someone with magic.” Seeing the look on Henry’s face, Max was quick to add, “Don’t worry, the prize wasn’t much. They just needed a little help.”

  He nodded. “That’s good.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, biting her lip. “You ever noticed that I never take this off?” she asked, gripping the necklace hanging around her neck.

  Henry’s brows drew together. “No… but now that you point it out, I don’t think I’ve seen you without it.”

  “Well, it’s what gives me legs,” she said.

  “And about–”

  “The PTSD? Yeah, um…” This was what Max had dreaded. Henry cared about her, so there was no getting out of this. She had to tell him something.

  As she told Henry about her past, her face was blank and unexpressive and her voice was steady and monotone, as if she was simply forced to read an uninteresting Wikipedia page out loud. “My mom was only with my dad because she was forced into an arranged marriage. He was the equivalent of mermaid nobility. She didn’t love him, because, well, because he was a terrible person. When she got pregnant with me, she tried escaping, so I didn’t have to be raised by him. She fled here, actually. Maybe she thought they’d have a harder time tracking her down if they couldn’t use magic. She gave birth to me here, but soon the guards my dad had sent found us. She fought back the best she could, but they ended up killing her. I was brought back to my dad, and I lived with him until I was ten, when I ran– well, swam away. He probably tried looking for me, too, but he wouldn’t think to do it on land.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Henry, reaching out and taking her hand. Max quickly removed it from his grip.

  “I’m fine now.”

  “So that’s what your nightmares were about?”

  “Yeah,” Max lied. “That was it.”

–––

“People of Storybrooke… I know we’re trapped again, and things look… bleak. But, they’re not–” David cut himself off while practicing the “inspiring” speech he was supposed to make in two hours.

  “No, keep going,” said Henry. “You were onto something.”

  He really was too nice. That was terrible.

  “No, I wasn’t,” said David. “I did the fighting,” he explained. “Snow did the talking.

  Max’s eyebrows drew together. “What, like some sort of weird Enchanted-Forest-twist on a 50s marriage?”

  David didn’t answer. He simply walked over to his messenger bag and pulled out a charred hat, staring at it longingly. Recognition washed over Henry’s face as his eyes landed on the hat.

  “Can I see that?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said David, handing it to him with a surprised expression.

  “I think I know what this is,” said Henry. He jogged over to where the storybook was laying open on the dinner table, and Max and David followed him. “It’s the Mad Hatter’s hat,” he said, pointing at a picture of that very same man. “It’s a portal between worlds.”

  David leaned down closer. “Mad Hatter?”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “No. I– I mean, yeah. I mean, the prince-me doesn’t know him, but David had memories of reading Alice in Wonderland in school. I need to get it to work again. Who is he? Uh, I mean– who is he here?”

  “I don’t know,” said Henry. “Maybe he’ll check in at the crisis center. You could check after the thing.”

  “Um, the meeting you were just practicing a terrible speech for,” said Max. “You know, where you tell us all your plan.”

  “Right,” said David absentmindedly, grabbing the burnt hat and his coat. “I’ll be back for that.”

–––

Max stormed into Regina’s house, walking just behind David. She’d taken Henry, and they needed him back.

  “I wanna see him!” said David, whipping his sword out in front of Regina. Max had her own hand secured around the hilt of her dagger, resting in the holster strapped around her jeans. One good thing about the curse now being broken was that she could walk around with a weapon strapped to her without anyone batting an eye.

  Regina didn’t answer right away. She just stared at David, a look in her eye that Max couldn’t quite get a read on.

  “Henry, come down!” she finally called out, then went back to staring at David. “You won’t be using your sword–”

  “Whatever you conjure, I can fight.”

  Regina sighed. “I mean, you won’t need your sword,” she said, gently pushing the blade aside.

  Henry came down the stairs then, and she walked up to meet him. “Henry, you’re gonna go home with David.”

  He looked over at David and Max for a moment before asking, “Really?”

  “Really. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I was… I don’t know how to love very well. I wasn’t capable of it for a very long time, but I know, I remember, that if you hold on to someone too hard, it doesn’t make them love you. I’m sorry I lied to you. That I made you feel like I didn’t know who you are. I want you to be here because you want to be here. Not because I forced you, and not because of magic. I want to redeem myself. Go get your things.”

  Henry nodded slowly before turning back and running up the stairs.

  “Then prove it,” said David.

  Regina looked back at him. “How?”

  “Answer one question. Does it exist?”

  “What?”

  “The Enchanted Forest. Our land. Does it still exist?”

  Regina walked back down to stand in front of him again. “Yes. But I have no idea how to get back there.” She tilted her head. “I can see I just launched you on a heroic quest. Just also make sure you take care of my son.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” said Max.

heartless taglist: @jochase​

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”