#so what if that was… emotionally too? what if

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: I | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,213

—  warnings: strong language, mention of death, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of blood, several mentions of abortion, and crying

—  author’s note: here it is the first chapter of this series! <3 i’m actually very excited about this entire universe, i’ve been working on it for a little while already & i’ve been taking my time to write each part 🤗 the beginning is inspired by Jane the Virgin and the Flash as they are both my favorite shows ✨ i hope you’ll enjoy this part & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 😊  

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Chapter I: when worlds collide

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Sitting in your car, you’ve been looking blinkingly at the windshield, hands trembling against the steering wheel. For ten whole minutes, you’ve been frozen like this as if moving would shatter the fragile sense of calm you’ve barely managed to hold together.

Your life is about to drastically change; you know it deep down.  

“The deed is done,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, and your reflection in the rearview mirror catches your eye. You look exhausted, your eyes wide and glistening.

For two years, this moment has been building. You have thoughtfully considered having a child on your own. At first, it was just a random thought that crossed your mind, a curiosity born on one of those quiet, lonely moments where life felt both too much and not enough. Then, you deeply thought about it. The idea rooted itself deep within you, anchoring into something raw and tender: a longing to create a family on your own terms. 

After much research and consideration, you decided to go for it.

Many people couldn’t understand your choice, but honestly, you don’t give two shits about others’ opinions. What did matter to you was the support of close family and friends.

Felix, the man who raised you after your parents were stolen from you, proposed to accompany you to the fertility clinic, but you gently declined his offer. This was something you wanted to do by yourself. Well, you just came alone to be inseminated. Other than that, he has been by your side every step of the way.

He helped you to go through the countless donor profiles, and every document needed for this adventure of yours.

The process was a bit long and emotionally draining. The first steps were more like an evaluation, mostly for the clinic to understand your reasons and ensure you’ve deeply thought about all the aspects. Having a kid alone isn’t just about fulfilling your dreams but also about building a life for a child.

Once you’ve successfully completed those steps, you had to choose the donor. There were a lot of choices; it was like going grocery shopping. You were handed a catalog of potential donors with their medical histories and first names. It felt odd to be choosing the progenitor like this. After going through every profile, one of them stood out.

Following the donor selection, your cycles and hormone levels were tracked. When all was good, you’d get inseminated on your ovulation period, which technically is happening this week.  

So, ten minutes ago, you walked out of the clinic after being artificially knocked up.

If your egg is fertilized, in nine months, you’ll welcome your very much desired baby. A tiny human who will call you mom. You already picked the names, one for a girl, one for a boy. You simply can’t wait to welcome a tiny human in your life. Hopefully, the life of your baby will be better than yours.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, closing your eyes as the ghosts of your past surface.

Twenty years ago, your life was turned upside down when a terrible murderer put an end to your parents’ lives. Nobody ever found him or her; it’s like the person completely vanished into the night. That person left behind a little girl with questions nobody could ever answer and scars nobody could understand.  

Since you didn’t have any family left, you were raised by your father’s best friend, Felix. Over time, he became like a second father to you. Even though you were full of anger when he took you over, he stayed by your side and helped you navigate this sad reality; one where your parents weren’t part of anymore.

His daughter, Lexi is your age. You were already so close, and living under the same roof brought you even closer. She’s your super best friend, almost like a sister today. A smile grows on your face as you think of her. Your life would have been a nightmare without her.

Lexi was the first person to be aware of this desire to become a single mother. She even pushed you to do it as soon as you could, and she has encouraged you like nobody else. She also helped you select a donor; she even made fun of the names of some of them.

Your phone buzzes; the name and picture of Lexi appearing on the screen.

“Hi,” you say when you pick up.

“Soo,” she says. “How did it go?”

“Good, I guess?” you say with clear hesitation. “The doctor just inserted a thin catheter, looked at the screen, and said it was done,” you explain. “Now we just have to wait.”

Waiting is now the worst part, especially since you decided not to take any pregnancy test until the next appointment. Meaning, you have to wait two full weeks.

“Let’s hope the donor’s little swimmers are good ones,” she says.

While you always wanted to have a kid, Lexi never wanted one. You and her are total opposites but that’s what helped create such a strong bond between you. “Yeah, let’s hope for that,” you smile.  

Two weeks later

A couple of days ago, you took a blood test, and now, you’re in the waiting room, patiently waiting for the doctor to call you up.

These past two weeks, you’ve been internally battling to take a pregnancy test. It’s been hard to fight the urge to discover beforehand if you’re expecting or not. On your way to the clinic, your heart was beating extremely fast with nervousness. Even the music playing in the car didn’t seem to calm you down.

Even though you’re extremely nervous, a part of you knows. You can’t explain it, but you feel it deep down. Two nights ago, you were lying in bed completely exhausted after an intense day at work. The rhythm of your heartbeat was rocking you to sleep. Amidst the thrum of your own heart, you swear you could hear a faint, smaller, and quicker rhythm.

You instantly opened your eyes, scanning the room. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It felt like it was inside you. You stayed perfectly still, listening to that tiny sound. That night, you were rocked to sleep by that new rhythm.

The morning after, as you caught your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, something felt off. Your brows furrowed as you noticed your own scent was different. It felt like it was mixed with somebody else’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as yours or any other living human. It was extremely odd.

After a little while, the doctor says your name, and with shaky legs, you walk to her office. Your heart is beating at a very crazy pace, ready to burst at any moment. This is so stressful; it feels like time is moving so slowly.

“Hello yn,” the doctor smiles at you while you’re entering the room. “How have you been feeling?” you now take a seat.

“I’m good, thanks,” you smile back at her.

She sits down at her desk and takes a look at her computer.

“So, did you take any pregnancy test?” she asks.

“No, no,” you answer. “I wanted to keep the surprise for today.”

“I see,” she looks again at her screen before taping on her keyboard.

She seems to quickly read something before her smile widens. Your heart is going completely crazy. It really makes you nervous, and you try to mentally prepare yourself to receive the bad news as well. It’ll definitely break your heart but you’ll try again.  

This entire process is quite expensive, but the payment can be spread out over time rather than made in one shot. With this first payment, you have the right to three attempts. If pregnancy isn’t achieved after those attempts, you’ll have to go through another round and pay for additional attempts.

The doctor mentioned that usually, it takes about three to six attempts to achieve a successful pregnancy. Hopefully, you’ll get pregnant within those first three tries. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to afford another round of insemination.   

“Well, it looks like it only took you one try to conceive,” she informs you.

And right there, your heart bursts with joy. There’s indeed a little human being growing inside you. You’ll become a mother in nine months. You can’t believe it.

A little tear runs down your face as you hear the good news. It’s such a relief. You won't have to worry about coming back for another round.

“That’s good news,” you clean the tear on your cheek.

“It is indeed,” she says. “In four weeks more or less, we’ll plan an ultrasound to confirm the embryo’s implantation and check for a heartbeat,” she adds.

Well, you’ll still get worried about that because maybe until there, your baby will not survive. But you need to remain positive. No need to start stressing about it; you promised yourself that you’ll try to remain calm the entirety of the process and pregnancy so you’ll offer a great beginning of life to your baby.

“I’m very hopeful everything will go well because both you and the donor are in good health,” she says.

“Let’s hope for that,” you answer.

You then proceed to schedule the next appointment in four weeks. You can’t hide the immense smile on your face. This is the best news you got today. Nothing else will ever be possible to ruin this day.

When you leave the clinic, you instantly call Lexi.

“I AM PREGNANT!” you scream with excitement.

“Yeeeah,” she screams as well. “I’m going to be an aunty!” she adds.

“I’m so relieved that this first attempt was successful,” you admit.

Once you get inside your car, you touch your belly to caress it.

“That baby is so lucky to have you as a mother,” she says after. “And even more lucky to join our family.”

For sure, your family will extremely love this baby. It’s such a desired baby, and everybody has been so excited.

“They’ll be so loved,” you reply.

“There’s absolutely no doubt,” she says. “Dad will be so happy about this news; he’s been so excited to become a grandpa.”

Felix has expressed lately that he couldn’t wait to welcome a baby and become a granddad. This man has raised you for twenty years, and you consider him as a second father. There’s no doubt that your baby will see him as their grandfather even if, biologically speaking, he isn’t.

When you hang up, you stare into the void for a couple of minutes. In this moment, you wish your parents would be here. They would have been so happy to become grandparents, but they won’t be by your side for this new chapter of your life.

They are also the reason why you’re doing all of this. Since they passed, there’s been a tremendous emptiness inside you that even the love of Felix couldn’t fill in. This void stems mostly from the fact that you were left alone when they were killed. You’ve been feeling so lonely since then.

Throughout your life, you tried to fill it with relationships but they all failed. As far as you can remember, you wanted to follow the traditional path to build a family. However, it never worked out. Then, one day, you saw a brochure about single mothers, and you’ve been thinking about it since then.

You’ve seen motherhood as a role that will fill this emotional void you’ve been carrying for years. Plus, you’ve also seen it as a way to finally control your life. Twenty years ago, someone decided for you what your life would become. This wasn’t fair.

And you also want to give your baby the life you never got. You want to give them a loving family that won’t disappear the second the parents die. Outside of your parents, you didn’t have a family. Based on what Felix told you, your grandparents were against your parents' relationship so they moved into another city to live freely and build a family.

Life hasn’t been fair for you, but you want to make it fair for your baby.

Two weeks later

The clinic called you this morning to urgently come in the afternoon, only making you grow concerned during the day. You kept wondering what the reason for such urgency would be. Did they notice something when they did the blood test? Did they get the wrong blood test? Are you even really pregnant? 

However, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re carrying a life inside you. You haven’t had the ‘normal’ early symptoms yet, but you can feel your baby inside you. The faint heartbeat can still be heard, and there’s still that subtle scent interwoven with yours.

For the past two weeks, you’ve repeatedly inhaled this new scent, almost to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Most of the time, you wondered if it wasn’t something like blood, sweat, or the smell of your new shampoo. It was definitely an earthly one. One that only a human can possess.

Once inside the clinic, you’re instantly installed in the doctor’s room. Your heart is crazily beating inside your chest; you’re so nervous right now. Seconds later, a man joins you in the room.

At first glance, you’d think he is the CEO of a huge company. He’s fully dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, his hands casually placed in his pants pockets. This man is extremely charismatic; something about him draws you in.  

The man looks at you while frowning, his eyes moving from your eyes to your belly. By reflex, you cover your stomach with your hands. He’s making you uncomfortable with his intense stare.

He has a very strong bestial scent, it predominates his cologne. Everything about him is imposing, even the way his heart beats; it’s so calm while yours is completely erratic. The man’s eyes are clued on you.

The doctor arrives right after and closes the door behind her. Her face is quite serious; she even seems concerned.

“Miss y/l/n,” she takes a seat at her desk. “Mister Jeon,” she looks at the man behind you. “Please take a seat.”

The two of you sit down next to each other with apprehension. You can hear his heart beating a little faster, but he remains extremely calm on the outside.  

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The doctor pauses, giving you time to absorb the gravity of the statement. Her tone is gentle, but at the same time professional.  

The sterile, cold walls of the room seem to close in around you as the doctor’s words pierce through your thoughts.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” your breath is caught in your throat, your hands trembling. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

Your eyes look at the man sitting next to you. All you can see in his eyes is the same disbelief that reflects your own. So, this is your child’s father.  

Many questions cross your mind, but they remain unspoken, lodged in your throat.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

You desired nothing more than being alone in this adventure; you didn’t want a present father. That was the whole point of a donor. Now, you know the father of your child, and he’d probably like to be present.

For the past months, you went through a series of questions regarding the fact that you’ll raise your child alone. They asked you many times how you’d explain to your child that they don’t have a father. This now feels like a complete waste of time.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment’s costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

Those words seem so heavy and yet, they represent the reality of the choice you now have to face. A knot tightens in your stomach at the thought of undoing something you wished for so long. The baby is now growing inside of you, you’ve got used to falling asleep with their tiny heartbeat. The only thought of not having it anymore breaks your heart beyond comprehension.

Right now, everything—your carefully constructed plans, your hopes, the small life growing inside you—seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Mister Jeon is silent beside you, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He seems as stunned as you, but you can’t help but think that there’s something else there too. Something deeper and darker.

You ignore if he’s thinking the same thing as you, but you can feel it: the strange twist of fate pulling you both into an unknown world, one you both hadn’t planned for.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

Time seems irrelevant now. There’s a choice you need to make; a choice you didn’t expect to face. You swallow hard, your heart racing inside your chest. Your hands caress your belly through your shirt while you only hear the baby’s fragile heartbeat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be real.

Jungkook’s face went pale as the doctor’s words sank in.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

Just like you, the room’s white walls feel suffocating, the air thick with a tension he can’t shake. A mistake. His mistake. He tried to avoid this situation. He was supposed to go through surrogacy to guarantee a child that would uphold his lineage. His werewolf lineage, pure and untouched by human blood.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” the doctor’s words hang up in the air like a death sentence. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

His eyes quickly look at you, and he notices how much you’re shaking. It seems like you’re in a more devasted state than he is.  

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to absorb what is happening. A human child. Nonetheless, his child. Having children with humans isn’t just a personal choice; it’s a fundamental rule of the werewolf society. The very foundation of his power as the king depends on the purity of his bloodline. To break the rule is to risk everything.

He knows better than anyone what happens to the werewolf-human hybrid kids together with the parents. They are killed by the pack. Being a king doesn’t make him the exception to the rule. If this pregnancy goes to full term, not only will he be killed, but the baby and the lady sitting next to him will too.  

You didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t deserve to die because of a mistake. 

His gaze filled with frustration and panic moves toward you once more as his pulse quickens. He wanted control over the situation. He never intended to father a hybrid child. And now, not only is he involved in this pregnancy, but the child is going to carry his blood mixed with human genetics. God only knows what can happen to this kid, genetically speaking.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

‘This can’t be happening’, he thinks.

His eyes move back to the doctors, his hands clenched into fists. The thought of the entire werewolf community learning of this is unbearable. And what is his mother going to think of this?

She was the first person to support him in this surrogacy journey. She knew how important it was for him to have a child as soon as possible because he’d been struggling to find someone with whom he’d mate. Having an heir is the first thing a king should do to ensure the legacy.

Now, he’s about to have a child with a human. That’s not possible. This child won’t have a pure bloodline, this child can’t ever be an heir.     

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

The idea of termination seems dreadful, but the possibility of a hybrid child heir seems even worse. His responsibility as king, and the traditions that have been in place for centuries don’t allow for such breach. To raise a kid with human blood would mean instant disgrace, not only for him but for his entire family. How could he even be respected after this?

His entire world is slipping through his fingers. His position as king is now in jeopardy. This baby will destabilize the entire werewolf community. Nobody will respect him and will only see him as weak. Weak for having a human child.

There’s no going back. His mind tries to find a solution to fix this, or how to undo this. The idea of raising a child with a human—no matter how much it is his responsibility—is unthinkable. He never desired this and hasn’t even considered it. He has been so focused on maintaining his bloodline that the idea of a mistake happening never crossed his mind.

Your presence beside him destabilizes him beyond comprehension. He can see the confusion in your eyes mixed with disbelief. You can’t comprehend the extension of this entire problem. You can’t even comprehend the danger of mixing bloodlines, because you aren’t a werewolf.

Jungkook stands in silence for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. Terminating this pregnancy isn’t something he desires, but having a child with a human is simply impossible. His heart beats too crazily, and he can hear yours beating just as fast. His heart and duty are pulling him in two different directions.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. His voice is soft but it carries a heavy weight. “We need to decide. This affects both of us.”

After what felt like an eternity, you both leave the room completely shaken up by the news you just got. How could this be happening?

As you’re both walking in the clinic in the parking lot’s direction, none of you dares to speak. You’re a complete stranger to Jungkook. All he knows is that you’re a human carrying his child. 

“I can’t have that child,” he finally breaks the silence.

His words cause you to stop.

“It’s too early for me to consider terminating this pregnancy,” you admit. “I need time.”

Jungkook understands your perspective. It’s not a decision you lightly take, especially if you’ve come to this clinic to have a child. It’d be completely absurd to abort after going through this entire process.

“Of course,” he says. “But I want you to know my point of view.”

You nod, understanding his perspective as well. This is such a horrible situation. Jungkook wanted to have an heir while you simply wanted to have a child on your own. On top of that, he doesn’t look like the donor you selected.

“So if I decide to keep it, would you be out?” you ask.

Jungkook considers your words. There’s a possibility that the baby could still exist, but he wouldn’t be part of their life. He’d still be losing because he wants a child, but at least this way, his position wouldn’t be jeopardized, and no one would get hurt or killed.  

“It’s possible,” he honestly answers.

You nod once more. Even though he decides not to be part of his child’s life, he’d still know that he has a kid somewhere. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding you; he already knows your smell, and he has the means to find you.

“Okay,” you say.

Jungkook watches you take a pen and paper from your purse before writing something.

“This is my phone number,” you hand him the piece of paper. “In case you change your mind or take a decision.”

The man takes the piece of paper while you give him a small smile. You start walking away, his eyes following you until you disappear inside a car.

In this situation, he definitely would like to ask his mother for advice, but he can’t. He already knows the answer she’ll give him. ‘This baby can’t exist.’ And she’s right, but he can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy. It’s your body after all.

In the eventuality that you decide to proceed with the pregnancy, he guesses he’ll let you be a mother alone and pretend like this kid doesn’t exist.

You’ve spent the last two days crying in bed. The conversation with the doctor and this mysterious Mister Jeon has been playing over and over in your head. You can still picture everything so clearly; the white walls of the doctor’s room, the apologies from the doctor, and Mister Jeon’s piercing gaze.

‘There’s been a mistake,’ ‘There was a mix-up with the sample,’ the words still echo in your mind.

You’ve been trying to make sense of how such a monumental mistake has happened. But nothing seems to make sense. The clinic did this; the clinic took control over your decision. This chapter of your life was about you gaining control, but once more, someone decided for you. It’s been making you angry.

You’re furious at the clinic and their negligence. You trusted them with your project of building your own family. However, they decided otherwise.  

But underneath that anger, there’s another fury; one directed to yourself. You were so focused on having a child on your own terms that you didn’t stop to consider the what-ifs. You didn’t stop to consider that something might go wrong. And now, you are here.    

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours now, your mind trying to find a solution. Do you keep this baby? Do you terminate the pregnancy?

This choice feels impossible. It feels like no matter what your life will completely change.  

But deep down, you somehow feel some kind of relief. Because when Mister Jeon—this intense and charismatic man—said there was a possibility he’d walk away, that he’d leave you to raise this child alone, you felt lighter.

His potential absence is appealing. It aligns with your original choice, to be a single mother. A choice where your child is yours, and yours alone. But then, there’s also a possibility where he stays, or that he comes back later. What would happen then?

You press your hands against your face while a guttural growl leaves your lips. This is so damn frustrating. This should be simple. Because now, you’re left wondering what you want. Do you want to walk away from this and stick to the original plan? Or do you want to embrace this chaos, and see where this might lead?

Your hands slide down to your stomach, caressing it while you hear again the tiny heartbeat. This sound comforts you which makes you close your eyes.

For now, you don’t have any answers to all your questions. You’re not even sure you’ll have them tomorrow. For now, you’ll let yourself breathe. You’ll let yourself feel. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the answers.  

The sound of your phone ringing pushes you out of your own thoughts, informing you that you received a message. You sit on your bed before grabbing the phone on the nightstand. You received a message from an unknown number. By curiosity, you unlock your phone to read it. To your surprise, it’s the famous and mysterious Mister Jeon.  

From unknown: hi miss y/l/n, this is jeon jungkook, the father of your child. i’d like to meet you to discuss the matter. would you be free tonight?

Your heart hammers inside your chest, ready to burst at any second. He contacted you sooner than expected. You were thinking that you wouldn’t hear anything from him for at least a week. You thought you’d have more time to make a decision before meeting him. Now, it seems you don’t, and that you’ll have a very interesting conversation with him tonight.

With shaky hands, you start typing your answer.

To unknown: hello mister jeon, we could meet tonight

When you press ‘send’, you stare at the conversation, waiting for an answer. Mister Jeon responds instantly to your message, proposing to meet in a town square. You accept the suggestion and quickly go to your clothes cupboard to pick up an outfit.

The man seems very impressive, and you want to be presentable. He’s after all the progenitor of the life growing inside you.

A couple of hours later, you take the road to the meeting point. Surprisingly, you’ve remained calm for the entire drive. Driving is actually the only thing able to calm your tormented soul. Whenever you go through something very intense, you just drive to clear your mind.

However, since this pregnancy thing, even driving hasn’t been able to help you out. You tried to drive yesterday, but it only made things worse. So it definitely surprises you that you’ve been able to clear your mind before meeting Mister Jeon.

When you arrive, he’s already there waiting for you. He’s not wearing a suit, quite the contrary. His outfit is only made of a grey sweater with a blue pair of jeans. His hair isn’t perfectly pushed back as it was two days ago. It feels like you’re meeting a completely different person.

When he sees you, he stands up. As he does so, you notice he holds a box in his right hand. It’s a small one, but it still intrigues you.

“Good evening, miss y/l/n,” he says.

“Good evening, mister Jeon,” you say back.

His presence is still very imposing, but the fact that he isn’t wearing a suit anymore changes it a bit. He seems more approachable than he was in the clinic.

“Please call me Jungkook,” he offers you a small smile.

It’s the first time you see him smiling, and it feels like a very warm one. Beneath it all and in the midst of the city noise, you can perceive his heartbeat. It’s quite rapid which makes you tilt your head. Is he nervous?

“You can call me yn as well,” you smile back at him.  

“I’ve brought you a box with some pastries,” he hands you the box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Your smile grows wider at his simple but heartwarming gesture. This wasn’t expected, but it lightens the mood. Jungkook seems to be a nice person which contrasts with the cold and unreadable person he seemed two days ago.

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the little box. “You didn’t need to,” your eyes look up at him.

After that, you both sit down on the bench he was on before you arrived. By the way he rubs his hands on his tights, you can tell that he’s a bit nervous. You try not to overanalyze him, because you know your mind will go crazy, full of questions.

“What is happening is really crazy,” he admits with obvious nervousness. “I never imagined things would go this way,” you nod.

Jungkook looks everywhere, except at you. It seems like he isn’t brave enough to face you, almost like a teenager confessing his love.

“As I told you two days ago, I can’t have this child,” he finally speaks. “I really would love to, but I’d put the three of us in danger.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. What does he mean by ‘putting you in danger’? Does he come from a crazy family? Is he part of the mafia? This is scaring the hell out of you.

“We didn’t know each other up until two days ago, and you don’t deserve to be put in danger because of a stupid mistake the clinic did,” he seems angry when he mentions the mistake. “But I can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy, it’s your body, and it was also your wish to have a child. I can’t take that away from you.”

It kind of surprises you how respectful he is. Any other man in his position could have forced or paid you to put an end to this pregnancy. It’s really admirable.

“In case you want to keep going with it, I just want you to know that I’ll step away, and I will never come back to reclaim a role I refused from the beginning.”

You wonder what the reasons behind his decision could be. This man desired to have a child but is now refusing to have one with you because of a mistake.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what to do,” you admit.

His piercing eyes finally look at you. For a split second, you can swear that they were red. Red like blood. This destabilizes you, and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re not sure if you’re being delirious or if this is real.

“I wanted to become a mother, but not like this,” you continue, still destabilized by what you just saw. “So it leaves me wondering what I should do. But if you walk away, I’ll be more tempted to keep the baby because, in the end, it’ll go as I planned.”

In an unexplainable way, this man puts you at ease. It feels like you can confess how you truly feel about this situation without being judged by him. This man exudes serenity which draws you even more to him.

“I get that,” he says.

For a brief moment, you only look at him while your heart peacefully beats in your chest. His dark eyes stare right into your soul, and it feels like the world completely stopped. There’s just the two of you. But Jungkook breaks the contact, looking in another direction.

“If you decide to keep the child and need any financial help, I can give it to you,” he speaks.

This man definitely seems like a good guy, and you wonder even more why he’s walking away from this.

“I won’t,” you answer. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have any means to take care of the baby.”

For sure you need financial stability to be a single mother, and you would have never embarked on this adventure without having it.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his fluffy hair, avoiding still your gaze. “Can I ask why you want to become a single mom?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting this man—this stranger—to be interested in you.

“I didn’t have an easy life and I grew up without my parents,” you confess. “Motherhood was something I aspired to have in my life since I’m very young, and I’ve desired to give to my child everything I didn’t have. No matter if it was with someone or alone.”

Your eyes shift from Jungkook to the square full of people. It’s never easy to express out loud and to a complete stranger why you embarked on this adventure. Mentioning your parents is actually never easy; even after all this time.

Suddenly, you feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you in complete silence. For once in your life, people’s heartbeats and scents don’t suffocate you. You can hear and smell them, but it’s like it doesn’t matter.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve had those developed skills. You can hear stuff from afar, and you can strongly smell people’s natural body’s scent. Since it’s kind of ‘normal’ to you, you got used to it; but sometimes, and especially when you’re in the middle of heavy crowds, it suffocates you. It becomes simply too much.

This is something you never told anyone, too scared to be judged. Undoubtedly, people would say you’ve gone crazy due to the trauma of losing your parents. Not even Felix or Lexi knows about it. They just think you’re agoraphobic.

However, lately, you’ve been trying to go to some crowded place to overcome this suffocating feeling. You ignore why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve been doing it. It’s still too much, but today, next to this complete stranger, it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him to offer him a little smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Can I also ask you why you’re doing this?” you dare to ask.

Jungkook nods before looking away once more. It definitely looks like it’s hard for him to hold your gaze.

“In my world,” he starts saying. “I have heavy responsibilities, and having a child is one of them. But I can’t have one with anybody. I’m very limited in who is the biological mother so that’s why I can’t have one with you.”

You almost feel offended by his words. In which kind of world can’t you be the mother of his child? It’s completely crazy!

“Oh,” you simply say.

“You could have been the surrogate…” you can hear some kind of chuckle. “But never the progenitor.”

“It’s seems like a tough world.”

His eyes look again at you; you can see that he seems to hesitate with the answer.

“It isn’t,” he finally says. “But it is with me.”

Obviously, he carefully chose his words.

“Well, I hope you’ll find the right mother for your child,” you offer him once more a little smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you.

The two of you look back again at the people walking in the town square. They are walking around you, ignoring totally what you’re going through, what tough decision you have to make. They ignore everything about you, just as you ignore everything about them…  

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he adds.

“It’s not your fault,” you answer. “It’s the clinic’s.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the people walking in front of you. His heart is racing and piercing through your ears. He’s even more nervous than he was before, and it concerns you a bit. But you don’t say anything, too afraid to scare him off if you reveal you can hear his heartbeat.  

“Yn…” he starts. “There’s something you need to know,” his voice is deep and low at the same time. It’s so low that it almost drowns out by the distant chatter of people passing by.

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing. “Okay,” you whisper.  

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening before he exhales. His eyes don’t meet yours immediately, but when he does, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“When I said my world is different,” he swallows with difficulty. “I don’t mean it in a metaphorical sense. My world, my reality is not the same as yours.”

You frown even more, confusion plastered all over your face. You’re definitely incredibly confused. How could his world be different than yours? You live on the same planet, and breathe the same air. How could it be not the same?  

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook gets closer, his voice dropping even lower, barely audible. However, you still hear it perfectly.

“I am not entirely human, yn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You stare at him while waiting for him to elaborate. However, Jungkook just stares at you, waiting for your reaction.

“What do you mean by ‘not entirely human’?” you tilt your head.

For a couple of seconds, he doesn’t speak, almost as if he’s scared to reveal his true nature to you.

“I’m a werewolf.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It leaves you wondering if this man is of sound mind. Right now, you’re slightly concerned about his mental health, and the future of your child, if you keep them.

Your first reaction is to laugh, dismissing his words as if it is some kind of twisted joke. But the look on his face tells you that he’s deadly serious. This isn’t a joke.

“A werewolf?” you repeat to make sure you hear it well.

Jungkook nods. He looks tense and he maintains his deep glance on you.

“It’s why I can’t have this child,” he starts to explain. “In my world, bloodlines matter. Werewolf bloodlines are sacred, and the continuation of my lineage isn’t just about having a child. It’s about having the right child with the right kind of mother.”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a tidal wave. You stand up, your hands running through your hair. Your mind is spinning, and your pulse thunders in your ears. This is something you definitely weren’t expecting to hear today.

Werewolves? You’re carrying the child of a werewolf?

This sounds like it comes straight from a fantasy movie.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whisper to yourself but Jungkook hears it.  

“I didn’t want you to be dragged into this world, but you deserve the truth.”

You keep your back turned to him while you cross your arms against your chest.

“This is something you need to consider if you decide to keep the baby.”

At his words, you freeze. Instinctively, your hands down move to your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes follow your hands.

“Is this…” your voice trembles. “Is this a viable child?”

If you want to keep going with this pregnancy, you need to know if this baby can survive.

“There wouldn’t be any reason why this child wouldn’t survive because of mixed blood,” he stands up and gets close to you. “But as they grow up, they’ll develop werewolf abilities. And, one day, they’ll probably turn into one. It’s pretty unpredictable, though. There’s never been a human-werewolf hybrid before.”

Damn, this is leaving you speechless. How can this be real? Werewolves are supposed to exist in movies, not in real life.   

“This is insane,” you rub your hands on your face. “This can’t be real.”

Jungkook steps closer. His presence is grounding but nonetheless overwhelming.  

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demand, your voice filled with panic.  

Before you can blink, he gets even closer to you. He’s in front of you in an instant, his hand gently grabbing yours. Your eyes look down at his hand as you notice it changing. His fingers elongate, his nails sharpen into claws, and the texture of his skin turns into something more beastly. Slowly, your eyes look up, and what you see completely freezes your body.  His eyes glow a deep, predatory red, and there’s something undeniably wolfish about them.

You take a step back while setting your hand free. As you do so, Jungkook shifts back, his hand returns to its normal form, and his eyes fade back to a human form. The transformation is so quick that it almost feels like you imagined it.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

Jungkook’s gaze softens at your words.

“That depends on you, yn.”

Please note that the taglist is closed

[verushkak70]

I got the way more practical justification, not inheritance - as if there's a manor to be born to in my family, hahaha! - probably for class reasons

What kills me is the utter presumptuousness of the "Who will take care of you when you're old??" response I get when I say I have no kids

Because

1) wtf, do I need kids as "free" (not really) labor to help me sow & plow & harvest & thresh & then take care of me when I'm too old to do all that? No I do not - we get our food at supermarkets, or the corner shop, or go to a restaurant, or delivered right to the house, or from the food cart on the corner etc etc - point is, we don't have to grow & harvest, fish for or hunt it down & kill & slaughter it ourselves anymore)

&

2) do you have ANY idea how many sick people I took care of in the ER, who had children, who did not come to them in the ER because they were unable/unwilling?? eg they live in another state/moved there for work/spouse; they're disabled themselves; they're in the military; they work a job where they don't have cell reception or can't have a cell phone on them 24/7; they're undomiciled addicts now; they hate/are estranged from their parent; their parent abused them as a child; they're off their meds & no one knows where they are; they predeceased their parent/the parent outlived the child/ren; they were kicked out & disowned by the parent for being LGBTQ+whatevs, etc etc

Used to be, you had kids for those 2 main self serving reasons (& the usual "perpetuation of the species" urge to procreate) - but all those reasons are obsolete

& if you do have kids? Yeah, and? So what?

You can "do everything right" & raise them right & not abuse them & they still won't necessarily be able to help you when you're old & infirm for all of the above reasons

So cultivate your friend network & chosen family, be kind to neighbors & strangers (for those angels you entertain unawares may just be your only help when you need it) & ffs don't be an asshole to your kids (& by that I do not mean give them everything they want/ask for, or try to be their friend - you're the adult, you can't reason with a 3 year old (their brain literally has not developed abstract reasoning yet) - I mean don't use/abuse them emotionally, sexually, psychologically, or physically; don't live your life through them; don't try to right the wrongs of your childhood through them; don't divide & conquer them if you have more than one; don't helicopter/smother them & cause them to be dependent/helpless/ineffectual; don't treat them like they're your prince/ss & you're their servant & then wonder why they don't help you when you need it, etc etc)

On the first day of pediatric nursing in nursing school, my pediatric nursing instructor said: your job, as a parent, is to teach your kids how to live without you

You could've heard a pin drop

It was clear no one (in a classroom of 90+% females) had ever considered this before -

and for shame, really; how is it that squirrels & rabbits & coyotes & foxes & deer know to do this & humans don't?

The point is, parenting is teaching your kids how to get along in life when you're gone - not how to take care of you when you're old -

because you can count on the former but not on the latter

Above all, do not place all your "when I'm old..." eggs in the "but, I have kids" basket

You don't yet know what life has in store for you or for the hypothetical kids

You could have child/ren & still not have someone to care for you when you're old

Trust me - I saw that a lot - constantly, actually

& anyone who tells you that you 'need to' have kids, you have my permission to tell them:

"really? because this ex-ER RN* on Tumblr said... [all of the above]"

& carry on with your child free life

(Or, you know, just rec they watch S1 True Detective... & Matthew McConaughey will lay it all out for them by way of writer Nic Pizzolatto's plagiarism of Thomas Ligotti (& yeah I'm calling it plagiarism because that's what it was in spirit, if not by the letter of the law)

*I'm still an RN, lol! - just not ER

The older generation's fixation on forcing you to have kids is something they absolutely refuse to unlearn. You can give the calmest and most reasonable explanation for not having kids and the only thing they can think to say is, "But what of the heir to the lands?" "Who will inherit the throne?" "Please sire upon your barren death there will be a parochial schism that will soak our soils with brother-blood." They literally hate to see you happy with just a cat.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

how do you think leona would do if he falls in love?

Here are my thoughts in bullet-point/headcanon form for ease of reading! Key word there being my thoughts. (There will of course be different interpretations based on who you ask this question to.)

Standard disclaimer: These points are nothing more than my opinions and I am NOT saying my opinions are any more or less valid or “correct” than yours. Please, I’m not pre-book 1 Riddle/j It’s fine to have other takes; just remember to be mindful in how you communicate differences in opinion.

To start with, here's how I think Leona would deal with the experience of first love:

Firstly, I definitely feel that Leona is the type of person to not easily fall in love. There are many examples in canon of Leona rejecting the love he receives from others, whether it be from his own family (Cheka, Falena), dorm members (Ruggie, Jack, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.), or other peers. Even though he desires others’ approval and praise, he also simultaneously believes the compliments are insincere or that he may not be deserving or worthy of it, that he hasn’t “earned” it. It’s also difficult for him to be emotionally vulnerable with others, and I feel that this would extend to romantic circumstances.

Continuing from the previous point, I think it’d be a slow burn. Like, the feelings develop gradually and manifest in small but increasingly more forward-facing ways like his gaze lingering for a second or two longer than usual, him getting slightly irritable when he smells (I 100% believe that smell is a Big Thing for beastmen) some other guy on the object of his affections, or simply… his mind wandering to them, maybe in a daydream.

A lot of it is Leona musing about the situation and then being in denial. He’s not so oblivious as to ignore what are clearly blossoming feelings, but he's not so hasty as to act on them right away. He'd sit with those feelings, examine them, question them. What is it that he is experiencing and why, how did things come to this, etc. He may even try to convince himself it's a phase or he's "too good" for this or he's "above" this. Really takes a long time to wrestle with his emotions and to sort them out. And then when he has come to his conclusion, he might not be very pleased with it because (as I said before), he has self-esteem and self-worth issues despite outwardly presenting himself as confident and in-charge.

For a while, he keeps his distance and observes. He’s nothing if not a big cat biding his time, keeping an eye on his prey until—BAM! Down comes his paw, ensnaring the mouse. It's like a game of chess or... cat and mouse. You have to watch your opponent and predict their moves, then plan your own moves two or three or more steps ahead of them. He'd want to gauge if they're already taken, if they seem to express an interest in him too, what they like and dislike, information like that. The last thing Leona'd want to do is charge in, guns blazing, only to be rejected and have his pride hurt.

He may also go out of his way to test the object of his affections by purposefully engineering scenarios to see how they react. At first, it's subtle things that could easily be passed off as coincidence or happenstance. For example, maybe Leona would accidentally bump his shoulder against yours or as he's walking by his tail flicks you. That's just the start though. He'd put more pressure on over time. Like he'd be more confrontational, putting himself in your path as some obstacle to overcome, still being sort of an asshole to see how you handle yourself around him.

Leona tells himself he has the upper hand, and he's usually pretty consistent about hiding his feelings to that end. It might peek through here and there, but they easily read as him being tsundere as per usual. I think that would be his way of coping, because deep down he doesn't want to admit that a part of him is scared to feel this way. It's something else he could fail at, someone else he could frighten away or destroy.

With time, I think he'd become more confident. He has a better grasp of the other person, he's been able to sort out his thoughts. But the thing is, his pride is still a major deterrent. Instead of coming out and saying it, it would become another game. If you've ever read or watched Kaguya-sama: Love is War, it'd be similar to that. Leona would push for the other person to be the one to fall for him and confess first. Part of it is he's kind of afraid to be so emotionally vulnerable, part of it is that he's desperate to be wanted and needed by others, and part of it is that he feels he needs to "earn" that love by winning you over. He wants that sweet, sweet validation from you. He wants YOU to choose HIM.

I think he expects a certain amount of push and pull. If the game's too easy for him, the (psychological) hunt loses some of its thrill. I think he'd also be the type to seek a partner that isn't just a blind yes man (despite him giving off the vibes that he wants to be in total control, especially in his own dormitory); they should be able to keep him on his toes one way or another, and they shouldn't idolize him in a really unrealistic way--because then he worries what would happen if they learn about his flaws. Would they see him differently? Reject him? Etc.

It'd take a considerable amount of time and effort, but slowly he'd let the walls around his heart down to let you in--but ONLY if you pass his tests and prove that you can be loyal, trustworthy, and cognizant + accepting of all his flaws. He has high standards, so he's pretty picky about who he allows to be by his side. I don't think he'd be happy having to like... put in a fake "perfect prince" act or airs for someone else. Pretending to be someone you're not in order to have love might be just another source of stress for him.

He would take a more aggressive approach if the object of his affections makes it obvious that they return his feelings. More "accidental" touching (but of course nothing that breaches into something they find discomforting), intentionally dropping phrases that come off as flirtatious, demanding to spend more time together, etc.

If they're not into it, he'd respectfully back off. However, that won't stop him from moping about it in private later.

Then, assuming a scenario in which he and the person he's romantically interested in get together/start formally dating:

I think he'd be a lot more blatant and shameless about "showing off" his affections and/or the relationship in general. Overt flirting at this point, casually laying his head on the shoulder or wrapping an arm or tail around you, etc. Who cares who sees? Let them know you're already taken.

Oh yeah, he's really into physical touch (within whatever limits you deem to be acceptable; he respects your autonomy). Cuddles while napping, hand holding, head pats, listening to your heartbeat, etc. It grants him a sense of security that you're like... physically there with him.

As I mentioned earlier, I think there'd be a lot of banter and teasing; Leona strikes me as someone who likes to toy with his pre or puts up a fight; he still has his pride and won't take sass lying down, he'd definitely retaliate but in a playful way.

Slightly whiny and needy. Key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to go full yandere on you. I believe that Leona would be somewhat insecure about the relationship and wants you to validate him with your presence. Like, if you're lying down somewhere and try to get up to leave... he might pout and be all dramatic about it, maybe throw in a sarcastic line about how he's "a delicate prince" and how he'll "wither like a flower" without you.

Slightly possessive. Again, the key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to restrict your movements or demand complete control of your life. However, he might sulk if he like... sees some other guy hovering or getting handsy, obviously making you uncomfortable. (If it's a particularly bad day for him, Leona might get intrusive thoughts about being the "second pick" and his partner leaving him for some "better" guy.) We've already seen he can get pretty territorial when it comes to Savanaclaw and the Botanical Garden, so I think at some point he'd also step in to intimidate people he feels are becoming a problem for his S/O. It's not the case for every situation though; his partner should be able to handle themselves or let him know when he's overstepping.

I think he'd be a little more tolerant of things his partner pulls. They're the one exception for certain things, like touching his ears or being more willing to listen to their requests to go to class or to try this new vegetable.

He'd try to distance his S/O from his family, especially in the beginning. Leona would tell them he doesn't think they're ready to meet the royal family yet (especially knowing the rocky relationship he has with his family), but really a lot of this stems from his pride. Falena, for example, honestly might make him look uncool by infantilizing his "baby bro".

Leona doesn't really go out of his way to plan grand gestures (he's not Kalim). If he does anything "big", it's probably like sending Ruggie to your doorstep with fancy flowers and a notecard or something. What he values isn't the "frivolous" stuff, but spending quality time together (even if it's doing nothing in particular). Might still spoil you on, say, special occasions, but he generally dislikes making a big deal of these things.

I think he'd be into you wearing his clothes. It's an easy visual indication that you're intimate enough to do this, but also it cloaks you in his smell so every other beastman in the immediate vicinity also knows you're "marked". Leona tosses his unworn blazer over you, casually saying, "Keep it."

I do believe he has the capacity to be very sappy, but I don't think he'd want to be at this level all of the time. It would probably be limited to private settings and done sparingly, sort of like a treat?? Cuz if he does it too often, then it might lose its "special" feeling, and I also feel like he wouldn't be open to being all squimshy 24/7. Usually his sappiness is sarcastic.

Going to keep it 100 here, he's going to be more vulnerable around you (especially in private), and that means potential traumadumping. That's not to say that he'd do it super frequently to go into full-blown details, but his S/O would be one of the few people he feels comfortable enough with to open about his deepest insecurities and fears. He sometimes needs someone to hear him out, a shoulder to cry on, etc. Of course, he's not going to treat his partner like an unpaid therapist. Leona just... needs some extra support every now and again, reminders that he's doing fine, you know??

IMPORTANT ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Leona being in love would NOT smooth out all the rough edges to his personality. He's not going to white knight/act like you constantly need his protection, he's not going to bend over backwards and do anything and everything his partner asks of him. He still has a will and he can and will disagree or argue if he's opposed to something. He'll still let you handle yourself as needed.

Leona being in love would also NOT magically cure him of his personal issues and struggles. This is also true of the other characters who have deeply rooted trauma, but I feel this point should be included as a reminder anyway. It's of course not his entire personality, but his past experiences will impact how he interprets and reacts to things in present day (hence him being needy/wanting validation, etc.).

Like all relationships (whether romantic or platonic), it would not be flawless. There will be highs and lows, fights and disagreements, etc. This is normal in any relationship; what matters is that you're able to be mature enough to patch things up afterwards and learn from those rough patches.

[etheraltides]

Safe in His Arms

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Summary: After a grueling day at the Country Club filled with rude costumers and endless stress, you find yourself breaking down in your boyfriend’s bed.

Warning(s): emotional distress, workplace mistreatment and a bit of verbal harassment.

A/N: Can you tell I’ve had a rough day at work..?

The familiar weight of the day bore down on you as you trudged up the long driveway to Tannyhill, your work uniform damp with rain you faced after you lost the buss and the residual humiliation of serving yet another parade of insufferable customers at the Country Club. Your back ached, your feet throbbed, and a lump had been stuck in your throat since your shift began. It had been one of those days – the kind that leaves you questioning if it’s even worth the paycheck.

When you stepped into Rafe Cameron’s big house, the stillness was suffocating. It was late enough that most of the house staff had gone home, leaving the place eerily quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. You kicked off your shoes and set your bag down by the door, barely able to summon the energy to call out for him.

“Rafe?” you said, your voice cracking.

No response. You figured he was still locked away in his office, likely losing track of time over something work-related or more of his dad’s expectations. A glance toward the kitchen clock confirmed it was nearing 10 PM. You shouldn’t have picked today for a double shift.

Your body moved on autopilot as you headed upstairs to his room, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each step. You bypassed the vanity mirror, not wanting to see the tired, blotchy version of yourself. Instead, you headed straight for the en suite bathroom, needing to wash off the grime of the day – physically and emotionally.

The water was scalding, but you didn’t care. The sting against your skin almost matched the burn of the angry tears threatening to spill. Your customers’ snide remarks replayed in your mind on a loop:

“Are all the staff this incompetent?”

“Can you just get the order right for once?”

“I’d like to speak to someone more qualified.”

“You damn pogues aren’t even good enough to clean tables. No wonder why your kind gets nowhere in life.”

By the time you stepped out of the shower, you were trembling. Not from the cold, but from sheer exhaustion. You grabbed one of Rafe’s oversized T-shirts, pulling it over your damp body before collapsing onto his bed. His scent still lingered in the sheets – a mix of his cologne and something inherently him.

You buried your face into the pillow, clutching the covers tightly around yourself as the dam finally broke. Sobs wracked your body, and you curled into a ball, feeling utterly spent.

Rafe was on his third read-through of the same email when the buzz of his phone distracted him. He glanced at the screen – it was just a notification for some pointless app. The house was too quiet for his liking, and it occurred to him that you hadn’t come to find him yet.

He checked his watch, guilt prickling at the edges of his thoughts. He’d told you this morning that he’d be free to spend the evening with you, but work had a way of spiraling out of control.

Shutting his laptop with a sigh, Rafe pushed his chair back and headed upstairs. The sight that greeted him when he opened the bedroom door made his stomach twist.

There you were, curled up on his side of the bed, his comforter wrapped around you like armor. Your shoulders were shaking, and muffled sniffles reached his ears.

“Hey” he said softly, crossing the room in a few long strides. “Baby, what’s going on?”

You startled, quickly wiping your face with the back of your hand as if that could hide the tears. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Rafe frowned, crouching down beside the bed so he was level with you. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me.” His voice was gentle, but there was his usual firm edge to it.

“It’s stupid.” you whispered, avoiding his gaze.

“Stupid doesn’t make you cry like this.” he countered, reaching out to brush a strand of wet hair from your face. “Talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. “Work sucked today.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “The customers were awful. They treated me like I was nothing, like I wasn’t even human. I tried to keep it together, but—” Your voice broke, and fresh tears spilled over.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened – not with anger at you, but with protective fury for you. “They said something to you?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Just the usual stuff.” you said, trying to downplay it. “But today it just… it felt worse. I couldn’t shake it off.”

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. “You’re not nothing, baby.” he said firmly. “You hear me? Those people? They’re assholes. They don’t know shit about you.”

You sniffled, leaning into his touch despite yourself. “I just hate that it gets to me.”

Rafe shook his head. “It’s not on you to be unbothered by assholes. You’re allowed to feel things, okay?” He stood up and climbed onto the bed, pulling you into his lap despite the fact that he wasn’t much of a hugger. You didn’t resist, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrapped around you securely.

“You didn’t deserve any of that,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “None of it. You’re too good for them. Too good for this damn place.”

You let out a shaky breath, his words starting to chip away at the weight in your chest. His hands moved in slow, soothing circles on your back, grounding you in a way only he could.

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled into his chest. “I know you’ve had a long day too.”

Rafe tilted your chin up to look at him, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. “Don’t apologize for this. For needing me, alright?” He sighed, his voice softening. “I know I’m not… great at this stuff. But when it comes to you? I’ll figure it out.”

You gave a weak laugh. “You’re doing fine, Rafe.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you said, the weight in your chest easing a little more.

He leaned back against the headboard, keeping you close as he ran a hand through your hair. “Next time something like this happens, you tell me, okay? I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing. You call me.”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’ll try.”

“No, baby. You do more than try.” he insisted. “You promise.”

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips twitching despite the tears. “Okay. I promise.”

For the first time all day, you felt a glimmer of peace. Wrapped in Rafe’s arms, with his warmth and steady presence surrounding you, the world felt a little less harsh.

“Good.” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Now just stay here. Let me hold you. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

His words were like a balm to your soul, and as he pressed another kiss to your head, you felt your eyes grow heavy. The exhaustion of the day, coupled with the safety of his embrace, lulled you to sleep.

Rafe stayed awake, though, his mind racing with plans to make sure you never felt this way again. Whatever it took – whether it was him storming into the Country Club or just being here for you when you needed him – he wasn’t going to let the world break you.

You were his girl, after all. And he’d do anything to protect you.

There was no doubt in his mind that tomorrow he’d be talking to the club’s manager though.

[doreminimi]

love is blind [Bang Chan One-Shot]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Idol!Bang Chan x Teacher!Reader 

₊˚⊹♡⋆ 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 15.1k (I got a bit carried away sksksk)

‧͙☾⁺༓˚*･ 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: None

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝓢𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: In this modern era of finding love and vulnerability, Christopher and Y/N embark on an extraordinary journey in the experiment of "Love Is Blind." From the intimate and emotionally charged pods where they connect deeply without seeing each other, to the reveal and romantic getaway that cements their bond, their story explores the highs and lows of finding true love in unconventional ways. As they navigate the challenges of returning to their real lives, meeting families, and integrating their vastly different routines, their relationship is tested in ways they never anticipated. With moments of joy, tension, and growth, Christopher and Y/N learn what it means to truly commit to each other, culminating in a heartfelt preparation for their wedding. Will their love withstand the pressures of reality and blossom into forever?

a/n: Hi guys! I wrote this story because I’ve been recently obsessed with the Love Is Blind series, and it sparked an idea. I also noticed that there’s a Too Hot to Handle series about Bang Chan on here (do read her series @seospicybin — it’s so good, I’m obsessed! but remember it is for +18 audiences!). I thought, why not add a Love Is Blind one-shot to the mix? I hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you have any suggestions or requests for stories, feel free to let me know—I’d love to hear your ideas. Don’t forget to like and comment if you enjoyed reading this story. Your support means the world to me! Thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts! 💕

One: 

Bang Chan adjusted the microphone inside his pod, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest as he took a steadying breath. Despite years of performing on the world’s biggest stages, this moment felt completely different. Here, he wasn’t the leader of Stray Kids or a global sensation—he was just Chris, a man hoping to connect with someone who saw him for who he truly was.

The anonymity of Love Is Blind was both exhilarating and terrifying. Without the weight of his career or the expectations of others, he felt a rare sense of freedom.

He tapped the microphone gently and leaned forward, his Australian accent warm and inviting. “Hi, I’m Christopher, but you can just call me Chris. What about you?”

There was a brief pause before a voice came through, light and confident. “Hi Chris, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chris smiled, a bit of his nervousness fading. He leaned slightly closer to the opaque wall, as if that could somehow shorten the distance between them. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. So, is this as weird for you as it is for me? How are you feeling about this whole... talking-to-a-wall situation?”

Y/N’s laugh was immediate, bright and disarming. “Oh, absolutely. It’s bizarre! I mean, I’ve had long phone conversations before, but knowing there’s a person on the other side who might... you know, become my future husband? That’s a first.”

Chris chuckled, his own nerves softening at her lighthearted tone. “Same here. It’s exciting, though, isn’t it? A bit nerve-wracking, but exciting. Like, this could actually lead to something real.”

“Exactly,” Y/N agreed. “Okay, let’s start simple. Tell me something about you—what’s your dream vacation?”

Chris leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Definitely the beach. Growing up in Sydney, the ocean was my happy place. There’s something about the sound of waves, the salt in the air—it just clears your head, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Y/N replied with a sigh. “Anywhere with a beach and good food? That’s my dream too. Add in no cell phones, and I’m sold. I’d love to completely disconnect for a while.”

Chris laughed softly. “Alright, but if we’re talking beaches, I need to know—are you competitive? Because I’m already imagining us having a sandcastle-building contest.”

Y/N’s tone turned playful. “Competitive? Let’s just say I don’t like to lose. But what about you?”

“Oh, I’m competitive, alright,” Chris said, his grin evident in his voice. “But I should warn you, I don’t lose easily.”

“We’ll see about that,” Y/N teased, her voice laced with mock challenge. “I hope you’re ready to eat your words.”

“So, Chris,” Y/N began, her voice curious. “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

Chris hummed thoughtfully.  “Tough one, but I think I’d have to go with pizza. You can change the toppings, make it fancy, or keep it simple. Plus, who doesn’t love pizza? What about you?”

“Noodles,” Y/N said without missing a beat. “You can have them fried, in soup, hot or cold, with all kinds of meats, veggies, or sauces. Plus, there are so many different shapes, each one feels like a whole new experience!”

Chris laughed. “Solid choice. Okay, what’s your guilty pleasure TV show?”

“Oh, definitely The Great British Bake Off,” Y/N admitted. “There’s something so comforting about watching people bake under pressure while I’m curled up on the couch, eating snacks.”

Chris flashed a wide grin. “That’s a solid pick. Mine’s probably Friends. I’ve seen it so many times, it’s practically a comfort blanket at this point. And yes, I absolutely dominate at trivia.”

Y/N laughed, her voice playful. “Oh, is that so? Challenge accepted. Trivia showdown coming up—you better bring your A-game.”

A mischievous glint sparked in her eye as she leaned closer to the wall. “Alright, let’s switch gears. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

Chris chuckled, the question catching him off guard. “Teleportation, without a doubt. Imagine skipping traffic or spontaneously showing up at a beach halfway around the world. Total game-changer.”

“Good choice,” Y/N said approvingly. “I’d go with the ability to stop time. Think of all the naps I could take and still get everything done!”

Chris laughed, his voice warm. “Now that’s both practical and genius. I’d never have thought of that, but honestly, I might be jealous of your choice.”

As their laughter echoed in the pods, both felt a growing ease and connection. The wall between them didn’t seem like a barrier—it was just part of the journey toward something real.

By the second day, Chris and Y/N’s conversations felt natural, as if they’d known each other for years. The initial nerves had faded, replaced by genuine curiosity and growing comfort.

“So, tell me about your family,” Y/N asked. “Do you have siblings?”

Chris smiled, leaning back. “I do. I’m the eldest of three. Growing up, I was always the one looking out for everyone else. I guess that’s why I’ve always been in leadership roles,it’s kind of ingrained in me.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” Y/N said empathetically.

“It was,” Chris admitted. “But it also taught me a lot about love and responsibility. My family’s my anchor. When I moved to a new country to pursue my career, they supported me, even though it meant being so far away. That kind of love... it’s something I want to give back.”

“That’s beautiful, Chris,” Y/N said softly. “It’s clear how much they mean to you.”

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your family like?”

“Well,” she began, “I’m the oldest too. But things changed a lot when I lost my younger sister. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, but it also made me appreciate the little things. It’s why I ended up going into teaching,I wanted to make a difference, even in small ways.”

Chris’s voice softened. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must have been incredibly hard.”

“It was,” she admitted, “but it shaped who I am. Teaching gives me purpose. I love seeing kids discover their potential, it reminds me to keep pushing forward.”

“You sound like an amazing teacher,” Chris said sincerely. “Your students are lucky to have you.”

Y/N chuckled. “Thank you. And if I ever need to win over their attention, I’ll just bring you in to talk about your sandcastle skills. What about you? What’s something that’s shaped who you are today?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Honestly? Music. It’s been my constant through everything, good days, bad days, everything in between. It’s how I express myself when words don’t feel like enough.”

Y/N’s voice softened. “That’s beautiful, Chris. It sounds like music isn’t just something you do, it’s who you are.”

Chris smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “Exactly. Thanks for getting that, Y/N. Talking to you... it just feels easy.”

“It does,” Y/N agreed, her voice warm. “I can’t wait to see where this goes.”

Chris glanced at the clock, reluctant to end their conversation but knowing they’d have more time tomorrow. “I guess we have to wrap up for now,” he said, his tone tinged with regret. “But I can’t wait to talk to you again tomorrow.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft and shy. “Me too, Chris.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N. See you tomorrow,” he said softly, listening as the gentle click of the door on her side signaled the end of their conversation.

As the session ended, Chris leaned back in his chair, a lingering smile on his face.

In the men’s lounge, Chris quickly bonded with a few of the other participants. Mason, a marketing executive, and Elijah, a chef, became his closest allies.

“Alright, Chris,” Mason said, leaning back on the couch. “Tell us about Y/N.”

Chris grinned, his dimples deepening. “She’s incredible. Thoughtful, smart, funny... Talking to her feels effortless. Like we just click, you know?”

Elijah raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re smitten.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Chris said, his grin widening. “But yeah, there’s something special about her. She has this way of making me feel comfortable, like I can just... be myself.”

Mason clapped him on the back. “Sounds like you’ve got a keeper, mate.”

Meanwhile, in the women’s lounge, Y/N found a confidante in Amelia, a bubbly nurse with a knack for reading people.

“You have to tell me about Chris,” Amelia said one evening, practically bouncing with excitement.

Y/N smiled, her cheeks flushing. “He’s amazing. He listens in a way that makes me feel... seen. It’s like he really cares about what I have to say.”

Amelia sighed dreamily. “That’s how it should be. So, are you falling for him?”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. “I think I might be. He just gets me in a way no one else has.”

By the fourth day, their conversations turned more reflective and meaningful.

“What does love mean to you?” Y/N asked one evening, her voice soft but steady.

Chris paused, considering his words. “I think love is showing up. Even when it’s hard, even when you’re scared. It’s about being vulnerable and trusting someone with the messy parts of you.”

“That’s beautiful,” Y/N said. “For me, love is a choice. It’s deciding every day to be there for someone, no matter what.”

Chris smiled. “I like that. It feels real.”

They spent hours talking about their hopes, fears, and dreams. Chris shared stories about nights when he felt lost and how he’d turn to his guitar for solace. Y/N opened up about her first teaching job and the joy of watching her students grow.

By the fifth day, Chris was certain he had found something truly extraordinary. Kneeling in his pod with a velvet box in hand, he took a deep breath, steadying himself before finding the words to speak.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but emotional, “I’ve never felt so connected to someone I’ve never even seen. You make me want to be better, to show up in ways I never have before. Will you marry me?”

There was a moment of silence, and then her voice came through, trembling with emotion. “Yes, Chris. I’ll marry you.”

Though separated by the pod walls, both felt an overwhelming sense of joy and certainty. Chris had found someone who understood him, not as an idol, but as a man. And Y/N had found someone who made her feel cherished and seen.

Their journey was just beginning.

Two:

The moment had arrived,the reveal. The anticipation was palpable as Chris, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, stood at one end of the runway. He fidgeted slightly, rolling his shoulders and adjusting his cuffs, his nerves visible despite his calm demeanor. At the other end, Y/N waited, her heart hammering in her chest. She smoothed down her dress, whispering to herself, “This is it. No turning back now.”

The sound of the sliding screens filled the room as they began to part. Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping the sides of her dress. As the screens opened fully, their eyes met for the first time.

Both froze.

Chris’s breath caught in his throat. She’s stunning.

Y/N’s eyes widened as recognition sparked. “Wait a second,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over her pounding heartbeat.

The man standing before her wasn’t just Chris, the kind, thoughtful voice she had grown to love in the pods. This was Bang Chan,Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids, a global music sensation.

Chris noticed her hesitation and smiled nervously, his dimples deepening. He stepped forward tentatively, his voice soft. “Hi.”

Y/N blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Hi,” she replied shyly, her voice muffled against his shoulder as he pulled her into a warm embrace.

As they stepped back, her hands instinctively flew to her mouth. “You’re...you’re Bang Chan,” she finally managed, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe.

Chris scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “Uh, yeah. That’s me. Surprise?”

Y/N laughed nervously, her eyes darting between his face and the rest of him. “This is... I mean, I didn’t expect, You’re him! I didn’t think I’d be meeting a literal superstar!”

Chris chuckled, his voice soothing. “I was kind of hoping I could just be ‘Chris’ for you. The guy you’ve been talking to in the pods, not the guy on stage.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath as she tried to process. “You’re still him. You’re still Chris. But... wow. This is a lot to take in.”

“I get it,” he said gently, his eyes searching hers. “I should’ve told you, but in the pods, I just wanted to be honest and real without all the noise that comes with... you know, my career.”

Y/N’s initial shock began to fade, replaced by a soft smile. “You’re right. And honestly, I’m glad I got to know you like that first. You’re amazing, Chris. Superstar or not.”

His smile widened, relief evident in his expression. “Thank you. That means everything to me.”

He reached for her hand, his touch grounding her. “Can we start over, right here? Just Chris and Y/N?”

She nodded, her smile growing. “I’d like that.”

They moved to the nearby bench, their hands naturally finding each other. Sitting down, Chris turned to her, his expression serious but filled with warmth. “You’re exactly who I hoped you’d be,” he said, his voice soft. “Inside and out.”

Y/N laughed nervously, still absorbing the reality of the moment. “It’s so weird seeing your face now. It’s like... I know you, but you’re also this whole new person.”

Chris chuckled. “I feel the same. You’re familiar, but seeing you now... you’re even more incredible than I imagined.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and she squeezed his hand. “And you... well, you’re way more than I ever dreamed of.”

Chris took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said, his tone tinged with excitement.

Y/N watched as he knelt down on one knee, her breath catching.

“Y/N,” he began, opening a small velvet box to reveal a sparkling ring. “I already know I want to spend forever with you. Will you marry me?”

Her hands flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Chris,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She nodded fervently, her words spilling out. “Yes, Chris. Yes, I’ll marry you!”

He slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands steady despite his own emotions. Standing, he pulled her into a tight embrace, their laughter and tears mingling in a moment of pure joy.

As the screens began to close behind them, signaling the end of the reveal, they walked back toward their respective lounges. But their eyes never left each other, their faces lit with joy and the promise of the life they were about to build together.

Y/N glanced back at Chris one last time before stepping through the door, a wide smile spreading across her face. “This is going to be one heck of a story to tell,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement and disbelief.

Chris grinned back, his dimples deepening. “Our story,” he said softly. “And it’s just beginning.”

Three:

The following week, the couples began arriving at the resort, one limo at a time, provided by the production team. The energy was palpable as each pair prepared for the next stage of their journey.

Day One

Y/N was the first to arrive. Stepping out of the sleek black limo, she marveled at the beauty of the beachfront property. The hotel’s elegant façade and the sound of crashing waves immediately put her at ease. A staff member escorted her to her suite, a luxurious space with a spacious balcony overlooking the ocean.

She placed her bags in the bedroom, admiring the plush king-sized bed adorned with soft white linens, then began to explore the rest of the suite. She trailed her fingers along the marble countertops in the kitchenette, peeked into the enormous bathroom with its spa-like tub, and finally stepped out onto the balcony. The sunset cast a golden hue over the water, and Y/N smiled to herself, feeling a sense of peace.

Chris arrived shortly after. As his limo pulled up, he took a deep breath, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He was excited and a little nervous to see Y/N again after their reveal. He quickly made his way to their shared suite, the door opening with a soft click.

“Hey beautiful,” he whispered as he stepped inside, spotting her on the balcony. She turned around, her face lighting up as she saw him. He walked up to her and placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Long time no see.”

Y/N laughed softly, her heart fluttering at the sight of him. “You’re late,” she teased, leaning into him.

“Worth the wait?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Definitely,” she replied, her smile widening.

They spent the next few minutes exploring the suite together. Chris pointed out the little details he loved, like the vintage-inspired art on the walls and the sleek coffee maker in the kitchenette. Y/N couldn’t stop laughing as Chris dramatically tested the couch for “maximum comfort.”

Eventually, they found themselves back on the balcony, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Chris leaned against the railing, his arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “This feels unreal,” he said softly. “Like a dream.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes on the horizon. “But it’s our dream,” she replied. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

After a while, they began preparing for the evening’s event. Y/N slipped into a stunning crocheted bodycon dress that accentuated her figure, while Chris opted for a casual yet stylish beach-ready look: a cotton button-up shirt paired with khaki shorts.

“You look beautiful,” Chris said as Y/N adjusted her earrings.

“And you look like you belong on a magazine cover,” Y/N teased, brushing a hand over his shoulder.

Hand in hand, they strolled toward the poolside bar, anticipation bubbling as they prepared to meet the other couples.

On their first night at the resort, the couples gathered by the pool for drinks, laughter, and the much-anticipated moment of putting faces to the names they’d been hearing about in the pods. The warm breeze carried the faint sound of waves in the background as everyone slowly began to gather, the energy buzzing with curiosity.

The men grouped together by the bar while the women settled into lounge chairs near the pool. Both groups exchanged nervous glances, clearly intrigued by the people their significant others had been talking about during the pod experiment.

Mason, one of the more outspoken men, finally broke the ice. “Alright, let’s meet these women you’ve been talking about nonstop,” he said, nudging Chris playfully. “I need to see if Y/N is as amazing as you’ve made her sound.”

The women laughed from their side of the pool, clearly overhearing the comment. Amelia leaned over to Y/N and whispered, “They’re already hyping us up. Let’s see if they live up to the chatter.”

Y/N grinned. “No pressure, right?”

One by one, the men approached the women, introducing themselves and exchanging warm handshakes or hugs. Chris found himself locking eyes with Sarah first. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, smiling. “Mason hasn’t stopped talking about how funny you are.”

Sarah laughed. “I’m sure he’s exaggerating, but it’s nice to finally meet the guy Y/N won’t stop gushing about.”

When Chris finally reached Y/N, the room seemed to pause for a moment. He leaned down slightly, grinning. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks warming. “And this is the guy who’s been making me blush in the pods.”

The group naturally broke off into smaller conversations, everyone eager to learn more about each other. Mason was deep into a conversation with Amelia about their mutual love for hiking, while Chris and Y/N mingled with the others, exchanging stories about their pod experiences.

Eventually, the women regrouped on the lounge chairs, a playful energy bubbling between them. “Alright,” Amelia announced, holding her drink up dramatically, “it’s time to interrogate these men. Let’s call them over one by one.”

The women erupted into laughter as Sarah called Mason over first. “Come on, Mason! Time to put you in the hot seat.”

Mason walked over, mock apprehension on his face. “What are you guys plotting?”

Amelia grinned. “What’s your favorite thing about Sarah?”

Mason’s expression softened as he looked over at Sarah. “It’s her humor. She has this amazing ability to make everyone feel comfortable and laugh, no matter the situation.”

The women cheered as Mason walked back to the bar, shaking his head and laughing. One by one, the men were called over and asked the same question. Each gave heartfelt answers, earning playful teasing and cheers from the women.

Finally, it was Chris’s turn. “Alright, Y/N,” Amelia said, turning to her with a grin. “Get ready. Your boy’s about to spill all.”

Chris walked over, his usual confident demeanor softened by the teasing smiles of the women. “What’s going on here?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Chris,” Amelia began dramatically, “what’s your favorite thing about Y/N?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Her heart,” he said simply, his eyes finding Y/N’s. “She’s got this way of making everyone around her feel seen and appreciated. Every time I talk to her, I feel like I can be completely myself. And her laugh? Don’t even get me started.”

The women swooned collectively, cheering loudly as Y/N blushed. “Okay, that was definitely the best answer of the night,” Amelia declared.

Chris returned to the bar, shaking his head and laughing as the women continued their playful teasing. Y/N leaned back in her chair, her heart full from the words he’d shared.

The group dissolved into laughter, and the evening continued with lively games, shared anecdotes, and even a chaotic impromptu karaoke session where Chris belted out a tune. Y/N cheered louder than anyone else, clapping along with the beat.

After the couples mingled for a while, the men naturally gravitated to a corner by the pool, drinks in hand, while the women gathered near the lounge chairs. Chris leaned back in his seat, listening to the other men recount their pod journeys and impressions of their partners.

“So, Chris,” one of the guys asked, nudging him, “what’s Y/N like in person? She seems really sweet.”

“She’s incredible,” Chris replied, his dimples deepening with his smile. “She’s so much more than I expected. She’s got this strength that’s so inspiring but also this warmth that just draws you in. Honestly, she makes me feel grounded.”

The other men nodded in approval. “That’s a big deal, man. You seem smitten,” one of them teased.

Chris chuckled. “Guilty. What about you guys? How are things looking now that we’re out of the pods?”

The conversation turned lively, with each man sharing stories of their first impressions and the quirks they were discovering about their partners. Laughter erupted as one recounted a chaotic wardrobe mishap earlier in the day, and another shared how his partner had dominated him in a poolside trivia game.

“It’s crazy how different this is now that we’re face-to-face,” Chris remarked. “But honestly, I think it’s made everything feel...real.”

The others nodded in agreement, raising their glasses for a toast. “Here’s to surviving the pods and what comes next.”

Meanwhile, Y/N and the other women sat on lounge chairs, chatting animatedly. One of the women leaned closer to Y/N. “Okay, spill. What’s Chris like in real life?”

Y/N smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s amazing. He’s thoughtful and funny, and honestly, I think I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s real. And those dimples...they’re dangerous,” she added with a laugh.

The group laughed along, and one of the women playfully fanned herself. “Dimples will get you every time.”

“So, what’s surprised you the most about him?” another asked.

“How much he pays attention,” Y/N said, her voice softening. “In the pods, I knew he was a good listener, but now I see how much he remembers the little things I’ve shared. Like earlier today, he mentioned this random thing I said about my favorite flowers, and I didn’t even remember telling him.”

One of the women sighed dramatically. “Ugh, he sounds perfect. Can we trade?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Not a chance.”

The women exchanged more stories, comparing notes about their partners’ habits, quirks, and sweet gestures. They cheered each other on, promising to support one another through the challenges ahead.

The conversations among the men and women set the tone for a night filled with camaraderie and connection. As the evening wound down, both groups left with a deeper appreciation for their relationships and the shared journey they were all embarking on.

Day Two

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting golden hues across the ocean as Chris bounded down the sandy path, his energy contagious even this early in the morning. He stopped by a row of surfboards neatly propped against a wooden rack, glancing back to see Y/N trudging behind him, her coffee still in hand.

“You’re way too cheerful for this hour,” she grumbled, taking a sip.

“That’s because today’s mission is to turn you into a pro surfer,” Chris declared, flashing his signature grin.

Y/N raised a skeptical brow, looking at the boards like they might attack her. “A pro? Let’s aim for ‘not immediately falling flat on my face,’ shall we?”

“Trust me,” he said, grabbing a board and handing it to her. “I’m a fantastic teacher. Just follow my lead.”

“And by ‘fantastic,’ you mean you’ll laugh at me when I inevitably wipe out?” she teased.

“Absolutely,” Chris replied with a wink.

After a quick lesson on the basics, they waded into the water. Chris demonstrated how to paddle and pop up onto the board with effortless grace. “See? Easy,” he said, balancing perfectly as a wave carried him to shore.

Y/N glared at him, hands on her hips. “Show-off.”

Her first few attempts were, predictably, disastrous. She fell forward, then backward, swallowing a fair share of saltwater. Chris paddled over, chuckling. “You okay there, champ?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed, spitting out water. “Just rethinking all my life choices.”

“Come on,” he said, his voice encouraging. “You’re getting there. Just keep your knees bent and look straight ahead. You’ve got this.”

With his guidance,and a fair amount of determination,Y/N finally managed to stand on the board as a gentle wave carried her toward the shore.

“Look at me!” she shouted triumphantly, her arms flailing for balance.

“Who’s the pro now?” she teased, glancing back at Chris just before she lost her balance and tumbled into the water.

Chris paddled over, laughing so hard he nearly fell off his own board. “That was impressive for a solid three seconds.”

Y/N splashed him playfully. “You’re supposed to be encouraging, not heckling.”

By the afternoon, the adrenaline of surfing gave way to the peaceful calm of paddleboarding. The turquoise waters shimmered under the sun as they drifted side by side.

“So,” Y/N said, balancing her paddle across her lap. “What’s a guilty pleasure you’d never admit on TV?”

Chris paused, his paddle still. “Rom-coms. I’m a sucker for a good ‘enemies-to-lovers’ plot.”

“No way!” Y/N said, nearly tipping her board as she burst into laughter. “That’s my favorite trope! Alright, we’re definitely having a rom-com movie night after this.”

“You’re on,” he replied, his grin widening. “But only if you promise not to roast me for quoting all the lines.”

“Deal,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they sat at a small table on the beach, the flicker of candlelight casting soft shadows. Plates of fresh seafood and tropical drinks adorned the table.

Chris reached for Y/N’s hand across the table. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this at peace,” he admitted, his voice quiet but sincere.

Y/N smiled, her fingers curling around his. “Me neither. This feels... easy. Like it’s supposed to be this way.”

He nodded, his eyes locking with hers. “I could get used to this.”

“Well, you’ll have to keep up the charm, Mr. Surf Pro,” she teased.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Chris replied with a smirk. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Later that night, they sat on the sand, the ocean waves gently lapping at their feet. Chris leaned back, resting on his hands as he looked up at the stars.

“Alright, my turn to ask a tough question,” Y/N said, tilting her head. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance?”

Chris thought for a moment. “Honestly? Just... take a step back. Life’s always been so go-go-go. I’ve never really taken the time to just be.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “Well, consider this your start. No deadlines, no expectations. Just... being.”

Chris smiled at her, his expression filled with gratitude. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is,” she replied, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Day Three

The third day brought a new kind of excitement as Chris and Y/N ventured into a charming seaside town. The cobblestone streets were lined with colorful storefronts, their windows displaying everything from hand-painted ceramics to jars of locally made jam. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly baked pastries, sea salt, and hints of lavender from a nearby flower stand.

Y/N’s eyes lit up as she spotted a small bakery with its doors wide open, the scent of buttery croissants wafting through. “We’re stopping there,” she announced, grabbing Chris’s hand and tugging him along.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he said, laughing as he pulled out his wallet. “I smelled that place from two blocks away.”

Inside, the bakery was cozy and inviting, with wooden shelves stacked high with golden pastries and an old chalkboard menu listing the day’s specials. Y/N pressed her face to the glass display case, eyes darting between the flaky croissants, glistening fruit tarts, and delicate macarons.

“Everything looks so good,” she said, practically drooling.

Chris leaned over her shoulder, pointing to a chocolate almond croissant. “That one. Trust me, it’s life-changing.”

They ordered a selection to share, along with iced lattes, and found a small table by the window. Y/N took a bite of the croissant and closed her eyes, letting out an exaggerated groan of delight. “Oh my god. This is heavenly. How did you know?”

“I have excellent taste,” Chris said smugly, taking a bite of his own.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “We’ll see about that when we debate ice cream flavors later.”

After their indulgent breakfast, they wandered the streets, stumbling upon a street performer playing a soft melody on his guitar. The music drifted through the air, drawing a small crowd. Y/N stopped in her tracks, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she teased, turning to Chris.

“No,” he said immediately, though the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“Come on,” she coaxed, nudging him with her elbow. “You’re literally a musician. How can you not?”

“I’m not doing it,” Chris insisted, shaking his head.

“Please?” Y/N said, her eyes widening in mock pleading. “For me?”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But only because you’re cute when you beg.”

Y/N clapped excitedly as Chris approached the street performer, who graciously handed over his guitar. “Don’t judge me too harshly,” he muttered to the crowd before launching into a cheesy rendition of I'm Yours by Jason Mraz.

The playful tone of his voice and exaggerated gestures had everyone laughing and clapping along. Y/N’s cheeks flushed red as he pointedly sang the chorus to her, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

When he finished, the small crowd erupted into applause, and Y/N threw her arms around him. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, laughing. “But I love it.”

“Ridiculous and charming,” he corrected, grinning. “Don’t forget that.”

The rest of the day was spent wandering through the town’s quirky shops. They tried on silly hats at a boutique, debated over the best scents for candles at a local artisan’s stall, and picked out small souvenirs for each other.

“Okay,” Chris said, holding up a tiny ceramic seahorse. “This one’s for you because it reminds me of how determined you were on that surfboard yesterday.”

Y/N laughed, taking the figurine from him. “And this,” she said, handing him a keychain shaped like a wave, “is for you, because you’re officially my surf coach now.”

They continued their playful banter as they explored, eventually stumbling upon an ice cream stand with a long line of locals,a clear sign of quality.

“Alright,” Y/N said as they approached the counter. “What’s your flavor?”

“Chocolate. No contest,” Chris said confidently.

“Boring,” Y/N teased. “Strawberry’s where it’s at.”

“Strawberry?” Chris repeated, feigning disbelief. “You’ve lost all credibility.”

As they sat on a bench overlooking the pier, licking their cones, they continued their mock argument.

“You’re objectively wrong,” Y/N declared.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Chris said with a smirk. “But deep down, you know chocolate is superior.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of pink and orange, Y/N leaned her head on Chris’s shoulder. The gentle sound of waves lapping against the pier added to the tranquil atmosphere.

“This is officially one of my favorite days,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of contentment.

Chris kissed the top of her head, his hand resting lightly on hers. “Mine too. You make everything better.”

Day Four

“Today,” Chris announced with theatrical flair as they entered the resort’s open-air kitchen, “we conquer the art of pasta-making. Prepare to be amazed.”

Y/N paused, eyeing him skeptically as she tied her apron. “Amazed at how badly this will go?”

“Have a little faith,” Chris teased, adjusting his own apron with a flourish. “I’m practically a professional chef.”

She snorted, rolling up her sleeves. “You burnt toast the other day.”

“Details,” he said, waving her off dramatically. “That was a fluke. Today, I’m in my element.”

The kitchen was set up with individual stations, each equipped with flour, eggs, rolling pins, and pasta machines. The instructor,a jovial Italian chef named Marco,gave them a brief tutorial on making fresh pasta.

“Remember,” Marco said with a heavy accent, “the dough must be smooth, like a baby’s cheek.”

“Smooth like a baby’s cheek,” Chris repeated, winking at Y/N. “Got it.”

It wasn’t long before the kitchen descended into chaos. Chris’s dough came together quickly, the perfect blend of soft and elastic. He kneaded it with surprising precision, humming a little tune as he worked.

Y/N, on the other hand, was struggling. Her dough stubbornly stuck to the counter, her hands, and even the rolling pin.

“Are you sure you’re following the instructions?” Chris asked, leaning over to inspect her work.

“Excuse me, Chef Gordon Ramsay,” Y/N shot back, “but this dough has a personal vendetta against me.”

Chris chuckled, effortlessly rolling out his own dough into a perfect sheet. “Natural talent,” he said smugly, tossing a small pinch of flour in her direction.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, a mischievous glint flashing. “Oh, it’s on.”

She grabbed a handful of flour and flicked it at his face, laughing as it landed on his nose and hair.

Chris froze, blinking through the cloud of flour. “You just declared war,” he said, his voice low and playful.

Before she could react, he scooped up a handful of flour and lobbed it back at her, laughing as she squealed and ducked.

The instructor sighed dramatically from across the room. “This is not how you make pasta!”

By the time they finished, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Flour covered the counters, the floor, and both of them. Despite the mess, they managed to produce two plates of pasta, though neither looked particularly appetizing.

Sitting at a small table overlooking the garden, they tasted their creations.

“Mine has character,” Y/N declared, twirling a forkful of slightly lumpy pasta.

“Character is code for uneven and chewy,” Chris countered, smirking as he took a bite of his perfectly uniform noodles. “Boringly perfect tastes better.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking a bite of his pasta. “Okay, fine. Yours is better. But mine has personality.”

“Personality doesn’t make up for the fact that you almost broke your teeth,” Chris teased, dodging a playful swat.

That evening, they lounged by the resort’s infinity pool, the moon casting a silver glow over the water. Each had a cocktail in hand, their earlier antics giving way to a quieter, more reflective mood.

Chris leaned back on the chaise lounge, swirling the ice in his glass. “You know, I used to sneak out of the house to write songs when I was younger. My parents thought I was sleeping, but I’d be in the garage scribbling lyrics.”

Y/N turned to him, intrigued. “What kind of songs?”

“Terrible ones,” he admitted, laughing. “But it didn’t matter. Writing was my escape. It felt like the only way I could say what I was feeling.”

“That’s amazing,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I used to make my cousins sit through my ‘teaching lessons.’ I’d make these little worksheets and quizzes, and they’d bribe me with candy to let them leave.”

Chris chuckled. “Sounds like you were a natural educator from the start.”

Y/N smiled, leaning her head back to look at the stars. “I guess we both found what we love early on.”

Chris glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “You know, I’ve been on a lot of adventures, but this? Sitting here with you, talking about life? This might be my favorite.”

She turned to him, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “You’re going to make me blush, Chris.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to many more moments like this.”

Y/N clinked her glass against his. “To many more.”

Day Five

By the fifth day, Chris and Y/N had settled into an effortless rhythm,a blend of playful teasing and deeply meaningful conversations. The morning began lazily, with the soft sound of waves in the distance and the gentle strumming of Chris’s guitar on the balcony.

Y/N emerged from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, and leaned against the doorframe, watching him. The sunlight caught the angles of his face, and she smiled to herself, feeling a warmth she couldn’t quite explain.

“Good morning, Rockstar,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Chris glanced up, his dimples showing as he grinned. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” she replied, settling into the chair across from him. “Play something for me?”

“What do you want to hear?” he asked, his fingers pausing on the strings.

“Surprise me,” she said, resting her chin in her hand.

He nodded, strumming a few soft chords before launching into a gentle, romantic melody. His voice, low and smooth, carried the tune effortlessly. The lyrics spoke of longing, connection, and finding someone who felt like home.

When he finished, Y/N clapped softly, her smile wide. “You’re unfairly talented. It’s actually annoying.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, setting the guitar aside. “Do you play any instruments?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nope. I tried piano as a kid, but my teacher said I had the attention span of a goldfish.”

Chris laughed. “That’s a shame. You could’ve been my duet partner.”

“Well,” she said with a grin, “I’ll just have to be your number-one fan instead.”

In the afternoon, they headed to the beach for a snorkeling excursion. The water was crystal clear, revealing vibrant coral reefs teeming with marine life. Chris helped adjust Y/N’s mask, his hands steady as he tightened the strap.

“Alright,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by his snorkel. “You ready to meet some fish?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Y/N replied, though her wide eyes suggested she wasn’t entirely confident.

They waded into the water and dipped below the surface. Y/N’s initial nervousness melted away as she marveled at the underwater world,schools of colorful fish darting among the coral, sea urchins nestled in crevices, and the gentle sway of anemones.

Chris stayed close, pointing out interesting sights and giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up every time she spotted something new.

Suddenly, a small, curious fish darted toward Y/N, brushing against her leg. She squealed, surfacing quickly.

“What happened?” Chris asked, laughing as he came up beside her.

“That fish got way too personal!” she said, her voice half-exasperated, half-amused.

Chris laughed so hard he nearly swallowed seawater. “This was your idea, remember?”

“Yeah, and it was a great idea,until the fish decided to invade my personal space,” she retorted, making him laugh even harder.

They floated side by side, the gentle waves lulling them into a peaceful rhythm.

“This is amazing,” Y/N said, her voice softer now. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so... connected to everything.”

Chris nodded. “It’s pretty incredible. Moments like this remind you how small we are, in the best way.”

That evening, they found themselves back on the balcony, the sky painted in hues of orange, pink, and purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sound of the ocean was a soothing backdrop to their conversation.

Chris leaned against the railing, his gaze on the horizon. “What scares you most about this?” Y/N asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

He glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “Letting you down,” he admitted. “I know my life can be chaotic,always moving, always busy. I don’t want that to overshadow what we have.”

Y/N reached out, her hand finding his. “We’ll figure it out,” she said firmly. “I don’t expect perfect,I just want us to try. That’s all I need.”

Chris smiled, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “You make me want to try,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

They stood there for a while, watching as the last rays of sunlight disappeared and the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky.

Later, they curled up together on the outdoor sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket. The night air was cool, but the warmth between them made everything feel just right.

Chris traced patterns on Y/N’s hand with his thumb, his voice low. “I don’t know how this happened, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “I was just thinking the same thing. It’s like... all the pieces just fit.”

They talked about their favorite moments from the week,the flour fight during pasta-making, their impromptu duet with the street performer, and Y/N’s three-second surfing triumph.

“You’ve made this week unforgettable,” Chris said, his voice soft.

“So have you,” Y/N replied, her eyes meeting his.

They sat in comfortable silence after that, the weight of the moment settling over them. Both knew they’d found something extraordinary,something worth holding onto long after the week was over.

Four:

The final morning of the honeymoon phase arrived, and the couples were gathered together at the resort’s grand dining area. The hosts greeted them with a bittersweet announcement. “The holiday is over,” one began. “Now, the real test begins. You’ll be returning to your day-to-day lives. The following weeks will determine if the connection you’ve built can survive outside this bubble.”

There was a mix of excitement and apprehension among the couples. The hosts continued, “During this phase, you will meet each other’s families, experience their homes, jobs, and routines. You’ll get a glimpse into the realities of what married life might look like for you. This is your chance to see how your lives align.”

As the gathering concluded, the couples were handed their phones for the first time in weeks. “You can reconnect with your loved ones,” the hosts explained. “Update them on what’s happened in the pods and during your vacation.”

Y/N turned on her phone, her notifications exploding with missed messages from friends and family. Beside her, Chris chuckled as he scrolled through similar chaos. “Looks like we have a lot of catching up to do,” he said.

Returning home meant diving headfirst into the rhythm of their daily lives, a stark contrast to the dreamy bubble they had shared at the resort. The transition was jarring, but both Y/N and Chris were determined to make it work.

For Y/N, her first day back at school was chaotic yet fulfilling. As soon as she walked into her classroom, a chorus of excited voices greeted her.

“Miss Y/N! You’re back!”

“Where did you go? Did you go somewhere fun?”

“Did you bring us souvenirs?”

Y/N laughed, setting her bag down on her desk. One of her younger students, Sarah, tugged on her sleeve, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Miss Y/N, was it a secret mission?” she asked, whispering as if she’d uncovered something big.

“Something like that,” Y/N replied with a playful smile. “Let’s just say it was a very special adventure.”

Her students buzzed with excitement, their imaginations running wild. The joy of being back reminded Y/N why she loved teaching, but the demands of her job quickly caught up to her. Lesson planning, grading, and endless meetings filled her days, leaving her exhausted by the time she got home. Still, she made it a point to text Chris during her breaks, sharing snippets of her day,a funny thing a student said, a picture of the classroom art project, or simply a quick, “Hope your day’s going okay.”

Meanwhile, Chris was equally swamped at his music company. His team welcomed him back enthusiastically, but a mountain of projects awaited him. Deadlines loomed, and the pressure to catch up was intense. Late nights in the studio became the norm as he worked to tie up loose ends and push forward with new initiatives.

During one particularly hectic day, Chris slipped into a quiet corner of the studio and dialed Y/N’s number. The line rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, you,” she said, her voice soft but tired.

“Hey,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “How’s my favorite teacher?”

She chuckled. “Exhausted. My kids were like little tornadoes today. One of them tried to convince me that glue sticks are edible.”

“Sounds like an adventurous day,” he said, grinning. “I, on the other hand, have been trapped in the studio for hours. If I hear one more drum loop, I might lose it.”

“Can’t you take a break?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

“This is my break,” he said warmly. “Talking to you.”

Her heart softened, and for a moment, the exhaustion melted away. “I miss you,” she admitted quietly.

“I miss you too,” he said. “But we’ll get through this. Just a little more juggling, and we’ll find our balance.”

Balancing their busy schedules was no easy task. There were days when their texts went unanswered for hours and calls were cut short by unexpected meetings or studio interruptions. Yet, they both made an effort.

One evening, Y/N sent him a photo of a sunset she’d caught on her drive home with the caption, “Reminded me of our trip. Hope your day’s winding down.”

Chris replied with a quick selfie from the studio, his headphones askew and a tired but playful smile on his face. “Not quite, but this helped. You always know how to make my day better.”

Though they were miles apart, those little moments of connection kept them tethered to each other. Both Y/N and Chris knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but they were determined to navigate it together, one day at a time.

The weekend brought the much-anticipated meeting with Y/N’s family. Chris, dressed in a crisp button-up shirt and jeans, clutched a bouquet of flowers in one hand while the other fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as they walked up the driveway to her parents’ house.

Y/N noticed his nervous energy and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re nervous,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Chris chuckled nervously. “Just a little,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “Meeting the parents is a big deal. What if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll love you,” she said confidently. “Just be yourself. And maybe don’t mention the time you set off the fire alarm trying to cook.”

He laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Noted. No fire alarm stories.”

The door opened before they could knock, revealing Y/N’s mother, who greeted them with a warm smile. “There you are!” she exclaimed, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. Her gaze then shifted to Chris, scanning him curiously but kindly. “And this must be the famous Chris.”

Chris stepped forward, extending the bouquet. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

Her mother’s smile widened as she accepted the flowers. “A gentleman. I like him already. Come in, both of you.”

Inside, Y/N’s father stood near the dining table, his arms crossed in a posture that was more analytical than intimidating. His handshake with Chris was firm, deliberate, and conveyed an unspoken message: I’m watching you.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Chris said evenly, meeting his gaze.

“Good grip,” her father replied with a small nod of approval. “That’s a start.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, pulling Chris toward the living room.

As dinner was served, the atmosphere began to relax. The conversation started light, with Chris sharing anecdotes about his work in the music industry and Y/N’s mother gushing over the stories of their recent trip. Her father, however, steered the conversation toward more serious topics.

“So, Chris,” he began, setting his fork down and fixing him with a pointed look, “what are your plans for the future?”

Chris didn’t flinch. “I’ve worked hard to build a career I’m proud of,” he said, his voice steady. “But I’ve realized that having someone to share life with makes everything more meaningful. Y/N has shown me what that could look like, and I’m committed to making sure we build something strong together.”

Y/N’s father nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good answer.”

Her mother smiled, clearly charmed by Chris’s sincerity. “You know,” she said, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen Y/N this happy. It’s good to know you’re treating her well.”

“She makes it easy,” Chris replied, glancing at Y/N with a warm smile.

By the time dessert was served, the initial tension had dissolved into laughter and easy conversation. Y/N’s father even seemed impressed when Chris volunteered to help with the dishes.

As they stood by the sink, her father handed him a towel. “You’re a hard worker, I’ll give you that,” he said gruffly. “But relationships take more than that.”

“I understand, sir,” Chris replied, meeting his gaze. “I’m not perfect, but I’m willing to put in the effort for Y/N. She’s worth it.”

Her father gave a small nod, the faintest trace of a smile on his face. “Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

When it was time to leave, Y/N’s mother hugged her tightly at the door. “He’s wonderful,” she whispered. “You’ve found someone special.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling. “I think so too.”

As they walked to the car, Chris let out a long breath. “Well, that was... intense.”

Y/N laughed, slipping her hand into his. “You did great. I think you might’ve even impressed my dad.”

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m pretty sure he was trying to bore a hole into my soul during that handshake.”

“He does that with everyone,” she assured him, grinning. “But for the record, my mom already adores you.”

Chris looked relieved, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good. Because I adore her daughter.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she leaned against him as they walked. Meeting her family was a milestone, and Chris had passed with flying colors.

The following weekend, it was Y/N’s turn to meet Chris’s family in Sydney. The flight was a whirlwind, and as they arrived at his childhood home, Y/N felt her nerves creeping in. “Do I look okay?” she asked, adjusting her dress.

Chris laughed softly and kissed her temple. “You look perfect,” he said, squeezing her hand. “They’re going to love you. Trust me.”

The door opened before they could knock, revealing Chris’s mother, who greeted them with open arms. “Welcome, Y/N,” she said warmly, pulling her into a hug. “We’ve heard so much about you. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Thank you for having me,” Y/N replied, her nerves easing slightly at the warmth of her welcome.

Chris’s father appeared next, shaking Y/N’s hand firmly. “We’ve been looking forward to this,” he said, his tone kind but appraising. “Chris’s been singing your praises.”

“Only the good stuff, I hope,” Y/N joked, earning a chuckle.

Hannah, Chris’s younger sister, was the first to approach Y/N. At 20, she was vibrant and brimming with curiosity. “So, you’re the famous Y/N,” Hannah said with a teasing smile. “Chris talks about you nonstop.”

Y/N grinned, feeling more at ease. “I hope it’s all good things.”

“Mostly,” Hannah joked, nudging her brother. “He left out how pretty you are, though.”

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with animated conversation and heartfelt moments. Chris’s mother served a delicious spread, and the family quickly made Y/N feel at home. Chris’s father shared stories about his childhood, many of which had Y/N laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“He was always the most responsible one,” his father said, a touch of pride in his voice. “But don’t let that fool you,he was just as mischievous as the rest of them.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Chris interjected, shaking his head. “I was an angel.”

“Sure you were,” Hannah teased, rolling her eyes. “Like the time you got us locked out of the house because you were busy playing your guitar on the roof?”

Y/N leaned into Chris, laughing. “I need to hear more of these stories.”

“I’ll tell you all the embarrassing ones later,” Hannah promised with a grin.

Later in the evening, Y/N and Hannah found themselves chatting on the back patio, the cool Sydney air wrapping around them. Hannah’s teasing demeanor gave way to a more serious tone. “So, how’s it really going?” she asked. “With Chris, I mean.”

Y/N took a moment to consider the question. “It’s amazing,” she admitted, “but it’s not without challenges. We’re both figuring out how to balance our lives with this new relationship.”

Hannah nodded knowingly. “He works a lot. Sometimes I worry he doesn’t slow down enough to enjoy the little things.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Y/N said, her voice thoughtful. “But I think he’s trying. He wants this to work just as much as I do.”

“I can tell,” Hannah said with a small smile. “He’s different with you. Happier. Just... don’t let him get away with making excuses, okay?”

Y/N laughed, appreciating her candor. “Deal.”

By the end of the night, Y/N felt a genuine connection with Chris’s family. As they prepared to leave, his mother hugged Y/N tightly. “You’re exactly what he needs,” she whispered. “Thank you for making him so happy.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the words. “He makes me happy too,” she replied, glancing at Chris, who was engaged in a cheerful goodbye with his father.

As they walked back to the car, Chris looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with warmth. “So? How did I do?”

“You mean how did I do?” Y/N teased, nudging him. “Your family’s wonderful. They’re so warm and welcoming. And Hannah’s a riot.”

Chris grinned. “They loved you. I knew they would.”

Y/N smiled, slipping her hand into his. “Well, they raised a pretty great guy, so I’m not surprised.”

He stopped walking and turned to her, his expression suddenly serious. “Thank you for doing this,” he said softly. “It means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too,” Y/N replied, leaning in to kiss him. Meeting his family was a milestone, and it felt like one more step toward the future they were building together.

After meeting Chris’s family, Y/N thought she had a good grasp of the important people in his life. But when Chris told her they’d be meeting his bandmates next, her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and nerves. These weren’t just his friends, they were his second family, his brothers in music and in life.

As they arrived at the studio, Chris gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, they’re going to love you. Just... brace yourself for the chaos. They’re not exactly subtle.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Noted. Should I be scared?”

Chris smirked. “A little, maybe.”

The moment they stepped into the lounge area, a wave of energy hit them. The room was filled with laughter, loud voices, and snacks strewn across the table. All eyes turned to Y/N as Chris led her in.

“Guys,” Chris announced, his voice cutting through the noise, “this is Y/N.”

There was a brief pause before Felix bounded over, his face lit with excitement. “Finally! We’ve been dying to meet you!”

“Dying,” Han echoed dramatically, throwing himself onto the couch. “We thought he made you up!”

“Very funny,” Chris muttered, rolling his eyes.

Y/N smiled, instantly charmed by their playful energy. “It’s nice to meet you all. Chris talks about you guys all the time.”

“Does he now?” Lee Know said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” Y/N teased, shooting Chris a playful look.

Seungmin smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, if you’re here, you must already know that he’s a bit... intense. Has he started rearranging your schedule yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N laughed. “But he did try to reorganize my fridge the other day.”

The room erupted into laughter, Chris groaning as he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ‘reorganize’ it. I just... suggested a more efficient layout.”

“Classic Chris,” Changbin said, shaking his head. “Always optimizing.”

“Alright, Y/N,” Han said, scooting closer with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got to hear some of the juicy stuff about Chris. Like the time he tripped on stage during our debut performance.”

Chris groaned, covering his face. “Don’t—”

Han ignored him, leaning in conspiratorially. “It was this dramatic fall too, like slow motion. And he tried to play it off by doing some weird spin.”

Y/N burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Chris. “Is that true?”

“It was not that dramatic,” Chris protested, his cheeks flushing. “And the spin was intentional.”

“It wasn’t,” Hyunjin added with a smirk. “But we all pretended it was because we felt bad for him.”

Felix chimed in. “Or the time he accidentally called himself ‘Bang Can’ during an interview and didn’t realize it until the fans started trending it.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Chris said, throwing a cushion at Felix, who dodged it with a laugh.

“Oh, no, we’re just getting started,” Changbin said, grinning. “Y/N, did he tell you how he tried to bake us cookies once and used salt instead of sugar?”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, her laughter spilling out. “No way!”

“Way,” Seungmin said, his tone deadpan. “He tried to bribe us with free coffee to forget about it.”

Chris sighed dramatically, though he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You guys are supposed to make me look good, not ruin my image.”

“That’s our job as your bandmates,” Han quipped. “To keep you humble.”

As the afternoon went on, the teasing turned into genuine conversation. The members asked Y/N about her life, her job, and how she’d managed to put up with Chris so far.

“I’m honestly impressed,” Seungmin said. “You’ve survived this long.”

“He’s not that bad,” Y/N replied, smiling at Chris. “I think the secret is just letting him think he’s in charge.”

The room erupted in laughter, Chris shaking his head but clearly enjoying the banter.

By the end of the visit, Y/N felt like she’d been welcomed into a new family. The warmth and camaraderie between the members were undeniable, and their teasing only made her love Chris more—it was clear how much they all cared for him.

As they left the studio, Chris slipped an arm around her waist. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Not at all,” Y/N said, leaning into him. “I think I love them almost as much as I love you.”

Chris grinned, his dimples deepening. “Well, they already love you. So I guess it’s a win.”

However, as the days passed, the honeymoon glow began to dim, replaced by the realities of their demanding lives. Their packed schedules started to take a toll, and the cracks became evident one evening when Chris canceled plans for the third time in a row due to work.

Y/N, who had spent the day looking forward to their rare night together, couldn’t hold back her frustration anymore. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh, her disappointment evident. When Chris finally walked through the door, his tie loosened and fatigue written all over his face, she stood in the kitchen, her arms crossed.

“I get that your job is demanding, Chris, but I can’t keep feeling like I’m second place,” Y/N began, her voice tight with emotion. “I’m always the one making time, rearranging my schedule. It’s like... I’m the only one fighting for this.”

Chris dropped his bag by the couch and rubbed his temples. “It’s not about priorities, Y/N,” he said, his tone weary. “I’m trying to make this work, but my job,there’s so much at stake. Deadlines, responsibilities,they’re not just going to disappear because I want them to.”

“And you think I don’t have responsibilities?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “We both have demanding lives, Chris. But relationships take effort. I can’t be the only one putting us first.”

The room went silent for a moment, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air. Chris let out a long breath and walked closer, leaning against the counter. “You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve been so caught up in trying to stay afloat at work that I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting us.”

Y/N softened slightly at his admission but still felt the sting of being sidelined. “I just... I need to know that we’re on the same team here,” she said, her voice trembling. “That no matter how busy life gets, we’re making time for us.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I hear you,” he said. “And I hate that I’ve made you feel this way. What can we do to fix it? I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this alone.”

Her arms uncrossed as she leaned against the counter across from him. “We need to make changes. Let’s set aside one night a week, no matter what’s going on, just for us. No work, no distractions,just time together. And if you have to cancel something, I need you to communicate better. Let me know what’s happening instead of me waiting around.”

Chris nodded earnestly. “Okay. I can do that. And I’ll try to plan better so I’m not always last-minute scrambling.”

They continued talking late into the night, unpacking their frustrations and figuring out how to navigate their busy lives together. By the time they were done, the tension had eased, and a sense of understanding filled the room.

“I’m not perfect,” Chris said softly, taking her hand. “But I want this to work. I want us to work.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, her gaze steady. “Me too,” she said with a small smile. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

For the first time in weeks, they felt like they were on the same page, ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

Five:

As the wedding date approached, Y/N and Chris dove into preparations. The process was both exciting and overwhelming, filled with appointments, decisions, and moments of unexpected joy.

One sunny afternoon, they visited a tailor for Chris’s suit. Chris stepped onto the platform, looking slightly out of his element as the tailor measured his shoulders and chest.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, glancing nervously at Y/N.

She smiled, stepping closer to adjust the fabric draped over his arm. “That’s what I’m here for,” she teased. “And don’t worry, you��re a natural. Look at you, already looking like a movie star.”

Chris chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” she said, tilting her head as she studied him. “Let’s go with the navy suit. It makes your eyes stand out, and it’s classic but modern,just like you.”

“You’re good at this,” Chris said, reaching for her hand. “Remind me to take you shopping every time I need a new outfit.”

“Deal,” Y/N replied with a laugh.

Later, Y/N went dress shopping with her mother, Chris’s mother, Hannah, Sarah, and Amelia. The boutique buzzed with excitement as the women sifted through racks of gowns, their voices mingling in a symphony of opinions and laughter.

“What about this one?” Hannah asked, holding up a dress with a plunging neckline.

Y/N’s mother raised an eyebrow. “It’s beautiful, but maybe not for the ceremony.”

“I’ll save it for the honeymoon,” Y/N joked, making everyone burst into laughter.

When Y/N emerged from the dressing room in a lace gown with a flowing train, the room fell silent. The intricate details of the dress caught the light, and the soft fabric seemed to mold perfectly to her figure.

“You look stunning,” Hannah whispered, her eyes wide with admiration.

Chris’s mother clasped her hands to her chest, tears welling up. “Absolutely breathtaking,” she said softly.

Y/N turned to face the mirror, her own reflection taking her breath away. Her mother stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This is the one, isn’t it?”

Y/N blinked back tears, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the one.”

Hannah enveloped her in a tight hug. “Chris is going to lose his mind when he sees you,” she said, her voice full of affection.

“He’d better,” Y/N replied with a watery laugh. “Otherwise, I’ll make him wear this dress.”

The room erupted in laughter again, and the boutique became a place of shared joy and anticipation. By the end of the day, Y/N felt more connected than ever to the people around her, and the dream of her wedding felt more real than ever.

As they left the boutique, Chris’s mother squeezed Y/N’s hand. “You’re going to make a beautiful bride,” she said warmly. “But more importantly, you’re going to make Chris very happy.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Thank you. That means so much.”

The preparations were far from over, but in moments like these, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just about the wedding day,it was about the love and connections they were building along the way.

The week before the wedding, the excitement reached a fever pitch as Y/N and Chris celebrated their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It was a chance to unwind, laugh, and revel in the company of their closest friends before stepping into their new chapter.

Y/N’s party, orchestrated with flair by Amelia, was a beach-themed soirée that felt like a scene straight out of a romantic movie. The women gathered at an elegant beachfront venue, complete with twinkling fairy lights, tiki torches, and a soft ocean breeze. The air was filled with laughter, music, and the scent of tropical flowers.

As they sipped colorful cocktails and nibbled on gourmet hors d’oeuvres, Amelia clinked her glass to gather attention. “Ladies,” she began with a mischievous grin, “tonight, we celebrate our girl Y/N, who somehow managed to meet her soulmate without the usual dating disasters. Let’s make this a night she’ll never forget!”

The group erupted into cheers, raising their glasses high.

“Speech, speech!” someone called out, nudging Y/N.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Not a chance. You’re not getting me to cry before the big day!”

Amelia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s my job during the toast later.”

The night kicked off with an impromptu karaoke session. Y/N and Sarah took the stage for a hilariously off-key rendition of their favorite throwback hit, complete with dramatic dance moves.

“Whose idea was this?” Y/N panted, doubling over with laughter as the group roared.

“Yours,” Sarah shot back, grinning. “And you’re welcome!”

Later, as the evening mellowed into a series of heartfelt toasts, Amelia took center stage. “Y/N, you’ve always been the kind of friend who lights up a room just by walking in. Watching you and Chris together is like witnessing a fairy tale come to life. You deserve every bit of happiness coming your way. Here’s to you, my beautiful friend.”

Y/N dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Amelia. And thank all of you for being here tonight. You’ve made this whole journey so special.”

Amelia leaned over, whispering with a teasing smile, “So, are you ready to trade in freedom for married bliss? Any second thoughts?”

“Not even for a second,” Y/N replied with a grin. “He’s my person. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The night wrapped up with the women dancing barefoot on the sand, cocktails in hand, under the glow of the stars. At one point, Sarah raised her glass again. “To Y/N, the most radiant bride-to-be. Chris better know how lucky he is!”

“Oh, he knows,” Y/N replied, laughing, her cheeks glowing from the drinks and joy of the night.

Meanwhile, Chris’s bachelor party had a different vibe,a relaxed yet spirited gathering at a swanky rooftop bar overlooking the city skyline. Mason, took on the unofficial role of emcee, ensuring the night was filled with camaraderie, laughter, and just a touch of chaos.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Mason began, raising his beer, “a toast to Chris,the man who found love without having to swipe left or right a hundred times. Here’s hoping he doesn’t screw it up now!”

Laughter rippled through the group as Chris rolled his eyes, smirking. “Wow, Mason, your faith in me is truly overwhelming.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Mason replied with mock seriousness. “I just know your track record with grand gestures.”

The banter gave way to more heartfelt moments as Mason added, “In all seriousness, Y/N’s an incredible woman, and you’re lucky to have her. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness and no more karaoke attempts.”

Chris chuckled, raising his glass. “I’ll take that. And for the record, no karaoke at the wedding.”

The night unfolded with rounds of pool, dart games, and nostalgic stories about Chris’s less-than-graceful younger days.

“Do you guys remember the time Chris tried to impress a girl by quoting poetry and ended up reciting the Pledge of Allegiance instead?” one friend teased, causing the group to erupt in laughter.

Chris groaned, shaking his head. “It was dark! I panicked!”

As the laughter settled, Chris’s younger brother pulled him aside. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet but sincere.

Chris didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more ready for anything. Y/N’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s my future.”

Later, as the group stood against the backdrop of twinkling city lights, Mason clapped Chris on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky guy, mate. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” Chris replied with a smile. “And thanks for being here tonight. It means everything.”

As both parties wound down, Y/N and Chris found a quiet moment to exchange messages.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” they texted each other simultaneously.

The celebrations left them brimming with love and excitement, their hearts full as they looked forward to their future together. Surrounded by friends and laughter, they knew the best was yet to come.

Six:

The wedding day dawned with a sense of magic in the air. Y/N and Chris arrived at the venue separately, each in a flurry of excitement and nerves. The grand estate, with its sprawling gardens and elegant architecture, was the perfect backdrop for their love story’s most significant chapter.

Chris’s dressing room buzzed with energy as his groomsmen,his Stray Kids bandmates,filled the space with their usual blend of camaraderie, teasing, and chaos. Dressed in sleek suits, they were each focused on something different: Hyunjin fiddled with his hair in the mirror, Han was pretending to practice a wedding march, and Felix was intently tying Chris’s bowtie.

“Hold still, mate,” Felix said, a bit exasperated. “I can’t pin this lapel flower on if you keep fidgeting.”

Chris sighed but stood still, glancing nervously at the clock. “I’m not fidgeting; I’m preparing. This is a big day.”

Seungmin smirked, crossing his arms. “Big day? That’s the understatement of the year. Never thought I’d see the day our old man settled down.”

“Seriously,” Changbin chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “You’re always buried in your music projects, Chris. We figured you’d just marry your laptop.”

“Hey!” Chris protested, laughing. “I can multitask, okay? And for the record, I prioritize Y/N over my laptop.”

“Wow,” Han said dramatically, clutching his chest. “True love really does exist.”

Hyunjin turned from the mirror, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “Let’s be real. None of us expected Chris to even make it past the pods stage. Remember how awkward he was during the first few days?”

“Awkward?” Chris shot back, feigning offense. “I was charming.”

“Yeah,” Lee Know quipped, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Charmingly awkward. But hey, it worked, so I guess we’ll give you that.”

Felix finished pinning the flower and stepped back to admire his work. “There. Perfect. You actually look decent for once.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lix,” Chris said dryly, adjusting his jacket.

Jeongin, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you look nervous, hyung. What’s up with that?”

Chris hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not nerves, exactly. It’s just... Y/N’s everything to me. I want today to be perfect for her.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the teasing giving way to genuine camaraderie.

Changbin clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this, Chris. She’s lucky to have you, and honestly, you’re lucky to have her. You’re both going to kill it out there.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin added with a sly grin. “Even if she’s technically marrying an overworking workaholic.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Chris said, rolling his eyes but smiling. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be hyping me up, not roasting me?”

Hyunjin smirked. “We roast because we care.”

“True,” Han said, throwing an arm around Chris’s shoulders. “But seriously, hyung, we’re proud of you. And you’d better believe we’re all going to cry when you say your vows.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lee Know said, though his smirk suggested otherwise.

Chris shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked around at his bandmates. “Thanks, guys. It means a lot.”

“Alright, enough with the sappy stuff,” Felix declared, grabbing a small box from the table. “Time to make sure you don’t trip over your own feet. Who’s got the checklist for the ceremony?”

“Not me,” Han said quickly, stepping back. “Last time I had a checklist, we ended up in the wrong city.”

“That’s a story for another day,” Chris muttered, earning a round of laughter from the group.

As the banter continued, the nerves that had been bubbling inside Chris began to fade. Surrounded by his brothers, he felt ready to take the next step, straight down the aisle to the love of his life.

The bridal suite was a haven of calm amidst the bustling activity outside. Y/N sat in front of a full-length mirror, watching as the hairstylist expertly pinned her hair into an elegant updo. The makeup artist worked her magic, enhancing Y/N’s natural beauty with soft, glowing tones. The gentle hum of a love ballad played in the background, adding to the serene atmosphere.

Hannah lounged on the plush chaise nearby, scrolling through her phone. “Y/N, I swear, this venue is out of a fairy tale. The gardens, the lights, the view,Chris is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

Y/N smiled faintly, but her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “I hope so. I’m starting to feel the nerves kicking in. What if I trip? Or cry so much during the vows that I can’t even speak?”

Hannah put her phone down and leaned forward, her tone soothing. “First of all, if you trip, we’ll all pretend it’s a part of the choreography. And if you cry, it’ll only make the vows more beautiful. You’ve got this, Y/N. You and Chris are meant for this.”

Before Y/N could respond, the door opened, and Chris’s mother and Y/N’s mother walked in, their faces glowing with pride and emotion.

“Sweetheart,” Y/N’s mother said, her voice soft as she approached, “you look absolutely breathtaking.” She bent down, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “I can’t believe my little girl is getting married today.”

Chris’s mother took Y/N’s hand gently, her eyes misty. “Y/N, from the moment Chris told us about you, we could see how much he loved you. You’ve brought out a happiness in him that we hadn’t seen in years. Thank you for loving him so completely.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you both for being here, for everything. And for raising such an incredible man. He’s... everything to me.”

The mothers shared a knowing smile, their hands resting on Y/N’s shoulders as if to steady her.

Hannah broke the tender silence with a playful grin. “Alright, ladies, no more making the bride cry before the ceremony! We need her makeup intact.”

The makeup artist laughed. “Yes, please. I worked hard on this masterpiece.”

The stylist stepped back, admiring her work. “You’re ready, Y/N. Absolutely stunning.”

Y/N stood, smoothing her dress with trembling hands. She turned to the mirror and took a deep breath, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.”

The ceremony began with the hosts of Love is Blind standing in front of the gathered crowd, their smiles warm and welcoming. The venue buzzed with excitement as the music faded and the hosts took their places.

Chris stood at the altar, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to steady his racing heart. His groomsmen stood beside him, offering quiet support. Han leaned over and whispered, “Breathe, hyung. You don’t want to pass out before she even gets here.”

Chris shot him a mock glare but chuckled under his breath. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Welcome, everyone,” the first host began, her voice resonating with emotion, “to what we can only describe as the culmination of a journey that started with blind faith and an open heart.”

Her co-host nodded, adding, “We’ve all been witness to a remarkable story, one that began in the pods,a place where appearances didn’t matter, and voices carried the weight of emotions. Chris and Y/N were strangers when they first sat down, separated by a wall, and yet, through vulnerability and trust, they built something extraordinary.”

The crowd murmured in appreciation, many glancing at the altar where Chris stood, his eyes locked on the aisle in anticipation.

“Chris and Y/N’s connection was immediate,” the first host continued. “They spent hours in the pods, sharing their hopes, dreams, and even their fears. And while they couldn’t see each other, they were seeing something far more important,each other’s hearts.”

Her co-host smiled. “We watched as their relationship blossomed during the retreat, where they finally saw each other for the first time. And let me tell you, when Chris saw Y/N, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.”

The crowd chuckled, and even Chris smiled, momentarily breaking his nervous focus.

“They’ve spent the past weeks building on that foundation,” the first host added. “Navigating the challenges of blending two lives, getting to know each other’s families, and figuring out what it means to truly say, ‘I choose you.’”

“And today,” the co-host said, his voice brimming with excitement, “they’re here to make the ultimate choice,to stand before all of you, their friends and family, and promise to spend their lives together.”

The first host turned toward Chris, addressing the audience but clearly speaking to him as well. “This journey hasn’t been easy,it never is. Love is messy, imperfect, and requires work. But Chris and Y/N have shown us that when two people commit to seeing each other beyond the surface, love can truly conquer all.”

“And now,” her co-host said, gesturing to the aisle as the music swelled, “it’s time to witness the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Ladies and gentlemen, here comes the bride.”

The sound of the music shifted, and every head turned as Y/N appeared at the end of the aisle, arm in arm with her father. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by applause and cheers. Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he took her in,radiant, confident, and every bit the woman he had fallen in love with.

Y/N’s father leaned in as they walked. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. This is your moment. Let’s get you to your future.”

When they reached the altar, her father placed her hand in Chris’s, his voice steady but emotional. “Take care of her, Chris. She’s our world.”

“I promise,” Chris said sincerely, his voice firm with conviction.

The officiant began the ceremony, guiding the couple through the traditional moments with grace and a touch of humor. When it was time for the vows, Y/N took a deep breath and began.

“First of all, I would like to thank your parents for giving birth to such a sweet and kind-hearted son. Christopher, from the moment I heard your voice, I felt a connection I couldn’t explain. You’ve shown me patience, kindness, and love in ways I never thought possible. I promise to support your dreams, cherish our laughter, and stand by you, no matter what life throws our way. Today, I choose you, and I’ll keep choosing you every day.”

Chris’s eyes glistened as he held her hands tightly, his voice soft but steady as he began his vows.

“Y/N, you are my best friend, my partner, my everything. From the moment I met you, even without seeing your face, I knew my life would never be the same. You make me a better man, and I promise to love you fiercely, to listen, to laugh, and to always have your back. You’re my greatest adventure, and I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

The officiant smiled warmly, her voice clear and celebratory. “Y/N and Christopher, do you take each other as husband and wife, to love, honor, and cherish, for all the days of your lives?”

“I do,” they said in unison, their voices filled with love.

“You may kiss your bride,” the officiant declared.

Chris leaned in, capturing Y/N in a kiss that sealed their promises. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers, the air alive with celebration.

As the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle, hand in hand, the guests erupted into cheers and applause. Petals floated through the air, a cascade of color and joy that mirrored the happiness on Y/N and Chris’s faces. Chris glanced at Y/N, his smile radiant, and whispered, “We did it.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, her eyes sparkling. “We really did.”

The reception space was a masterpiece of elegance and charm. Tables adorned with lush floral arrangements and twinkling candles filled the room, and the air was filled with the soft hum of music and excited chatter. As Y/N and Chris entered, the DJ announced them with enthusiasm, “Please welcome, for the first time as husband and wife, Y/N and Chris!”

The crowd erupted into cheers once again as the couple walked in, waving to their loved ones. Chris leaned close to Y/N, his voice low. “You ready for the spotlight?”

“With you? Always,” Y/N replied, her cheeks glowing with happiness.

The couple took their seats at the beautifully decorated sweetheart table, and the celebration began. Plates clinked, glasses were filled, and laughter echoed throughout the room.

Chris’s bandmates,his groomsmen,were the first to take the mic for their toast. Felix, acting as spokesperson, stood up, raising his glass with a grin.

“Well,” he began, glancing at Chris, “I think I speak for all of us when I say we never thought we’d see this day. Chris, the guy who spends more time in the studio than sleeping, is now a married man. Honestly, we were all starting to think he’d marry a mixing board.”

The room burst into laughter, and Chris shook his head, grinning. “Thanks, Lix. Appreciate the support.”

Felix continued, his tone softening. “In all seriousness, we’ve watched you grow, not just as a leader and musician but as a person. Y/N, you’ve brought out a side of him that we’ve always known was there,a side that’s kind, patient, and full of love. We’re so happy you found each other. To Chris and Y/N,may your life together be as harmonious as our music... and less chaotic!”

The bandmates raised their glasses, and the room joined in, the toast met with cheers and applause.

Next, Y/N’s father took the mic. He stood tall, his voice warm as he addressed the crowd.

“When Y/N was a little girl, she used to dream big,” he began. “She’d tell me stories about castles, princes, and grand adventures. And now, looking at her and Chris, I realize she’s found her own kind of fairy tale,one rooted in love, respect, and partnership.”

He paused, his voice catching slightly. “I remember one time when Y/N was about seven. She told me she was going to marry someone who made her laugh every day. Chris, I can see by the way she looks at you that you’ve done just that. Thank you for loving her as she deserves to be loved.”

The room was silent, save for the sniffles of a few guests. Y/N wiped a tear from her cheek, smiling up at her father.

“To my daughter and her husband,” her father concluded, raising his glass. “May your journey together be filled with laughter, love, and the kind of happiness that makes life truly magical.”

The guests raised their glasses, and Y/N hugged her father tightly as the crowd erupted into applause once more.

The lights dimmed, and a soft spotlight illuminated the dance floor. Chris extended his hand to Y/N. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Bahng?”

“You may, Mr. Bahng” she replied with a giggle, taking his hand.

The music began,a slow, romantic melody that seemed to capture their entire journey in its notes. They swayed together, eyes locked, as the world around them faded away.

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” Chris murmured.

“Only about twenty times,” Y/N teased, her smile wide.

“Well, it’s worth repeating,” he said, his voice tender.

The crowd watched, enraptured, as the couple shared their first dance. Toward the end, Chris twirled Y/N, eliciting cheers and applause from their guests.

After the first dance, the party kicked into full gear. The DJ played a mix of classics and modern hits, and the dance floor quickly filled with guests of all ages. Chris’s bandmates led a lively routine that had everyone laughing and clapping, while Y/N’s friends organized a dance-off that became a highlight of the night.

At one point, Chris pulled Y/N aside, away from the crowd, to share a quiet moment. “You having fun?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“The best,” she said, leaning into him. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“Believe it,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Because this is just the beginning.”

The couple’s wedding cake was a masterpiece,five tiers of decadent flavors decorated with intricate floral designs. As they cut the cake, Chris playfully smudged a bit of frosting on Y/N’s nose, earning laughter from the crowd.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Y/N warned, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she dabbed frosting on his cheek in retaliation.

The night ended with a grand farewell. Guests lined up with sparklers, creating a glowing pathway for the newlyweds. As Y/N and Chris walked through, hand in hand, their faces lit with joy, the crowd cheered them on.

“Ready to start forever?” Chris asked as they reached the waiting car.

“More than ready,” Y/N replied, her smile soft and full of love.

As the car drove away, the guests waved, their cheers fading into the night. The celebration had been everything they dreamed of and more, marking the start of a beautiful forever.

[rosecentaur1916]

The irony is that I kind of had this happen. I worked at a Small Tobacco Shop in my home town for less than a year. The owners also own a party shop on the other side of town so that's why I said kind of... anyway! I had worked for them for 11 months or so and over that time even though it was decent pay (took a little over $600 home every two weeks back in 2018) they gave me a ride home every night (I had to walk everywhere as I had no car or even a license), and sometimes let me comp my cigarettes (I quit in 2020) they were mentally and emotionally abusive. So much so my direct manager, who was the youngest brother was so mentally and emotionally abusive to me a customer came in and asked if he had hit me! When that happened I knew something was wrong. I mean, I had a feeling when I'd have to close up the shop and go have a cry in the bathroom pretending I was using it. I was the only one running the store, but they had surveillance camera's up and would call me if they found any shoplifters (which price of anything that was shoplifted came out of my pay) or I was doing something I shouldn't be, which was barely anything. I was so bored because I had come from a small box pharmacy chain and was used to facing and cleaning quickly. I had gotten so fast at it that I had lots of time to spare and had seen in other small businesses that people read books or wrote or did a myriad of things between customers when the shop was empty. So, I started to read at first - got in trouble... so I couldn't do that anymore. Then I tried writing... had to negotiate to be able to keep that... it worked. Thank God... so I wrote. I wrote a lot. When I didn't have anything in my mind that needed to be written I started to do little exercises to keep the boredom at bay. Got in trouble for that too.

Yes, yes what about professionalism. Exercising, writing or reading in store isn't professional blah, blah, blah. I only did it between customers and when the story was emptier than a ghost town. I'd keep an eye out on the front of the store. There were so many advertisements for cigarettes you could barely see into the store, but I had gotten sharp at being able to see through the cracks when a customer was coming and made sure to make myself available, presentable and professional before they came in. Putting down my pen, or shoving my book under the counter. All of the abuse and boredom came to a head and I couldn't take it anymore. I was so beaten down that I could barely function at home... where I was *also* being abused. Something had to give - so I quit the job. My boss had the audacity to tell me I couldn't quit. He tried to give me back my professional quitting letter and tell me that I couldn't quit. I said okay, and never went back. Leaving behind a refurbished first generation iPod that he said later he threw away. Asshole. Lo and behold about six months later the Tobacco Shop was completely closed, storefront completely empty and every single part of the counter, displays and product stuffed into the party shop which was their first business. I had quit and the shop had gone out of business. I was astounded, because that means they couldn't find anyone else to work for them. I didn't know they were probably going to be unable to find anyone else, I just couldn't take the abuse anymore and quit for my own mental health. ...And that's the story of how I shut down a business by quitting.🤷🏻‍♀️💜

[beloveds-embrace]

NORTHERN DUKE KÖNIG STEALING DUCHESS PRICE PT 2 !! Where he finally puts his plans into action and maybe gets a moment alone with the duchess and confesses his feelings and maybe she tells him she's been wanting an escape because she's been trapped in a loveless marriage and has lost hope on John ever loving her so she's 100% on board with his plan. Maybe König even tells her that he doesn't believe in the rumors of her being barren, that he thinks it's John whose infertile only for the duchess to reveal she hasn't slept with John at all and idk maybe Konig becomes angry with how neglected she's been and makes an intense vow to never leave her unsatisfied.. mentally, emotionally, physically 😏.

The garden was silent beneath the heavy cloak of snow, save for the crunch of your boots as you followed Duke König down the winding path. Lanterns lit the walkway, their golden glow casting long shadows against the frost-kissed hedges and frozen roses.

It was beautiful. Quiet. Safe.

But your pulse pounded in your ears. König hadn’t spoken since he’d asked you to walk with him, and the weight of his silence filled the space between you like smoke.

You stopped beside a stone bench, your breath curling in the cold air. “Your Grace?”

He turned sharply at the sound of your voice, his pale blue eyes catching the light and glowing like ice under a full moon. For the first time, you saw something raw there- uncertainty, vulnerability, and something far more dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“I cannot keep this to myself any longer, Duchess,” He said, voice low and rough.

Your lips parted, but he stepped closer, towering over you with a presence that stole your breath.

“I have tried to resist it,” König continued. “To be honorable, to keep my distance- but it is impossible when every moment apart from you feels like torment.” His gloved hand brushed your cheek, hesitant and reverent, as though he thought you might disappear if he touched you too firmly.

You shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity in his gaze.

“Your Grace…”

“Tell me I am not mad,” he pleaded, soft and fervent. “Tell me I am not imagining this connection between us.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, and your throat tightened. “You’re not.” You whispered.

Relief washed over him like a crashing wave, but it didn’t temper the fire in his eyes. He cupped your face with both hands, his calloused thumbs brushing over your skin as if memorizing the very shape of you.

“Then come with me,” he said fiercely. “Let me take you away from all of this.”

Your breath hitched, eyes wide. “You mean… leave John?”

His lips curled in frustration. “A man who does not deserve you,” he snapped. “Who parades you around as a trophy while the world whispers lies about you. Who neglects you so cruelly that you-” He stopped, exhaling sharply as if the thought pained him. “You deserve more.”

You swallowed, your voice trembling. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t hold back the next words that poured out. How many nights have you spent in the aching loneliness of your bedroom, aware that your husband merely tolerated you out of necessity and nothing else?

“I know.”

König froze, searching your face. “You… know?”

You nodded, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “I’ve wanted to escape for so long. I just… I didn’t think anyone would ever care enough to take me away.”

His expression twisted, anguished and furious. “Care enough?” he repeated, dangerous. “I would burn kingdoms for you.”

A sob broke from your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him, letting him pull you into the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, as if he could shield you from the world. There was something so delightful, so safe, in the way he held you so wholly- hiding you in his arms from all the world.

“But what if the rumors are true?” you whispered against his chest, saying aloud the doubts that have started to take root in your mind from hearing all the rumors swirling about you. “What if I can’t give you the future you want? What if I can’t give you children?”

König pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands bracketing your face. “I don’t believe the rumors,” he said firmly. “Not for a second. It is Price who is unworthy- he is the one who has failed you, mein Liebe, not the other way around.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping you. “He hasn’t failed me because we’ve never even tried.”

König stilled, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

You looked away, ashamed. “We’ve never lain together. Not once.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

König’s hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders trembling with barely contained rage. “Not once?”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, but when you looked back at him, there was no anger directed at you- only heartbreak.

“He’s treated you like this?” König growled. “As though you are unworthy of his attention, his affection? Like a possession to be displayed but never cherished?”

The tears were freely flowing now, and no verbal confirmation was needed.

A guttural sound rumbled in König’s chest, his fury barely leashed. “He has neglected you. Deprived you.” His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “I swear to you, I will never make that mistake.”

You blinked up at him, startled.

He stepped closer, his presence alone overwhelming. “I will never leave you unsatisfied- mentally, emotionally, or physically.” His voice was a vow, sharp and unyielding, not allowing any space for doubt. “You will never have to wonder if you are loved, worshiped.”

The heat in his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t step away. If anything, you leaned closer, tearful eyes wide.

“Say you’ll come with me,” König urged, his thumb brushing away your tears. “Say you’ll let me take you away from this emptiness and give you the life you deserve. Be my Duchess.”

Your breath caught. This was a horrible decision- you couldn’t imagine what would be said about you, about König, what your parents might do, what John might do-

“Yes.”

König didn’t wait. His lips crashed against yours, fierce and desperate, as though he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You melted into him, clutching at his coat as he deepened the kiss, claiming you with every stroke and sigh.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, and his eyes burned with promise.

“Two days from now,” he said. “I will send that Narr your divorce papers, and I will take you away from this nightmare.”

And for the first time in years, hope bloomed in your chest.

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝖄OURS TRULY

Manon Bannerman x actor!fem!reader

summary: being an actress can be pretty demanding, and manon's pretty understanding of the things that came along with your career, but lately it’s feeling a little too real

warnings: slight!angst, some sm posts, jealous!manon, one mean comment, kinda used rachel zegler as a face claim only because i used those pics for the smau, harsh language

Being an actress came with lots of benefits; you travelled all around the world to film in beautiful, exotic locations, you get to meet a lot of amazing new people within and beyond the industry, and you get to do what you were most passionate about. But, it also meant every aspect of your life would be examined under a microscope, on and off set, and you would be made to post or say things that weren’t true just for the sake of promotions or publicity.

You absolutely loathed that part of your job. It has driven a wedge between your relationship with so many ex-boyfriends or girlfriends and even some friendships.

When you met Manon at your good friend and fellow Euphoria costar, Dominic’s New Year’s Eve party, you were absolutely entranced by this walking shred of heaven. Back then, she had not joined Dream Academy yet and she was just in between modelling gigs. You couldn’t help yourself, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. You had to get to know her better, and by the end of the night you were leaving Dominic’s condo and stumbling into yours with her pressed against you.

When you begun dating, you made sure Manon knew the extents of your career. You were blunt, dating an actress wasn’t always going to be easy, especially with the way tabloids write their own narrative about your life.

a) Your job entailed partial nudity at times; you’ve been in enough movies or series to know women are always asked to strip in front of cameras. You weren’t exactly the biggest fan, but it wasn’t your artistic choice to make.

b) Your job entailed lots of cameras and eyes constantly trained on you, meaning they would spin stories and insane theories out of the most ridiculously insignificant detail. Nothing the tabloids report can ever be trusted.

c) Your job entailed doing things with your costars, i.e. kissing, making out, filming intimate scenes, etc. As somebody in the industry, you have become so desensitized by the concept of faking things for art. But you understood not many people understood the gravity of everything your career demanded from you, and it can cause lots of issues emotionally.

Manon was very reluctant about these three rules at first, skeptical of how bad things had to be for you to drop this on her the first month in. But then she got on dream academy, she then successfully debuted in Katseye, and she, herself, experienced a lot of the things you fell victim to. She understood and accepted much more than she had to because she loved you, she really did, and to anybody with eyes, the two of you were absolutely smitten.

Recently, you were onset of a new project you were cast in—a remake of Romeo & Juliet but with a modern edge to it. Everything was going good, internal reviews for what, and as you wrapped up filming, you were asked to post an ‘wrap dump’ to promote the movie. Your manager presented you with a selection of photos, and you compiled them into a post.

Liked by kitconnor, lararajj & 821,440 others

ynln Can’t wait for ya’ll to see us in six months <3

19 hours ago

user01 THE FIRST SLIDE HELLO???????

user02 yall stronger than me i would’ve fallen in love

dominicfike aye get it sis

ynln you really do be everywhere but the studio

dominicfike kys

user03 has anybody seen the leaked kiss

user04 YES OMG

user05 they’re such a theatre kid power couple

user03 DID YALL SEE KIT GRABBING HER FACE

user06 you can’t convince me they’re not tgt

user07 Is this a hard launch I’m sobbing

user08 girl you ever heard of marketing 😭😭

user09 no they’re dating

user10 THEYRE LITERALLY NOT??

user11 guys y/n’s dating manon rmb not kit

user12 they never confirmed tho so maybe it’s kit

user13 @user12 Denial is a river in Egypt…

You didn’t think much about the post, getting out of your makeup from the day before hitching a ride home with your manager. You had a couple hours to freshen up and get ready before the wrap party that night, and you were very excited to have invited Manon as your plus one.

It was one of those rare days your girlfriend had a day off that matched your schedule. She had her reservations about being seen or photographed with you at such a public event, but you assured her everything was going to be cast and crew only.

Back at her dorm, Manon was doing her makeup on the floor of her room. She had the room to herself, Lara invited some of the girls home for the weekend with her—which meant Daniela was gone as well. Only Sophia and Yoonchae opted to stay home, wanting to spend the free time they had shopping for decorations to liven up their room. She was nervous, to say the least, about meeting all the professional filmmakers and famed actors and directors you worked with every day.

A knock on her door sounded through the music blasting.

“Yo, Manon, you getting ready to go soon?” When she turned her head to catch a glimpse of Sophia poking her head through the doorway, the leader was focused on the phone in her hand, strolling in to stand behind the older member.

“Yeah, heading over to Y/N’s in fifteen-ish… why?”

“You seen Y/N’s latest instagram post?” Sophia asked.

Manon shook her head. She hadn’t been on social media since the night before, she slept in, waking up late and immediately had to throw herself into the shower to get ready.

“Well, you gotta see this shit.”

Sophia knealt, holding her phone out for Manon to peep at the tweet she had pulled up onscreen. The way she snatched the filipina’s phone was nothing short of urgent and stunned.

It wasn’t like Manon hadn’t seen you kiss your costars onscreen, she’s been to many movies watching you lead in a film. But this, watching this bag of bulging muscles in a tank touch you where she usually did, your hands grabbing his face as the two of you made out on a bed?

Manon had never, and I mean ever, felt such rage. She was experiencing so many emotions at once; some rationality, some discomfort, but mostly an overwhelming sense of rage.

She didn’t care. She was a jealous girlfriend. And she can say she understands as many times as she could, but she hated every single time you’d kiss, touch or feel anybody but her. She knew it was what you did for a living, but she couldn’t shed the way she felt like smashing Kit Connor’s face through a wall.

“That’s a wild ass movie your girl’s making,” Sophia scoffed, in attempts to lighten the tension.

Manon’s jaw clenched, shoving the phone back into Sophia’s chest before standing. She was now sad she had gotten her hair and outfit done all nice, because she didn’t feel like showing up to an event thrown somewhat in your honour.

“Manon…? Manon!” Sophia called after the Ghanaian woman, but she had already grabbed her purse and left the house.

When you came out of the shower, your hair wet and your body glistening, you were taken aback by the sudden pounding you heard from your condo’s door. You quickly put on your panties and one of Manon’s oversized shirts. Slipping into your slippers, you stumbled out your bathroom and to the door. Just a couple feet away from it, another round of thrusts throw you off. “I’m coming, Jesus Christ!”

Swinging your door open, you were ready to rip into whomever so disrespectfully made their presence known, but upon seeing your girlfriend, dressed all nice and looking pretty, your expression softened. “Baby, I thought you were coming—!”

She held a hand over your mouth, pushing you into your home before kicking the door shut behind her.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Manz, what the fu—?”

“Are you fucking Kit Connor?” She immediately barked, a hand on your bare chest, backing you up towards the couch. “I get myself all nice and pretty for your party and I find out you’re macking this hunk like there’s no tomorrow?”

Your hand rested on your chest, before you were knocked onto your ass. You glanced up at your dining girlfriend, her lips pursed and her sharp brows knit together.

“Woah, woah, woah, what’re we talking about here?”

She yanked her phone out her pocket, her fingers jabbing at her screen as she pulled up your instagram page. The photos you and Kit took on set was harshly shoved into your face, you gently cradled her hand with both of yours, carefully pulling it back so you could see. She then harshly pulled her hand back, pulling up Pop Base’s tweet of a leaked onset photo.

“When the fuck did you even get these photos taken? I mean, having to do minimal stuff for work is one thing, but letting him carry you and grab your ass and your thighs and getting all close and intimate behind the scenes when you’re not even on fucking camera is so far over the line, Y/N.” she rambled, “Then I have to see you basically dry hump this man?”

You sighed, knowing it was another one of the older woman’s jealous episodes. You tried being more understanding, to listen and calm her down, knowing it was a consequence of your job.

“Baby, please, take a deep breath, okay?” You gently grab the phone from her hand, setting it down on the couch beside you. You entertained your fingers, kissing her knuckles. “What did I tell you about the rules, hm?”

With a pout, Manon’s voice dropped low, “You’re a public figure and need to get intimate with coworkers a lot.”

You hummed, nodding. “That’s right. And y’know what the best way to promote a new movie is?”

She rolled her eyes, staring away. “Dating scandals.”

“Yes, baby, dating scandals.” You tugged at her hands, pulling her down to take a seat. Her body slumped to sit on your lap, her eyes still refusing to meet yours as you fixed a loose curl from her temple. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Manz. I never do things I don’t need to. I took those pictures on a press day a while back when Kit and I were asked to do ‘behind the scenes’ photos, none of it is real.”

“Yeah, well, it looked pretty real when you were eating his face on that bed,” she huffed, “What was I supposed to think?”

You chuckled, nodding. You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling both of you to lie back into the couch. “I know, I know, but I’m not going to the party as Kit’s date, right? He’s not the one I’ve been waiting to see all day.” You gestured at your dripping appearance, “That’s why I wanted you to come in twenty, so I could be ready and beautiful just for you, baby.”

Manon scoffed, “Yeah, you’re lookin’ real rough right now.”

You playfully slapped her at the joke, “I promise you, I am yours, truly. I don’t even care about Kit, because all I think about when I’m at work is coming home and getting to see my ridiculously beautiful and sexy girlfriend.”

That statement seemed to win Manon over, her hands coming up to cradle your cheeks. “You better swear on your life.”

“I swear on this life and the next. I love you, Manz.”

“Mmh, I love you more,” she hummed, leaning in to kiss you softly. When the two of you pulled apart, she sneered, “Is that how you kiss him too?”

You clicked your tongue, a hand reaching under her thigh to move her body so she was straddling you. “Do you really wanna know? I’ll show you exactly what Kit and I do when nobody’s looking.” you spat, earning a gasp from Manon when your hand cupped the back of her neck, yanking her down into you for a heated kiss.

It was a long night of entertaining producing executives and crew members, but you were very happy to have your girlfriend meet the people you’ve been working with for months. When it came time for you to give Kit a hug in greeting though, Manon made sure her disapproval was made known.

You had an upcoming role in the third season of the White Lotus, you were not excited about how the Ghanaian woman would react to the scenes on that show.

[the-clumsywitchtarot]

What is Your Future Husband's Love Language?

Because maybe his love language is quality time and you need to know ahead of time to work it into your schedule.

Cards

10 of Swords (Reversed)

2 of Wands (Reversed)

Wheel of Fortune

I feel like your future husband's love language is acts of service, anything that would make their life flow more easily. Before starting the reading for this pile I felt a pull to listen to a song called "A Little Bit" by Erika de Casier so they may also have quality time as a love language but I feel like they're too proud or stoic to admit it. This person could definitely be someone that avoids becoming too emotional or lovey dovey. They seem like someone that only knows how to show love from a practical side, for instance if you need your oil changed they'll have it done to keep you from having to do it. But if you are someone that likes to have deep talks or is touchy feely they may reject that. Another song that came up was "Strong as Glass" by Goapele.

Cards

6 of Wands

10 of Wands (Reversed)

The World

Apparently this is going to be a musical reading because starting your pile I felt the need to put on the song "All This Love" by Trey Songz. Your future husband's love language is words of affirmation, he is someone that is going to love hearing how well you thinks he's doing. And how much love him, when you give this man a compliment he is going to be in cloud 9. And if you send him text throughout the day just to let him know that you're thinking of him, he will love that! I can see a man getting a text, reading it, and then just beaming afterwards. He just wants to know that he is loved and appreciated. You do that and he'll be willing to give you the world (I know, an ironic choice of words considering you got the world card!) This is a side note but this pile gives me stay at home girlfriend vibes, well at least before you get married.

Cards

The Moon

4 of Swords

6 of Swords

This pile is interesting, I don't think your future husband will have any love language in particular but rather a combination of all of them. I feel like this person is just looking to quiet their minds and whichever of the love languages does that at any particular time is the one they'll want. I feel like this is a man that could've struggled opening up and expressing his needs at first. They may have been raised in a home or environment where their needs didn't matter or they were shown that they were not important in the eyes of their caregiver(s). This is a man that may have grown up in the foster care system. I feel like you will help him to realize that he is just as important and worthy of love and care as anyone else. I feel like he'll be so comfortable opening up to you that you will help him become in tune with what he needs. For any of those of you that are worried that this is someone that is an emotionally wounded boy man. Don't worry, I don't see that being the case, I think this is someone that has emotional intelligence when it comes to others but he just needs to be given permission to have it when it comes to himself. I feel like you guys will bring out the absolute best in each other effortlessly. I'm hearing the phrase "there are no perfect people but there are people perfect for each other."

Thank you for reading and please feel free to let me know which pile you chose! 🩷

- Erika, The Clumsy Witch

[holylulusworld]

Torn in two (2)

Summary: It should’ve been the happiest day of your life.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader (platonic for now)

Warnings: heavy angst, Steve being the worst, cheating, lies, deception, sadness, arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt & comfort, love-struck Bucky, a hint of possessive Bucky, virgin reader (mentioned)

Catch up here: Torn in two

“We should call someone and tell them that you’re still alive,” Bucky murmurs. He’s seated on the floor, next to the old armchair you are sitting in. “Do you want me to make the call?”

“No one cares for me,” you reply, too tired and emotionally drained to face Steve, your father, or anyone else right now. “Why would I want them to know that I’m still alive? They’d only try to dictate my life again.”

“Y/N, we can’t sit here forever. If you do not return, your father and Steve will go rampant, believing one of our enemies kidnapped or hurt you.”

You snort. “None of our enemies could hurt me deeper than my father and Steve did. Steve lied to me all this time. He knew about my feelings and used them against me. He’s worse than any enemy.”

“Doll, I know you’re hurting, but we cannot stay here for much longer. I swore loyalty to Steve’s family,” Bucky scoots closer to you to touch your hand. “How about we get you something else to wear first? I’ll bring you to my apartment; you can get cleaned up, and I’ll call your father in the meantime.”

You shake your head. All you want to do is curl into a ball and stay here forever. There’s nothing outside these walls waiting for you. No loving husband. No future. No supporting father. Nothing but hurting and betrayal.

Bucky sighs. He was more patient with you than any other man in your life. You feel sorry for him. He came all the way to find you for his friend.

“I’m sorry he sent you to find me,” you sniff. “Steve has this influence on people. He wraps them around his finger, and you don’t even realize he fucked you over.”

“Language, young lady,” Bucky imitates your father’s voice. “A lady doesn’t cuss.”

“I cuss as much as I want to, Barnes.” You stick your tongue out before bursting into laughter, followed by a crying fit.

Bucky gets up from the floor. He suddenly grabs you and sits back down to hold you in his lap. You’re too shocked to stop him from wrapping you in a warm hug.

“Everything is going to be alright, doll. Don’t worry. We can fix this,” he murmurs into your neck while running one warm hand up and down your back.

“How?” You sniffle. “How can we fix this mess? I—I don’t want to stay married to a man despising and lying to me. I don’t want to have sex with him and give him an heir. Likewise, I’d rather stay a virgin than let him touch me. Not only that, but I’d vomit in his face if he tried to get his hands on me.”

Bucky stiffens at your admission. He knew your father was a strict man and held you in a golden cage, protecting you even from your friends.

“Doll, I won’t let him touch you.” His hold on you turns possessive. You can feel him tense as you bury your face in Bucky’s neck. “He cannot touch you! Not after he ruined your trust in him.”

“What can I do now? I was so confident when you arrived, but I have nothing if I refuse to stay married to Steve. I’m fairly sure my father will not allow me to live the life I want.”

“What life do you want?” Bucky is the first man to ask you about your wishes. “It’s only the two of us. You can tell me, Y/N. I won’t judge you.”

“How about a cabin in the middle of nowhere? It’s nestled in the woods, and there’s a nice lake,” you dreamily run your hand over Bucky’s back as you go lax in his arms. ”I know it’s not a big dream, but I find it romantic to live there. I’d be unbothered by Steve, my father, and their business.”

“It’s a nice dream,” he nuzzles your neck and inhales your scent deeply. Bucky never got the chance to get closer to you. Only when Steve and your father were around. “You could go skinny-dipping.”

You giggle against him. “Don’t make fun of me, Bucky.”

“I wouldn’t dare make fun of you, baby. That’s the last thing I want to do is to make fun of you or hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I swear.” Bucky sounds honest, but you trusted Steve too, and everything he told you were lies. “You need some sleep. Let me take you home.”

“I don’t want to go to Steve,” you start to cry again. “Please don’t bring me home to him. He’ll hurt me! I can’t…I don’t want to.”

“Doll, Y/N,” Bucky coos. “I meant my home. No one is going to hurt you at my home. We should hurry, though. It won’t take them long to find us here.”

“Still nothing?” Steve huffs as his men return, empty-handed. “What am I paying you for?” Your husband is furious. He throws a tantrum like the man child he is. Deep down inside, he knows it’s his fault you ran, though he’d never admit his mistake.

“Rogers, calm down,” your father grunts. “Y/N is not going to run away from this marriage. Maybe she got a little scared, just like her mother. She will return soon and behave like the good girl I raised her to be.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. If it were up to him, he’d call things off and marry Peggy.

Bucky’s home looks different than you expected. It’s spartan but cozy in its own way. He has warm blankets and soft pillows. The most unexpected thing you discover lies on his couch. A white cat, with blue eyes, matching Bucky’s.

“That’s Alpine, my cat,” he nervously says. “Don’t worry. Alpine is a nice cat. Her presence is calming in a hectic life. Go ahead. You can pet her.”

“Hi,” you sniffle as you sit down. “You’re a pretty girl, huh?” You coo as the cat jumps onto your lap. Alpine meows before sniffing at your wedding dress.

“I’ll get you fresh clothes, and you can take a shower. Maybe I can buy you some time by leading Steve and his men on the wrong track. Relax. You’re safe here, with me.”

You nod and start patting Alpine. He’s right. Her presence is calming.

“I’ll take a shower,” you murmur. “Maybe tomorrow, I will see things clearer.”

Watching Bucky pace around the living room, you wonder if he’ll keep his word. For now, all you can do is trust Bucky.

Tags in reblog.

[netherfeildren]

Cannibals : 1. House of Fools

An At the Restaurant story

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It's two days til Christmas, and the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, giggling at one another for absolutely no reason other than it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours.

It's two day's til Christmas, and one of the more bizarre aspects of life is how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship to real love AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alternate Universe; Modern AU Din Djarin; Holiday Season AU; Fluff and Angst; Angst with a Happy Ending; Unhealthy Relationships; Emotionally Unavailable Idiots; But Also, Idiots in Love; Complicated Characterizations of Imperfect People; If that's not your thing, click away dear reader; Grief; Unprotected Sex; So Down Bad it Makes You Look Stupid; Commitment Issues; Found Family; Self Esteem Issues; Insecurity; It's Called Fuckboy Conversion Therapy Look It Up; Toxic Relationship

A/N: Happy New Year, beautiful people.

Word Count: 7.5K

Read on AO3

House of Fools

Glass shattered on the white cloth  Everybody moved on Help, I’m still at the restaurant

The tree is set with multi-colored lights and tinsel and care. It’s a good tree, the one the two of you put up together as his little brother cheers you on. Too tall, fluffy and charmingly droopy, shoved into the corner of the two bedroom bungalow you’d helped them move into months ago. 

Three years is a long time to know a person. It is an even longer time to love someone. 

And yet, sometimes, it remains a half-full sort of love. 

You watch as he lifts his brother’s small frame above his shoulders to set the star atop, final touch sparkle, and you’re still looking in through the window of this honest and heartbreaking home of two, even from your seat within their warm living room. 

Finally, Din turns, and gives you that pink-glow smile, the one you love. Right corner of his mouth, pulling upwards—a dimple, tan skin and the flush of his appled cheek, and he’s really beautiful, sometimes yours, dedicated to many things before he is dedicated to you. But you’re here. And you’re grateful. The spaces for the shiny red ornaments you’d been assigned, carefully chosen and hung on the tree. Your imprint is there, in this small decision. Your mark on their home, on their Christmas tree. Your handwriting, looping and careful on the tags on the gifts you’d helped him wrap beneath the branches. Grogu, not Greg, thank you, written out with all the care and consideration you feel for the small boy who you’ve come to love as much as you love his brother. 

The two of you had come to some sort of staid agreement in the past year. Together. That’s what you are. Afraid of each other, too. Perhaps. Afraid of what you feel, of what could become of it. But aware enough now that you can both understand you can not be without one another, so that any sort of lingering fear or trepidation was forced to become secondary. There were eggshells still, to be treaded on. A carefulness about the way the two of you approach one another day in and day out. An awareness on your part, that there is so much past loss and even more future responsibility awaiting him so that he’ll always live his life afraid and with bated breath for the worst still yet to come. On his part, the awareness of an easily broken heart and a willingness to give more of yourself than is right. And a promise to be careful with those things. Or at least to try. 

But you’re together and it’s not easy, per se, but it’s necessary, and you don’t ask for more even though you want it. Even though there’s still that small bit missing. And every time you look at him, every time he’s sweet and considerate and so aware of you it’s almost overwhelming, and when he touches you in that way that is so delicious it should be illegal, you’ll say: I like you so much, Din because you’re afraid to say the stronger word out loud. 

You prepare for the holidays with frenzy. In between classes and your thesis and a reading list so long you’re afraid your eyesight will never recover this finals season, you still find the time to do your gift shopping and help him with his. The three of you go out one evening in early December to buy their tree. Taller than Din, is Grogu’s stipulation and the decree that leads to the slightly hunched behemoth with the lopsided star held on by the sheer force of a zip tie’s will. 

The two boys meander slowly amongst the evergreens while you trail behind, watching them. The way Din towers over the young boy, occasionally bopping him over the chunky green hat with the droopy knit ears, listening intently at Grogu’s excited chatter. The sweater Din has on had been carefully chosen between you and your mother for his birthday, navy blue half-zip knit that makes him look so sexy and is so, so exciting to unzip, bearing the sharp edges of his collar bones, keeping him warm so that when you slip your hand beneath the hem and up against his hard stomach his skin almost burns. 

Or maybe it’s just you, the burning. Maybe it’s what you make together. 

Grogu had vetoed seven trees thus far—not fat enough, not tall enough, too wimpy, doesn’t have the right “vibe”. The kid said it needed to be wide enough so that all the naked little angel babies he loved to collect, and for which he’d been soundly sent home from school two weeks ago for—and this is a direct quote from the principal Mrs. Armorer as per Din—‘enabling a covert trading ring as if these artifacts were the most insidious of contraband being distributed amongst the most derelict of city streets’. An exaggeration surely, but Din’s own hatred for the little angels only reinforced the gravity of the boy’s crime. And as he’d so eloquently put it, “When I looked up in the shower the other day to find twenty of them watching me wash my dick, I knew we had a problem.”

If only he also knew you were the one constantly buying them for the kid. 

When you blink your daze away, resurfacing from your thoughts, the boys have disappeared. You can hear the sound of Grogu’s voice in the distance, high pitched and laughing, and when you look up at the dark night sky, the first flurries of snow are starting their spiral fall. The warmth of the cocoa the three of you had bought at the entrance of the Christmas tree farm has long since left you, and you burrow further into the damp warmth of the scarf wrapped around your neck, suddenly unable to catch any sound but the rhythm of your own breaths. 

You take a few more steps forward, peering through the trees and seeing no one—there had been so many people just minutes ago—when a strong tug at the back of your puffer pulls you between the branches of two of the larger evergreens. 

His breath is warm on your face, you can smell the sweetness of the chocolate and marshmallows, but his lips are cold when they press against the corner of your eye, pulling you in close against him, pushing you deeper into the pines.

“Kiss me. I’m cold,” he pouts, another flutter of lips to the apple of your cheek, the point of your chin, and then he’s licking against your mouth and his tongue is hot as sin, sweeter than the chocolate. You open for him, pulling him against yourself as tightly as he pulls you, pressing up on your tippy toes to get even closer.

“I couldn't find you. Din—” you gasp, kissing him again, again. 

“Can’t get lost in the snow, baby.” The puff of his laugh is warm against your face, the tip of his cold reddened nose nudging against your own. You cling to him more tightly, feeling unfocused, almost drunk—the tip of his tongue against the arch of your cupid's bow. There are snowflakes catching in his eyelashes. The deep green of the trees, the sky, dark and falling above you, the cold everywhere except for where he touches you, presses against you. 

“Need this kid to pick out a tree so we can go the fuck home and get in bed,” he says, shivering and grouchy. “Still gotta strap it to the car, lug it inside…” He buries his face in the warm space between your throat and scarf and whines. 

His hair is long enough right now it sticks out the back of his beanie, curling against the edge, and you tangle your fingers in the soft locks, holding him there pressed against you. You can hear Grogu sing-songing your names, coming up behind where you’re embracing with loud stomping gallops, bulldozing into your back hard enough he’d knock you over if you didn’t have his brother there to hold you up. The boy wraps his arms around your waist, shaking the two of you out of your daze, demanding you stop making out and get moving. 

“Don’t whine, I’m going to help you.” You say it laughing, fond and grateful. Grateful that you get the chance to be here with the two of them. 

-

“You use laundry softener?”

 Wham! plays softly through the overhead speaker of the empty grocery store. It’s early on a Friday, and both of you had found yourselves with the rare treat of being off work and out of classes at the same time. It would be a busy weekend for him, the last home stretch before Christmas. The 23rd and he’d be swamped at the bar the next two nights, facing the revelers returning home for the holiday, eager to get drunk on booze and merry joy. 

“Yeah. Don’t you?” He turns to press his mouth against your temple where you cling to his arm, slumped over the shopping cart he's been slowly pushing through each aisle. He has a list he’s not looked at once, throwing things into the basket thoughtlessly. When you get home, you know he’ll complain he got too much he didn’t need, but you keep quiet, happy to see him have his indulgence. 

“I do. Yeah.” You don’t know why the sight of the lavender scented softener makes you pause—the same one your mother buys for your parent’s home. Maybe because in some moments, the reminder that Din is also someone’s mother is more sobering and obvious than others. 

“Smells good,” he says as he reaches for a box of Scooby Doo fruit snacks. Two boxes of granola bars go in next, peanut butter protein for himself and double-chocolate puff for Grogu. 

Pressing your face into the hard muscle of his shoulder, you inhale deeply. Silently agreeing with a nod of your head, pressing your fingers into the swell of his bicep beneath the thick fabric of his dark hoodie. 

Tipping his chin, he gives you a sly, knowing look. “What?” He asks—half-crooked smirk. But you can’t even say, and anyways he knows. You drag your fingernails against his muscle, tummy going tight, hiding your face in the warm cotton, shaking your head. 

His laugh is soft and gently teasing. 

The post office is a mess after the grocery store, and the two of you stand in line for forty-five minutes, waiting to buy stamps and post the last minute Christmas cards to your friends you’d entirely forgotten about in the mania of turning in the final draft of your thesis to your advisor. Another thing that was in the home stretch—your fight to get your masters had been a long journey of indecision and self doubt, but you were so close to being done you could taste the freedom. Your edits were going smoothly, and your advisor, Luke, had been a great help this past year. Disheveled beard and mind in a million places at once, a little bit of a hippie, but always patient and kind and in tune with your wants and ideas when you were really desperate for him to be so. Din had been so supportive, as well. Staying up late with you when you needed to study or write, perfecting the art of a BLT and keeping you fed, because as he put it, there was much more to the construction of it than just bacon, lettuce and tomato. Even though they always ended up being nothing more than just that, it was the action that counted. 

You’d be presenting at the end of January, and you were looking forward to being done with school once and for all and being able to work. You’d been offered a position at the public library as the junior librarian over heading the non-fiction department, and you were more eager than words could express. It wasn’t only the idea of leaving behind your little job at the bookstore and being able to come home with something more than a meager paycheck, it was also the notion that you’d finally done something. You’d made a decision for your life, and you’d seen it through, and come January 19th with no extraneous tragedies, you’ll have succeeded. It wasn’t something you were used to, making a sure decision and seeing it to completion. Throughout the course of your program there had been so many times when you’d felt as if it was all a play-act, a game you were taking part in through each step and that eventually, the rouse would be up and you’d realize you weren’t actually passing your classes or enjoying the field you’d chosen for yourself or doing well at this thing you’d so agonized over the decision of. 

But here you are now. You’d committed to something and you’d seen it through and not only had you not coasted by, but you’d excelled to a degree that had gotten you a job you were extremely happy with. 

And amidst all this, there was also something about doing this and having the people in your life see you do this—having Din see you do this. Having Din see you commit to something and stick to it with your whole heart. You wanted him to know you were capable of such a thing. 

After the post office, he obliges you with a wander through the frantically busy Old Port streets. Picking up some last minute wrapping paper you’d been eyeing for the little box of earrings you’d gotten your mother, delicately hand-painted trees and golf leaf holly, some cigars for your father’s stocking. You purchase a box of assorted salt water taffy when his back is turned, large enough it should last him at least half the year, hopefully, considering the way he goes through it. And you stop to get a little cup of gelato to share between the two of you despite the twenty degree day. You walk slowly, your arm looped through his and your hands twined together, your fingerless gloves folded warmly into his fleece covered palms, protected. And this is how you best love being with him—sharing bites of sweet cream gelato from the tiny spoon held in his long fingered hands, he feeds you every other step—when he feels so yours. When he’s most like your boyfriend, and the whole world can see that the two of you are together so that it’s real, so that there’s proof and witnesses you can revel in. 

Perhaps it’s insecurity, this feeling. Low self esteem that demands constant reassurance. Perhaps it’s pride. Candid and unashamed elation you feel when people see the two of you on the streets together and know you belong to each other. 

He drives you over the bridge and into the Cape after lunch to pick up a package from your parent’s house that had been mistakenly delivered there. The place is quiet, neither of them home yet, but you can see the Christmas tree lit up and sparkling warmly through the large bay windows in the family room, your mother’s heirloom hand-blown ornaments backlit and glowing.

The kid is at a sleepover tonight, the last Christmas celebration for him and his friends before the 25th, smores and ghost stories and a game of white elephant. Making the most of your freedom, the two of you pick up large coffees before heading to the North Viewpoint to sit together for a few hours before Din has to head in for his shift at the bar. The sun begins to set at about four this time of year, and you’re able to catch the last fiery burst of it slipping beneath the water’s edge before you’re left in the murky darkness of the oceanfront. The horizon turns to a purple grey frisson you feel imitated in the over-eager beat of your heart. All there is to hear is the sound of your synchronized breaths and the furious salt spray crashing against the rock cliffs. It’s like you’re the only two people left in the whole world. 

It’s been a perfect day so far. 

Twin splashes of the Baileys you’d nicked from your parents house while Din hunted for your package, go into your coffees, and the two of you settle into a contented silence. The heater is on full blast, warming your frigid fingers and toes, while your Irish coffee melts you from the inside out. Makes you go all soft. The sweet of the drink makes you tipsy fast, and you eagerly go for a second helping from the thermos he’d prepared while he paces himself for his shift later. 

Frank Sinatra’s I’ll Be Home for Christmas comes on the radio, and Din drops your fingers he’d been playing with to turn up the volume. 

“This is my favorite one,” he says softly, reaching for your hand again and bringing it up to his mouth to press a kiss against the quickly warming skin. Your fingertips buzz and tingle, suppressing a heart-set-to-burst sigh, and you want to say that it’s your favorite too, all of it. The two of you here together, the overwhelm of the water, so dark if you were to fall in you’d surely disappear off the face of the earth never to be found again. The suspended stillness of you sitting here before it. 

This is the neighborhood you grew up in, the exact spot you’d had your first kiss at thirteen and then clumsily gone to second base a couple years later with your highschool boyfriend. Din had found that small piece of your history endlessly fascinating, knowing he was sitting in the place of your ‘historic first fingering’. You’d tried to throttle him when he’d said that, flushing with embarrassment from head to toe, and then a flush of a different sort when he’d made you come on his own hand afterwards. And in record time, lest he be outdone by the competition of your teenage past. 

But it was true, this was a place significant to your history, and now, it had become a place the two of you found yourselves at often, together. The playground of your upbringing you’d been able to share with him as much as he’d allowed. All the times he’d driven you over the bridge to your parent’s house to spend the night—never coming in, but always kissing you soundly and waiting to drive off until you’d made it safely inside. It didn’t hurt your feelings, you wouldn’t let it, his not coming in. And anyways, you’d never formally asked him except for that time your father had thrown your mother’s fifty-fifth birthday party. A large and extravagant thing because he claimed double fives were lucky. Din had played dumb until the last minute, and then politely refused, sending flowers in his stead. You hadn’t been upset because you’d expected the refusal. He’d claimed he couldn’t find a babysitter, lied, but you knew it was a hard limit for him. The metaphorical line that could not be crossed. Whether that was because it would inevitably be a hallmark simply too serious and devoted to come back from. Or, and more devastating an option to consider, because it was too hard for him to see the happiness that still lived through your family, the care and love you and your parents had for each other. The closeness. You knew. You know. You could see it in the look in his eyes when he dropped you off once a week for family dinner and a sleepover, wine nights and board games and things he couldn’t understand. Saw the way he’d look up at you the moment before you’d open the front door, eyes full of yearning and hurt for parents who would never again be. A look that said he didn’t think he could ever belong to something like that. 

His twelve minute drive to drop you off was enough. It meant more to you than perhaps it meant to him, his bringing you to the doorstep of your home full of love and parents who were still alive. So you didn’t, wouldn’t, let it hurt your feelings, his refusal to join you. 

And anyways, your mother knew all there was to know about him. Your father, aware of his existence but unwilling to extend the benefit of his doubt or any sort of grace because he held it against Din that he’d never shown his face in their home. He couldn’t understand, thought that getting the chance to be with you should’ve been enough to cure whatever past trauma kept Din from committing himself fully to his little girl. Your mother was keener, though, more understanding. Especially after you'd run into him once at the grocery store together. He’d had to run in unexpectedly for last minute cookie supplies Grogu had conveniently forgotten to mention he needed for school the next day. And the way Din had blushed and stammered, shaken her hand no less than three entire times, babbling about how he was so glad he’d gotten the chance to meet her, the glaze in his eyes when he’d looked at you, like he was begging you to see how pleased he was, how ashamed, how confused and hurt and shy and out of his depth. How desperate he was to be approved of but how unwilling he was to let himself be. 

Your mother had held your hand afterwards, in the car on the way home, while you’d been unable to hold back a few helpless tears for the heartbroken boy you couldn’t help but love. And still, you promised yourself your feelings weren’t hurt. You promised yourself it was enough and that you could understand. 

He takes a long pull of his warm drink, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, pressing your thighs together to assuage the tight heat in your belly. His cheeks are flushed with bright red splotches from the bite of the cold outside and the blasting heat of the car’s vents, the spike of whiskey, and you can see his eyes swing from one end of the dark ocean to the other. Wondrous, almost. You’d tell him you feel the same if you didn’t want to keep him. 

“What’re you looking at?” He says without turning, half smile and the flash of a dimple. 

“I think I’m buzzed already,” you mumble, cheek smooshed against the seatback. 

He laughs softly, corners of his eyes creasing so endearingly that your heart gives a stupid, pitiful throb. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Finally, he turns to look at you. You cross your legs tightly, can’t help it, and his gaze flashes briefly, knowingly, to your legs. “My little light weight. Can’t handle shit.” He chucks you under the chin, voice full of fondness, pinching the soft skin to pull you towards himself. 

“You know whiskey makes me drunk fast,” lashes fluttering as he presses a bitter sugared kiss to your mouth. 

“That’s your excuse for everything we drink.” You pout against him, breathing a don’t tease against his mouth when he kisses you again, changing the angle, deepening it, giving you his tongue. “It’s alright, I like you just the way you are.”

The sound of his favorite song throbs in your ears before it floats away, and then it’s just the sound of your heavy breathing again as you tug him closer by the collar of his sweater, wanting to pull him over the console and on top of you. His mouth slides a wet path over your cheek to suck on the sensitive spot beneath your ear he loves best, humming deep in his chest at the taste of you. 

Nothing has ever felt better than touching him. 

The hand at the back of your neck moves to your front, slowly pulling the zip of your jacket down; the sound loud and shocking amidst the heave of your panting. Despite the heater, you’re wracked with shivers as he pushes your jacket open and over your shoulder, cupping your breast as he sucks on your neck. 

“You gonna get in the backseat and fuck me?” He murmurs between wet kisses and a soft bite. 

He pulls you across his lap after your mad scramble between the seats into the back of his little 2008 hunk-of-junk Corolla, silver and shitty but reliable, according to Din. The space is too small for his tall frame, and the burst of biting cold that’s let in during his thirty second spin to join you in the back has you shivering against his broad chest. Long legs bent against your back and spread wide but allowing you ample space to sit on strong thighs. Now it’s your turn to taste him, scraping your teeth against the hard edge of his jaw while your cold fingers sneak their way under his hoodie, dragging your nails over the hard planes of his abdomen, pulling a gruff whimper from his throat. You spread your thighs wide, grinding down against the hard bulge in his jeans, finding the perfect angle to press your clit against the seam of denim. 

“Fuck, baby. Fuck me—” he moans your name and it’s the greatest sound in the world. Worth everything. 

Your kisses turn sloppy, desperate, fingers twisting tightly into his hair, pulling his mouth against yours until it hurts. And there’s something about the fact that no matter how many times the two of you do this together—whether it’s hard and fast in the back of a shitty car in the freezing cold or slow and deep and helpless, when he wakes you in the middle of the night, warm and naked in his bed, sliding over you and between your thighs, tasting your cunt before he’s pressing inside, needing inside of you—it’s always, always bursting with a sort of frenzy. A desperation, even in the slow, that helps make up for other things that might be missing—that proves a point. A promise in the way he touches you, like he’ll never get enough, like he’ll always want more, even if it’s just of this. 

When you pull him from his jeans, hot and heavy in your palm, his breathing goes ragged and the flush in his cheeks meets the hot splotchiness of lust crawling up his neck and over his jaw. His moan is broken, needy, head falling back against the seat and eyes rolling backwards, the soft curls around his ears damp with sweat. You lick your palm, gripping him tight and slick, twisting at the thick head as he tries to fuck himself into your fist, hips jerking helplessly. He’s yours like this. Gorgeous and vulnerable in the palm of your hand, moaning that you make him feel so good, that you’re doing it just right, that you’re his good girl. He wants you so much like this, gripping your hip with one wide palm, the other clutching at your ass to pull you in closer. You wrap your fingers halfway around the wide base, squeezing, other hand concentrated at the tip, working him round and round. You’d make him come like this, quick and sloppy in seconds if he’d let you, show him how good you are and how quickly you can make him feel better than anyone else ever has. 

But soon he’s demanding, “Inside. Want inside your cunt,” and shoving you sideways to rip your boot and one side of your leggings off, yanking the center of your thong aside to slick his tip against your swollen wet before he’s pressing against your entrance. All “Let me in. Let me in. You’re fucking perfect—” Chest heaving. 

He works himself inside slowly, in stuttered thrusts of his hips, moaning while he goes. Clutching at your hips and rocking you forward while he forces his way in from below. The sticky wet sound of your grinding against him, your clit rocking against his pelvis until you’ve taken him so deep the pressure is just this shy of painful so that you know you’re going to come quick and hard and wet. 

His hand snakes it’s way beneath your sweater, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers as he makes his way up your back, gripping tightly at the nape of your neck, squeezing, his other palm flat against the base of your spine to hold you imobile. Allowed nothing but the helpless jerk of your hips, chasing your pleasure, desperate for your orgasm while you feel him throb against the deepest part of you. 

“Please, Din.”

“Wait. Wait. Not yet. You feel so fucking good.” 

The sex is messy. He tells you he wants more. The wet sound of his thighs slapping against your ass as he starts to thrust again, gripping the swell of your bottom to bounce you on his cock, meeting each other on the up and down. In tune with one another’s bodies in a way you've never been with anyone else. Your cunt clenches tight, it almost hurts, and he laughs, bends his head to bite at your breast over the thick knit of your sweater. Please, baby, I want more. Hold on just a little longer. Your face and throat flush hot, burning, you can feel the sweat collect at your temples and along your spine as he tugs gently at your nipple with his teeth, fucks into you with snapping hips, the rock forward of your clit sliding against his hard stomach. 

It’s dizzying. You can’t help it. You come with a cry of his name, clutching him to your breast, wrapping your arms around his head as his bite turns reprimanding, “Fucking lightweight, I told you.” Another laugh that turns into a strangled moan when the heat of his come fills you as your muscles clench tightly around him. The gruff sound he makes: masculine, vulnerable again—the way you wish he’d always be—a mix of your name and a whine. Now that, that makes all the rest of it worth it. 

-

You’re supposed to meet Bo and her girlfriend for drinks at a new wine bar at half past eight. A cosy little place tucked into the cobbled streets of downtown you’ve all been desperate to try. She’d mentioned the plan every day for two weeks, giving away her nerves at the prospect of the three of you getting together. Likely afraid of your reaction at what you’re sure will be the announcement that she and Fennec are planning to move in together, news you've been expecting for a while and which you’ll take more than happily. They’re in love and your friend, who had always been known to be light and wandering as a butterfly in love, was ready to settle down and commit herself to someone she truly wanted to be with in a real way. There was never the possibility of your being anything but happy and excited for the two women. After all, you and Bo had been waiting for this for a long time, steadiness, commitment, a forsaking of that fear of forever you’d always found camaraderie in. 

And it only added to that keen sense the past few months had brought along, that the two of you were growing up in a real and immeasurable way. Your lives were changing, moving on, who you were as people was evolving. Leaving behind the last vestiges of your frivolous youth full of too much partying and more fun than anyone should probably rightfully have for something steadier, more reliable. Grown up. As much as you’d miss your friend, your housemate of the past five years, this move spoke well of what was to come for the both of you. 

Din makes the two of you a quick dinner before you have to part ways for the night—a creamy mushroom risotto and a crisp glass of white wine for you. The man likes to get you drunk and slutty. Watching him move around the kitchen, lithe and capable, makes you squirm for more of what he’d given you earlier, the sound of his moans in your ear and the wash of his hot breath against your throat while he throbs inside of you. 

The house is cozy, the warmth of the tree, the toys strewn across the living room floor, the precariously leaning tower of Din’s cookbooks at the edge of the kitchen counter, the overflowing pile of laundry on the sofa waiting to be folded and Grogu’s art pinned by spaceship magnets to the refrigerator door. Something you’d always admired in the way Din had taken on parenting his brother, the way he'd nurtured and preserved Grogu’s childhood, giving him the space and safety to be a little boy for as long as he needed without the pressure of feeling like he had to grow up too fast. Not the way Din had. 

He brings your dinner to you on the sofa, presenting it to you with a flourish of steam and his beautifully proud grin, like, look what I’ve made for you, aren’t I a nice boy? And the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, silverware clinking as you watch each other eat, giggling softly at one another for absolutely no reason other than that it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do together, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours. 

Then, one of the more bizarre aspects of life: how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next. 

“You and Greg should come to dinner at my parents tomorrow night.” You don’t know why you say it, or where it comes from. “My mom would really love to have you, and she makes a great Christmas Eve roast.” Probably because it’s simply the truth. You want him there, quite desperately. Both of them. And your mother had asked. Your dad too, why he wasn’t joining you all, why he didn’t want to. 

You suppose you also want to hear why he doesn’t want to. What excuse he'll give. 

He goes silent, fork halfway to his open mouth, and a stupidly shocked expression on his face you could slap off of him. 

Suddenly, you’re angry enough you could cry. 

“My dad got some really nice wine too, something about a two thousand ten harvest—he said it’s something real special,” you press. “Do you want to come? My mom can make up a room for you guys so you don’t have to drive back, and then on Christmas morning we can—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “We can’t. What are you doing?” He sets his plate down loudly on the coffee table, the rattle of his fork making you jerk. 

Your throat convulses around a swallow, your own plate held shakily in your lap. You should stop, but you feel ruinous. Half-full and ready to self implode. 

It had been such a perfect day, resplendent with that knick of time possibility. That maybe forever tease. But in the end, what is this casual intimacy, and why does it always feel like a wait in line for the execution block? He should want to spend tomorrow with you, let it be another perfect day. 

“Why not? Why can’t you?” 

“We have plans already.”

“What plans? You’re just going to be here. My father wants to meet you.”

“Well I don’t want to meet him. What is it that you’re trying to do here?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head quickly in a nod. Okay. Okay. Open your eyes again. “Okay. Then tell me what your parents were like.”

He jerks back in a flinch. “What?”

“Tell me. You’ve never told me about them before. Not really. I want to know what they were like. All I have to go by is a fucking photograph I had to rifle through your drawers for. Do you have traditions for Christmas they left you with? What were they like? Tell me, Din.” Your tone is perfunctory, cold and biting, too fast and not the tender sort a conversation like this requires. 

And he gives you a sort of look—one that asks, are we really doing this? But you’ve already decided you won’t let him get away with it this time. You’ll ruin it all if you have to. And you know he won’t ever tell anyone else, so he might as well tell you. Right? You, who knows and cares and asks. 

Who else will ask you these sorts of things? You want to say. Who else will help you remember? Who’s going to love you like I do?

Your gaze is persistent, and he nods once, swallowing acceptance, finally understanding what it is you’re doing—ruining it all. 

“What is any parent that’s gone like? Perfect in your memory. I don’t know… They were real and busy and kind and thoughtless. All the things all parents are. But they’re absent now. That’s all I'm left with, which I hate. They’re dead, and that’s all they’ll ever be and I resent them for it. What else do you want me to say? What would I do at your parent’s house? I don’t know what I…I wouldn’t belong—We wouldn’t—” His jaw is set in anger as he says it, choking on his stumbled words. 

Your chest aches with a repressed sob, and you refuse to blink and miss a single second of this. 

“What were you like as a child?” He looks at you like he can’t understand why you’re doing this to him. 

“Solitary, but not lonely.” I’m equipped for this in reverse, you think. “And then Greg was born, and I was a kid for only a very short time longer. Why are you asking me this? I don’t have anything for you but sorry answers. Is this really the shit you want to talk about?”

You clutch your plate more tightly. “I want to kn-know you. I—”

“You do!” His voice goes from measured to a yell very quickly. “You know me better than anyone else! What more do you fucking want from me? Jesus Christ—” he spits, shoving himself off the couch to pace away from you, running his fingers through his hair, agitated, angry. You’re never satisfied, he says at the wall. 

It’s true. You’re not. 

It’s helpless. You feel big and greedy. You’re never going to be able to stop wanting more. And you’d always told yourself, tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow, it will—he will—be different. Something will change because it has to, because everything always changes. 

But you realize in this moment that maybe the only change here has ever needed to come from you. 

You realize that you’ve been eating your own illusions for too long, selling yourself snake oil. 

“I don’t want to be alone in this anymore,” you tell him. “I want more.”

“But what? What more is there? You’re not alone, and I don’t—” he makes some choked noise of frustration, “This is all I have to give. Can’t you see that? I don’t know—” The look he gives you, palms out and pleading, like some infinitely lost boy—half abandoned child, half apology. 

“I don’t know either,” you cut him off, setting your plate down next to his with a surprisingly steady hand. 

It’s a lost battle, no more starry eyed sleight of hand, all the cards are on the table. 

When you look back at him you can see the emotion choked behind his eyes. That you’ve pushed him beyond the line of his own reasoning and into hurt. But his comfort had to become secondary to yours eventually. You couldn’t tend to it forever with as much care as you’d always done without hurting yourself. 

And everything has a breaking point. 

“Maybe I wanted you to think of someone other than yourself for once.” You see the blow land. The snapping bone, wrong-thing-said reaction. It’s a lie, after all, you know it. A terrible lie, a terrible thing to say to someone who has so obviously given up everything and their whole life, their youth, for the sake of another, and done so gladly. 

Perhaps a wiser person would take this as reasoning enough for Din’s behavior. For his lack of ability to give more of himself to a relationship. Perhaps for someone more mature or with more experience, with a greater sense of self, it would be obvious, the fact that a person who’d lost so much of themselves so young found it hard to love, to give themselves over to partnership and the sort of commitment needed for a fully functioning adult relationship. But you can’t, or choose not to see it anymore. Perhaps you’re tired of fighting, of working so hard for it. Perhaps you’re tired of waiting. 

His face turns away like you’ve struck him, and for a long moment he doesn't turn back, but when he does there’s anger almost like hate, and his eyes are wet with tears. You wish you could be cruel, laugh in his face, but your own drip from your chin as well. And anyways, it’s so shocking there isn’t any room for cruelty. 

You go gasping fish silent, until he says, “I do. It’s just not you.” The salt lie drips from his long lashes and he moves, turning away from you towards the Christmas tree you’d picked out and decorated together, the gifts for his brother you’d chosen and wrapped with him. 

“What did you want here? From this?” Maybe he means the fight now, but what does it matter compared to the whole mess and lie of this entire fraught ordeal. 

“Well…” you stand, moving for your purse on the kitchen table. There is, in everyone, a limit to the amount of pain you’ll put up with for love. You can’t ever know the limit beforehand, but once you’re there, you know, and then it’s impossible to move the line. “I figured you’d love me.”

The word out loud is shocking, never before been said. 

You hear his stuttered breath, the way your words might make him angry. Throwing this lacking of his in his face—his inability to love the person who loves him. You think you should tell him that you’ll hate him now, but you’ve never been a talented liar. You think you should ask him if it’s such a bad thing, to want his love. But you know he won’t have an answer. You know he doesn’t believe he has it in himself. 

You move towards the door, pausing at the mouth of the hall to their bedrooms. The lopsided ‘Greg’ sign tacked to the kid’s door. The ‘E’ had been haphazardly turned into an ‘O’, a ‘U’ scribbled on at the end, the slip of the shaky marker bleeding out messily onto the wood of the door at the tail end of the letter. Like the child had been hasty in his vandalism and slipped, afraid he’d be caught by his older brother. 

It makes you smile dimly. 

And below that, in a green meld of water colors and marker and crayon, depicted in a manner so lovely it could only come from the imagination of a child, a drawing of the three of you together, stick-figured and holding hands. 

Like a family. 

“We’re eating each other alive,” you whisper at the imagination family. He moves forward, his socked footsteps towards your turned back.

You’re truly crying now, unable to hold back the sob of grief, of too much time wasted and a loss of yourself you’ve yet to fathom the depth of. He’s looking at your face again, finally, and you think, let this be the last time. Let this be the end of it now so that I’ll never have to feel like this again. 

He’s crying too, and you want to be angry at him, at the lie you have to take it for. He cannot cry and not love you back. It’s not possible. 

“Is that it?” All you can manage is a half nod that dislodges the cold tears clinging to your chin. “We had a good run,” he says like an almost question, and looks at you very sadly—tiny flame of struggling hope about to die. A held breath: should I go with grace? sort of look-back. But the gleam in his eyes, like he really might care, like this hurts, like he might feel anything—there are no notions of valor left. 

No benevolence to be found in this moment. You’re very tired. “Did we?” Head cocked to the side gracelessly. If ever you could hurt him the way you’ve been hurt here, now would be the time. The last chance. 

“Maybe not.”

We were so close. We almost had it. You’re so, so tired. You could sleep for an age. 

You take your hurt and go after that, not entirely understanding what it is that’s happened here between the two of you, why you’ve wrought it so suddenly. Also, relieved. That finally, everything’s been ruined for good. That there might be rest now. 

Christmas comes, neither one of you calls, there’s nothing else left to say. 

2. LOVE.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

what a bland goodbye - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader goes to spencer's apartment for a needed breakup. no matter how much they love each other.

genre: angst wc: 935 warnings: breakup, reader wears heels, crying (duh), no happy ending, right person wrong time???, mentioned emotionally unavailable spencer

based off loml by ts!!! (im sorry), also this is much shorter than i intended!!!

The hallway is colder and your heels are louder than you remember. Snowflakes cover your head, your nose freezing from the cool, winter air. The familiar building somehow pains your heart with how much you'll miss it. You're not sure how long it'll take for the route here to be wiped from your body's autopilot. Even the door marked "23" is comforting. Something you'll have to get over soon.

His unsuspecting and far too joyful form when he opens the door makes you immediately want to rethink your intentions. Spencer's arms wrap around you as inviting as they've always been, the smell of coffee and laundry detergent unwelcome for the first time.

"You said you wanted to talk, what's going on?" he murmurs almost mindlessly into your shoulder.

Already, your eyes burn. You pull back and look up at him with an apologetic smile that hurts.

Chapped lips part as his eyebrows furrow. It's like he can feel how torn you are. But he doesn't get it. "Morgan says that when a girl says 'we need to talk,' it means that you're in trouble. I told him that's ridiculous but then I started to overthink and thought that maybe I did do something so I went through the last couple weeks but... I don't know what I did."

He nervously laughs, "he's ridiculous, right?"

Well, not exactly. It wasn't an easy decision to come to. It took a lot of convincing from your smarter side. You just couldn't put up with it anymore. The long hours were bad enough, but he'd never open up, despite eyebags showing just how much he needed to. Long hours were spent wondering if he'd be coming home unharmed or with an extra scar that's yet to be healed. As much as you want to, you can't stay. He's tortured. He needs someone with more to offer. More to give. You're not what he needs.

Glossy eyes find his hopeful ones and you feel despicable. "Spence..."

"What?" he whispers shakily.

It's now or never, you figure, inhaling an unsteady breath. No going back. Like a bandaid, right? If bandaids caused more tears, maybe.

"I want to break up." You attempt to sound firm, decisive, valiant but your voice wobbles and you sound nothing short of pathetic.

Beautiful, delicate features you've spent so long memorizing distort into a mixture of pain and confusion. The same features you've kissed and ran your fingers over every chance you got. You mourn those moments silently as he tries to understand. You know he won't. In only seconds, his eyes match yours in terms of despair, like he's already picturing the moment you walk out and leave him behind like a bad memory.

"Why? Is it... something I did?" he asks, voice so soft and breakable it makes everything ache.

"No. It's-it's me. I just can't... I can't." Tears gather on your lashes before spilling over onto cold cheeks.

"Can't?"

The way he's trying so hard to get it is what makes the moment last forever. What could you possibly say to explain yourself? It all feels so insignificant right now.

In his suit and tie, so pretty, he exhales sharply in frustration, a shot to your softened soul. He waits for your answer but you're not sure you have one to smooth the crease between his eyebrows.

You sigh and mutter, "I can't be in this. We don't work, Spencer. You don't talk to me, I-" you sniffle, sobbing hard, "I can't do a relationship where you're never here and, even when you are, you're- I don't know..."

He shakes his head and breathes out as his lip trembles. "You're the love of my life," he whispers, saline rolling down.

"I know." A particularly loud sob leaves you and you nod. "I just can't."

"Can't or won't?" he asks bitterly.

You shake your head, "don't do that."

Somber eyes you love look down at you, begging you wordlessly. In a simple glance, small moments that shaped how you saw and felt about him, it was truly legendary. But you couldn't deal with just those flickers of forever. They were momentary. They're not enough.

He pleads, "we can work it out. We can-"

"Stop. Please."

"So that's it? You're just leaving? I can't say anything?" he breathes desperately, crying in a way you've never seen.

You hate how your mind shows you only the things you wish you could unrecall. All the soft pants, gentle kisses, coffee dates, library trips, interlocked fingers and goodnight texts. Every memory that's only making this harder. "I'm sorry." Small sobs shake your body as each breath seems more difficult.

Spencer shakes his head, pretty curls falling in front of his face. "That's it?" he says in fear.

Sadly, you nod, wishing things could be different. Maybe they could be. One day.

"Goodbye," you whisper through a low sob.

He looks at you with a love that you know will never quite be buried. Not for years, at least. Part of you wants that love to come back to you. When he can be what you need and you can be what he needs.

He mutters, "bye," and you leave, for the first time with a heavy heart. You've never loved someone as much as you've loved Spencer. The breakup was needed but how long will the ache last? How long will you hide away in your room? How long will you dream of a reunion?

How long will it take for the thought of Spencer Reid to not leave you feeling homesick over something you're never sure you had?

tags: @1mnshw @sweetestthingonthissideofhell @punkndisorderrly

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One thing that irks me when playing the game is how silver’s sleeping disorder is reacted to by the other characters, especially the teachers. I mean like, I get on some level that they’re all based on villains so they’re not going to be the nicest, but you’re telling me you see a kid just passing out out of nowhere constantly and the first thing they do is say that he’s lazy and berate him for something he obviously can’t control? Even if his condition isn’t a medical one like narcolepsy and is part of his curse/blessing, it’s still debilitating and affects his daily life. I don’t expect twisted wonderland to have like, disability protection but give the kid a break man he’s trying his best 😭. It also bothers me when other students are like “yeah man I get it schools boring I get sleepy too”. Like, yall have seen him suddenly fall asleep standing up and in random places on campus, it is so obviously not the same thing! And then Silver apologizes for it like every time! no! stop it! don’t apologize for something you literally can’t control

Sorry for the rant. It’s just been something bugging me because its so similar to how real world disabilities that aren’t physical are often brushed over by people and it gets me feeling heated 😭

Oooh, that's an interesting analogy 🤔

Before I talk more on the topic, I want to open with a few disclaimers: I will be discussing various characters’ reactions to Silver’s blessing/curse-induced narcolepsy (for lack of a better term), which may parallel real-life reactionary behaviors related to persons with disabilities or disorders. Know what you are reading, and please skip this post if you do not feel emotionally equipped to take it in.

Additionally, I want to make it clear that I am NOT defending any of those behaviors in this post. I will be attempting to offer in-universe explanations, NOT excuses, for why characters may act the way they do in regard to Silver’s condition. This doesn’t make the behavior any less unacceptable.

That’s all! If you’re all set, feel free to proceed below the cut.

I think, from the perspective of the students, it may be difficult to know what's going on with Silver?? Of course, that doesn't make their reactions or their behavior okay, but it's more understandable where they're coming from. Many young adults (unfortunately) aren't educated on and don't have experience/knowledge of how to handle situations where a peer displays abnormal behaviors. This may be especially true at Night Raven College, where the students are described to be very prideful and primarily concerned with themselves, or, if they help at all, they expect something in return. Many of Silver's classmates may not know him on a personal enough level to be familiar with his affliction or care enough to intervene if he falls asleep standing up. I doubt that most students at NRC would think of a peer beyond how they initially present, much less even consider factors beyond their control.

Additionally, others may not feel a need to step in due to the "bystander effect", a psychological phenomenon in which people are less likely to offer aid if there are others present. The theory goes that everyone just assumes someone else will do something about the situation, which has the unintended result of no one doing anything. Since Silver often falls asleep in public places, this could, in part, explain why so few bother helping.

I guess another component of it could be that some of his peers have simply gotten used to it by now?? (Several characters, even first years like Ortho, indicate that they anticipate he will fall asleep like 80% of the time.) Silver's a second year, so maybe NRC students did notice and attempt to assist in the first year, only to become annoyed with it when the symptoms persisted and so it could have led to peers thinking it's a "normal" thing for him.

I get the sense that Silver doesn't exactly go around telling everyone and anyone about his condition in detail (not that he has to, but I'd imagine that this lack of communication probably doesn't help his classmates' perception of him). He tends to describe his condition as "a personal problem" or blames himself or a lack of diligence for his symptoms. And honestly, I don't blame him for that; he didn't learn about the origins of his curse until book 7, and no doctor Lilia took him to could help. What else could Silver feasibly believe when all else fails? It must be his own doing. Silver has numerous voice lines apologizing for dozing off again and actively seeks out ways to "correct" or counteract his sleepiness. When this is how one presents their own condition, it may naturally cause those around him to believe that the sleepiness is "his fault"/due to his own actions. "Maybe he stayed up late last night," Ruggie suggests. Even Kalim, someone I'd consider Silver's friend, makes similar assumptions.

I will say that not every character is rude to Silver about his sleepiness. Vil might berate Silver for "playing the part of a sleeping princess" and Floyd might tell him, "People walk here. Find someplace else to snooze," but Ruggie appears to show some concern/shock for Silver when he shows up in the school store barely being able to stand, Jade tries to wake him up gently, etc. I'm not sure if the writing being inconsistent here was on accident or not, but I do think that some of the... less than desirable... behaviors may be because the narrative treats Silver's condition like a charm point most of the time. Like... Silver's sleepiness is often used to "sell" his appeal to fans ("Look at how cute he is! Eepy boi!"), or used for comedy in-universe (like when he uses Sebek as a pillow or when Silver blatantly falls asleep in a conversation or in the middle of an important event like the race in White Rabbit Fest). Because of this, rarely is his condition actually treated with the seriousness it would get if this were a real-world disability.

I think there’s a debate to be had about these kinds of impolite comments coming from Sebek though. Sebek is Silver’s childhood friend, so Sebek must be accustomed to the narcolepsy at this point and we’d normally expect him to be most sympathetic about it. But nope, Sebek actually frequently criticizes Silver for letting his sleepiness get the better of him. The majority of other students’ harsh comments towards Silver actually come from Sebek. He drops lines like:

“Don't you dare tell me you're falling asleep again, Silver!”

“His blatant snoring is infuriating.”

“Wake up, Silver! You're blocking Malleus's path! It's absolutely disrespectful!”

“If you don't cease at once, I'm leaving you on the side of the walkway!”

“It’s not as if you've been enchanted by a fairy. You’re just lazy!”

This all sounds horrible and mean, doesn't it? And they definitely are. But hold on! Sebek also says things like, "You're nodding off while walking AGAIN? A proper retainer of Malleus should hold his head high! High, you hear me?!” and, “Please, don't [volunteer yourself for this task]. You'll just end up nodding off. You must accept this is beyond your capabilities and let it go.” The former can be seen as telling Silver to do his best as Malleus's retainer and the latter is advising Silver to back down rather than push himself past his limits. That's not just me being optimistic or giving Sebek the benefit of the doubt just because he's a character I happen to like--Sebek has a known history of phrasing compliments and encouragement in a very rude manner. It's a trait of his that earns him endless ire, and something that Silver often finds himself apologizing to others for. Sebek is also a person who values constant self-improvement both in himself and in others; his cold attitude towards even his childhood friend can be interpreted as his own way of wanting Silver to do his best in spite of his condition. This… isn’t always a good thing though, as this thinking is ultimately ableist and runs the risk of pushing people—himself included—into dangerous situations that may out their wellbeing at risk.

This isn't to defend every single thing Sebek says about Silver's condition though; some of them are definitely too much, even if Sebek is granted as much leniency as possible. Do his comments come off as ableist? Absolutely. Is it his intention to be ableist? I don’t believe so—but that doesn’t negate the fact that his words are needlessly cruel, even if Silver doesn’t perceive it as such or take offense to it. Oftentimes Silver agrees with Sebek’s assessment, which again loops us back to how he already blames himself for his state and could parallel real world disabled peoples’ guilt and shame for just… being the way they are. Us, as the outside onlookers, are of course more likely to perceive Sebek’s words as rude because we’re projecting our own experiences onto what we’re seeing. Of course we don’t want to see a friend saying these awful things to another friend—but between Silver and Sebek, they seem to be mutually okay with this dynamic of pushing one another to “be better”.

I understand that it can be frustrating watching Silver have to say sorry for something that he can't control, but this is most likely a deliberate writing choice for his character arc—and depicting that flaw isn’t bad in a vacuum. Silver is someone who struggles with his self-worth, something we very much see come into fruition in book 7. He worries that he's not doing enough to "repay" his father back, and that it will be too late for him once Lilia departs from NRC. Silver frequently apologizing for his "shortcomings" (ie his constant drowsiness) is probably an extension of that lack of self-worth. He blames himself for his lack of alertness and actively tries to "be better" for a reason. It feeds into the ever-so-ironic cycle of "Silver is sleepy" -> "Silver thinks he must work hard to not inconvenience his loved ones and prove his worth to Lilia" -> "Lilia loves him anyway and he just doesn't realize it yet". (The whole reason Silver is even here right now is because of Lilia's love for him; he would still be sleeping were it not for Lilia.) Perhaps they'll be able to formally reunite in the waking world and wrap up this arc with a neat little bow... with his father telling Silver that yes, he is enough as he is now. Maybe Lilia will even say something along the lines of, "Never apologize for what--or who--you are, Silver. You're my son, after all! You should be proud of that."

This makes me wonder if Silver’s curse will ultimately be lifted in the end or if it will persist…? Because if it does get lifted, then it loses some of its strength as a parallel to irl conditions (since some don’t just poof away). Within the meta of the game, Silver then also loses some of his “appeal”, since sleepiness is a cute trait associated with him. I can see why it would happen from a narrative perspective though—ridding him of the sleepiness could be the ultimate “proof” of Lilia being able to truly love him, which is the condition the blessing requires to be dispelled

What really baffles me, however, is how some teachers are depicted interacting with Silver. The asshole students of NRC, okay. I'd believe they'd be callous towards one of the few nice guys at school dozing off. BUT THE TEACHERS????? 💀 Usually it's not that bad (they tell Silver to keep his eyes open or to wake up), but MAN. In Silver's Labwear vignettes, Crewel berates him for nodding off in class again, grants him a makeup assignment, and says, "If you like sleeping so much, [formulating a sleeping potion] should be right up your alley." He even withholds Silver's credit for Potionology until he receives that sleeping potion. Crewel also berates and punishes Silver in other instances, such as his Dorm Uniform vignettes: "Naughty pup. You think you can sleep through my lesson? [...] What a quick apology. Are you actually sorry? [...] You don't look remorseful to me. Hmph. As punishment, you must collect the reports everyone is turning in at the end of class. Do not miss a single one, and you are to bring them straight to me. Is that clear?" It feels a little… much, especially considering that it’s not like Silver chose to fall asleep midclass, especially as a second year. Then again, Crewel probably doesn’t know about Silver’s condition either so he most likely attributes the behavior to laziness, as Silver does himself. I’d say that Crewel should still at least know a little better as an adult but 💀 many adults have no clue themselves, especially without a formal diagnosis.

Does NRC not have a, like... Disability and Accessibility Center to coordinate with teachers and give certain students assignment/exam extensions??? Therapy, healing potions, and medical mages + regular doctors and dentists exist in this world, so why wouldn't they also have disability support??? 😭 That seems like a HUGE oversight to me. (Get on that, Crowley/j) In all seriousness though, this may be the result of differences in culture?? It might be expected in western countries to have some disability accommodations, but from what I understand, there’s a loooot more stigma in Japan so these services may be lacking (not to day that western countries have perfect accommodations though). Yes, NRC is based on a British boarding school, but ultimately the game is Japanese in origin and therefore might be running off of Japanese notions of what constitutes as “appropriate” support for the disabled. (The way seating in classes are arranged in-game already derive from Japanese schools; alphabetically by last name.) Maybe that’s why Crewel didn’t seem to be willing to make exceptions for Silver…? But even so, this could mirror how western societies also have trouble identifying and adjusting to those with disabilities. It can be hard to get treatment or even mindfulness from peers, especially if you don't have a formal diagnosis (which is the case for Silver; no medical mage knows what's up with him).

Those are my thoughts on the topic ^^ Again, I completely get why seeing the staff and students reacting this way to Silver’s condition makes you (and others, I’m sure) upset. There’s many uncomfortable parallels with how people irl are insensitive to “invisible” disabilities or disabilities in general. It also doesn’t help that Twst tries to both present the condition as a serious matter while also using it for comedy and marketing as Silver’s major “cute quirk”. Getting mixed signals here!!

I hope that this was at least able to grant you some new perspective about why the characters behave as they do. Some of it does seem to be the devs struggling to balance the tone of the stories they want to tell, but some of it also feels like intentional characterization (whether of individuals or of a certain dynamic between a duo) or setting up for an arc.

It would be interesting if we got an event where we explored more of the health industry and attitudes about like… magic-induced conditions, illnesses, etc. Silver is one obvious case of this, but we also know medical mages are A Thing. I’d love to learn more about these!

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, grief, and loss, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Mild Violence, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Suicidal Ideation, Depression.

A/N: Welcome back to this emotional rollercoaster, besties. We’ve got everything: cursed pregnancies, emotionally constipated men, and Sukuna trying to out-sass Megumi (spoiler: he succeeds), slow-burn tension finally snapping, emotionally broken men flirting with self-destruction, and a moment that might make you scream into your pillow (I’m not responsible for broken furniture). Warnings for angst, trauma, and me absolutely wrecking your heart while you laugh. If you’re here for a lobotomy, grab your scalpels—it’s about to get messy. Proceed with caution, tissues, and maybe a therapist on speed dial. Also, Megumi in this fic is maybe around mid-20s, and the reader is a few years older than him. He has mastered all his Shikigami's (yes, the 'with this treasure' one too) & is physically a Toji Hybrid. I have added links to show what he looks like. You are welcome. One Reader - Do you accept Cunt-structive Criticism? Me - No, I only accept Cash.

Previous Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.4) - Fractured Tides

Japan

The news reached Gojo and Nanami through an anonymous tip—a voice crackling over the phone, sterile and detached.

“The fetuses didn’t survive,” the doctor confirmed. “The pregnancy... it was unlike anything ever thought possible. The details are in the report.”

Gojo’s hand trembled as he gripped the receiver, his knuckles blanching as the plastic creaked under the pressure. When the receiver finally snapped, shards scattering across the floor, he didn’t flinch. His vibrant arrogance—the trait that had once made him invincible—was gone, stripped away in an instant. His eyes, previously so full of light and mischief, stared blankly, reflecting nothing but the hollow void inside him.

Nanami stood nearby, his posture rigid, his knuckles white as he clenched the report. The paper crinkled audibly, but his grip didn’t loosen. His jaw was so tightly locked it seemed his teeth might shatter.

“How’s this possible?” He rasped, finally putting it down, his voice horse under the weight of his self-loathing.

Gojo didn’t respond. His silver tongue, always ready with a quip or a plan, was silent. The crushing tide of guilt drowned every thought before it could form.

The hospital report was worse than they could have imagined. The chimeric fetuses were described in clinical detail, every word a knife to the chest.

“Genetic abnormalities beyond comprehension,” it read. “The combination of heteropaternal superfecundation and double fertilization created anomalies incompatible with life.”

The accompanying images were worse than they had imagined.

The boy’s elongated limbs twisted unnaturally, his spine arching grotesquely, like a question mark formed from pain. The girl’s fused fingers curled inward, her malformed face locked in an expression that seemed almost accusing.

Their shared split-colored hair was a mockery—a cruel reminder of the selfish desires that had created them.

Nanami turned away, bile rising in his throat. “They never had a chance,” he whispered, his voice hollow and brittle.

Gojo slammed the folder shut, his chest heaving as if the act of breathing had become insurmountable. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a way to fix things.

They tried to reach you. Desperation bled into every call, every text, and every voicemail. Every call went unanswered. Every message was read and ignored.

“Please,” Gojo had whispered into the receiver one night, his voice breaking. “Just... just let us explain.”

Nanami heard him through the door but didn’t offer comfort. The weight of his guilt pressing him further into despair. His gaze was fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, as if it held the answers he sought.

The quiet became their enemy. In the stillness, the thoughts crept in, unbidden and relentless.

Nanami found himself walking along the Rainbow Bridge , which connected to Odaiba, late one night. The icy wind bit at his skin as he gazed out at the dark waters of Tokyo Bay. It was calm, inviting, a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.

He imagined what it would feel like to let go—to sink into the cold embrace of the water. The thought brought a fleeting sense of relief.

Gojo had begun lingering at the Shinjuku-gyoemmae station, his sunglasses hiding the exhaustion etched into his face. He stood near the edge of the platform, the sound of approaching trains vibrating through his bones.

It would be quick, he thought. Easy.

At home, the pills in Nanami’s medicine cabinet whispered promises of peace. One bottle, one night, and it could all be over.

But neither of them acted.

Every time they came close, the thought of you stopped them. They couldn’t leave without seeing you again, without explaining, apologizing, begging for forgiveness.

But the shame at what they’d done to you, to the babies, kept them from coming to you in person. So they stuck to calling and texting, each unanswered attempt another nail in the coffin of their hope.

They lived in limbo, caught between the unbearable weight of their guilt and the faint, flickering hope that one day you might pick up the phone.

---

The moon cast a faint silver glow over the balcony, its edges softened by a thin mist that clung to the chilled air. You sat on the couch inside, barely illuminated by the warm, dim light of the apartment. A blanket draped over your shoulders, shielding you from the cold but not from the hollow ache in your chest.

Your eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed on nothing as your fingers absently traced the edge of the blanket. The faint hum of the city below was a distant whisper, meaningless and detached from the void swallowing you whole.

The faint scuff of shoes against stone pulled at the edges of your awareness. A shadow moved across the street in front of your house. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. Your mind was elsewhere in a memory.

His hair was jet black and damp, clinging to his forehead in unruly spikes, his jawline streaked with dirt and exhaustion. He wore a plain black shirt, torn and damp in places, and dark jeans that looked as though they’d seen weeks of wear. His piercing blue eyes were scanning the building before they landed on you.

He didn’t hesitate.

In one smooth motion, he climbed the window ledges on the floor below, then stepped up to the balcony railing and swung himself up, his movements eerily reminiscent of someone—fluid, predatory. He landed soundlessly on the edge, stepping inside with a casualness that belied the weight of his presence.

But this wasn’t the boy you’d known. This was a man carved from desperation and resolve, his presence filling the room with an intensity that felt both familiar and foreign. He looked older than you remembered—taller, broader. His hair was wild, falling in dark, uneven spikes over eyes that glinted like steel. He was dressed in plain clothes.

He frowned, stepping closer, his shadow falling over you. When you still didn’t react, he crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of you, his features softening with something close to pain. His hands hovered over your shoulder before finally nudging it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of months spent in pursuit.

You didn’t respond.

His brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “Hey,” he tried again, softer this time.

Still, you didn’t move.

His roughened fingers reached for your cheeks, his touch hesitant, a mere brush against the skin. “It’s me.”

Nothing.

His throat tightened, frustration flickering across his face He tilted his head to catch your gaze. “I’m not going anywhere until you say something,” he muttered, his voice edged with exasperation.

When you still didn’t react, he reached out again, this time giving your shoulder a firmer nudge.

Your eyes flicked to him at last, but they didn’t really see him. You stared through him, your expression glassy, as if replaying a memory too distant to touch.

The silence stretched taut and heavy.

His hands curled into fists as he rose to his full height, frustration and worry flickering across his face. He glanced toward the balcony, then back at you. The thought of leaving you like this wasn’t an option.

Then, from behind you, a presence surged forward—dark, commanding, and lethal.

Sukuna.

He appeared as though conjured from the shadows themselves, his crimson eyes burning with a dangerous gleam. His shirt hung open at the collar, his tattoos stark against his pale skin, and his lips curled into a predatory smirk. His crimson eyes burned like embers, and his lips curled in a snarl as his gaze stayed locked onto the man, narrowing with instant suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” Sukuna’s voice was low, his tone dripping with menace as he stepped forward, placing himself between you and the intruder.

The man’s expression hardened as his stance shifted, one foot sliding back as though preparing for an attack, his eyes meeting Sukuna’s with the unyielding force of a man who’d long since stopped flinching at power. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Careful, brat,” Sukuna growled, his head tilting, his grin widening in warning. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

The tension between them snapped taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit. Sukuna took a step forward, his fingers twitching as though itching for a fight. The room seemed to darken as his cursed energy spiked, the air thick with its oppressive weight. But the man didn’t flinch. His hand flicked upward, and with a snap, shadows began to writhe at his feet.

“Neither do you,” the man said, his voice sharp. His hands twitched, and the faint shimmer of cursed energy began to gather around him.

“Hey…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking under the strain of its first use in days.

Neither man noticed.

Sukuna’s smirk widened as he cracked his knuckles, his cursed energy flaring brighter. “I don’t care who you are, but you’re about to regret—”

The floor beneath you trembled as the man’s hands moved in a familiar pattern, his fingers forming seals too quickly to follow.

The air shifted, a deep, guttural hum vibrating through the room. The shadow behind the man darkened, twisting and expanding.

“No!”

Your voice cut through the tension like a blade, startling after months of silence. Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

You stood, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you moved to place yourself in front of the man, shielding him from Sukuna. “Please don’t. You both are not threats to me,” you spoke, your voice trembling with frustration.

You turned to the man, your voice rising. “I told you to stop doing that!”

“I thought he kidnapped you. I think that justifies it’s use.” The man muttered, pretending to be annoyed, but immediately moved to hold you.

Sukuna barked out a laugh. “Taken her? Kid, I’m the one keeping her safe from idiots like you.”

You awkwardly reciprocated.

Sukuna raised a brow, his gaze darting between you and the man. For a brief moment, his smirk softened, a flicker of something tender crossing his features as he watched you—you, alive and animated for the first time in months. That’s the most you’ve said in months —he thought to himself. He continued eyeing the spiky-haired man, wondering who he was and if he was a threat, but the way you were comfortable around him, Sukuna deduced he wasn’t connected to your idiotic husbands.

The man, however, frowned, his jaw tightening. “He—”

“Not a threat,” you said lowly. “Mahoraga isn’t for solving your problems with people who talk back.”

Sukuna folded his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe but watching Megumi like a hawk. “Kid’s got issues,” he muttered, his voice tinged with amusement.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back without thinking, letting go of Megumi and turning on Sukuna with a glare.

He blinked, then grinned, a warmth in his crimson eyes that made his smirk almost fond. “Fair point, princess.”

“You don’t look normal.”

“I’m fine,” you and Megumi both ignored Sukuna, though your voice cracked on the lie. But Sukuna didn’t correct you right now.

Megumi’s gaze kept searching your face for something—anything.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though no one in the room believed it.

"Princess, I need to leave.” Sukuna had said, glaring at his phone. “Will you be okay for a few days? I have arranged for Choso and Yuji to be here within a few hours.”

“I’ll be fine. Megumi is my best friend; he will keep me safe.” You reassured him, while Megumi looked at him smugly with his arms now folded, muscles flexing.

“Call me if you need anything or if there’s an issue.” Sukuna told you, contemplating how mad you would be if he broke Megumi’s jaw.

You nodded as he turned to leave, answering a call. “I’m on my way, woman. Stop irritating me!”

Your heart sank.

He was going to meet a woman?!

Were you in love with him?

But how long would he wait for you?

// Playlist

After telling Megumi everything, the house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the windchimes. He sat across from you on the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if they were the only thing grounding him. His features were softened by the dim light, but the weight in his eyes made him look older than his years.

You sat opposite him, knees pulled to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. The blanket draped over your shoulders felt like a shield, though it did little to protect you from the storm inside.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

“You were right,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“I was wrong,” you said, your gaze fixed on a crack in the marble on the floor. “About everything. About them. About leaving you behind.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, the guilt in his expression enough to cut. “You don’t have to say that.”

“But it’s true,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You warned me. You told me what they were like, what would happen, and I didn’t listen. I was so convinced I could handle it on my own that I pushed you away.”

Megumi let out a shaky breath, his hands flexing as if trying to grasp the weight of his emotions. “And I shouldn’t have said what I did. At the airport, I—” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking under the strain. “I was angry. Hurt. But that doesn’t excuse it. I said awful things to you, and I’ve hated myself for it every single day since. I was a coward, too afraid to reach out to you when you needed me most.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued, the pain evident in every word. “Then what happened at your HQ... They were live streaming it on the news, and I was terrified, praying you’d make it out alive. But when they said you weren’t there, my heart dropped. No one knew where you had gone. I felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve been searching for you ever since, haunted by the fear that I might never find you again.”

The words hung between you, raw and heavy.

“I think...” you started, your voice trembling. “I think we both thought we were doing the right thing. You wanted to protect me, and I wanted to prove I didn’t need it, too blinded by what I thought was love.”

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glinting. “I should’ve been there. When it all fell apart, when they—” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “I should’ve come sooner.”

“And I should’ve called you,” you said, your chest tightening. “But I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see how far I’d fallen.”

His gaze snapped back to yours. “You don’t have to hide from me. Ever. You never did. Sure, I’d yell at you or even tell you I was right, but I’d never not help you.”

The words broke something inside you, and for the first time in months, the tears came. They fell silently at first, then harder, your shoulders shaking as the dam burst.

Megumi moved without hesitation, closing the distance between you and pulling you into his arms. His grip was strong, grounding, and you clung to him like a lifeline. “I should have stayed in touch with you even if I didn’t agree with the decision in case you ever needed me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry, Megumi,” you whispered against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for not listening, for abandoning you, for never trying again, for not honoring your dad.”

“I’m so sorry for the... the babies.” He spoke low as if he were blaming himself.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you cried harder, clutching his shirt.

---

// Playlist

Japan

Gojo sat on the edge of the couch, his white shirt wrinkled and stained, hanging loose on his frame. His eyes rimmed red, their usual brilliance dulled. His hand clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing as he tipped it back.

Across the room, Nanami stood by the kitchen sink, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He stared at his hands under the running water, scrubbing them long past clean, as if the act could erase the guilt embedded in his skin.

The silence between them was broken only by Gojo’s muttered curses as he took another swig.

“You should eat,” Nanami said finally, his voice hoarse.

Gojo snorted, the sound bitter. “Coming from the guy who hasn’t touched his plate in days.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he shut off the water.

Gojo leaned back, his head resting against the couch, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Do you ever wonder,” he said, his voice slurring slightly, “if it would’ve been better if we’d never...” He trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Nanami turned slowly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Gojo shot back, his voice rising. “Say what we’re both thinking? That we—”

“I said don’t,” Nanami snapped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white.

Gojo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think not saying it changes anything? They’re gone, Kento. And it’s our fault.”

Nanami flinched, the words hitting him like a blow. He turned away, his shoulders stiff as he gripped the edge of the counter. “I know that,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “I know that every second of every day.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of their shared guilt pressing down on them.

//

Later that night, Gojo sat alone on the balcony, the cold biting at his skin. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air like a ghost. He hadn’t smoked in years, but tonight it felt like the only thing keeping him grounded.

Nanami appeared in the doorway, a glass of scotch in hand. He didn’t say anything as he stepped outside, sitting on the opposite end of the balcony.

They didn’t look at each other, their gazes fixed on the city below.

Gojo’s sudden laugh was hollow, a broken sound that made Nanami’s chest tighten.

“I keep seeing them,” Gojo murmured, his hand tightening around the cigarette. “Every time I close my eyes. I see their faces. Their hair. Their... their little hands.” His voice cracked, and he fell silent, his shoulders trembling.

Nanami’s grip on his glass tightened, the faint clink of ice against glass the only sound he made.

“They didn’t even get a chance,” Gojo continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We robbed them of that.”

Nanami’s expression unreadable. “Every time I close my eyes, they’re there. And her. The way she looked at us... or didn’t. Like we weren’t even worth hating.”

Gojo turned to him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then why are we still here, Kento? Why are we still—”

“Because we don’t deserve peace,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “Not yet. Not until we’ve done everything we can to make it right. Even if she never forgives us.”

Gojo stared at him, his chest heaving as he tried to process the words.

They sat in silence after that, the weight of their guilt hanging heavy between them. The city lights blurred into a haze, and the distant sounds of life carried on, oblivious to the two broken men on the balcony.

Neither of them moved, each lost in their own spiral, but for the first time in weeks, the silence between them felt less like a void and more like a shared burden. A small, flickering reminder that they weren’t entirely alone.

---

// Playlist

The days passed in a haze. Choso and Yuji were sunshines around Megumi’s age, who moved to the lower floor, but you didn’t have much energy to interact with new people. Sukuna called you every few hours.

Megumi stayed with you. He didn’t leave, didn’t push, just existed in your space like a quiet force of nature.

He cooked meals, both your favorites growing up, and sat with you while you ate, even if it was just a few bites. And when the nightmares came, he was there, his hand steady on your shoulder, until the panic subsided.

A few days later, Sukuna returned and obsered it all with narrowed eyes, his irritation barely concealed.

One evening, Megumi was trying to coax you into taking a walk. “Fresh air,” he said, standing by the door with his arms crossed. “It’ll do you good.”

“I’m fine here,” you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

“She doesn’t need to go anywhere,” Sukuna cut in from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “She’s safe here.”

Megumi turned, his eyes narrowing. “Safe doesn’t mean healthy. What would you know, old man? You probably can’t walk at your age with your arthritis.”

“I’m not old, brat. I will fight you!” Sukuna shot back, his tone mocking.

“With what? Your walking stick?!,” Megumi snapped, his voice rising.

You couldn’t help it—the sheer absurdity of their bickering—it pulled a laugh from your chest. It was small, tentative, but real.

Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

“Did she just—” Sukuna started, his eyes wide.

“She laughed,” Megumi confirmed, his tone somewhere between disbelief and triumph.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, the sound foreign even to you. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice muffled.

“Don’t be,” Sukuna said, his smirk returning as he leaned against the wall. “If I’d known it was this easy, I would’ve let him insult me sooner.”

“I’d do it for free,” Megumi said, looking at you, fingers twitching to pat himself on the back.

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Of course, it’s not like anyone would pay to watch you.” He fired back at Megumi, still looking at you.

You laughed again, the sound freer this time, and the tension in the room shifted.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest lightened.

After a beat, you calmed down and said, “I’d like to go back to work.”

Both nodded.

//

After that day, it became their unspoken mission to make you laugh as often as possible.

One afternoon, Sukuna conjured a miniature version of himself—barely six inches tall—who stomped across the coffee table, shouting, “Fear me, mortals!” in a voice far too high-pitched to be taken seriously.

Megumi, who was seated at the kitchen island, raised an eyebrow. “That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna shot back, gesturing dramatically toward Mini-Sukuna. “At least I’m creative.”

Without missing a beat, Megumi summoned a tiny shikigami—a shadowy cat with glowing eyes—that pounced on Mini-Sukuna and promptly sat on him.

Meanwhile, you sat at the dining table, trying (and failing) to hide your laughter behind a mug of tea.

//

Another day the apartment was quiet except for the sizzling sound coming from the kitchen. Sukuna stood near the couch, holding a plate of food that looked… edible, but only in the way emergency rations were. His expression screamed confidence, as if he’d just solved world hunger.

In reality he was just jealous that Megumi had overtaken cooking since arriving, and he wasn’t able to feed you.

On the other side of the kitchen island, Megumi was frying something in a pan with the kind of intensity usually reserved for life-or-death surgeries. His sleeves were rolled up.

“You’re going to eat this,” Sukuna declared, stabbing the air with his fork.

“Like hell she is,” Megumi shot back without looking up, flipping whatever he was cooking with the ease of someone who’d spent years perfecting it. “She deserves something decent. Not whatever cursed sludge you’re trying to pass off as food. I’m making her comfort food.”

“She hasn’t touched your so-called food in days. She’s barely eaten anything. Mine’s nutritional,” Sukuna growled, stepping closer to the island.

“It’s an insult to taste buds,” Megumi countered, grabbing a plate and dishing out his creation—a simple, golden-brown omelet.

From your spot on the couch, you sighed, leaning your head against your hand. You weren’t sure what was worse: the fact that they were arguing over who got to feed you or that they seemed genuinely ready to fight about it.

“Hey,” you said, your voice flat, “I’m right here. I can feed myself.”

Both men ignored you.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in days,” Sukuna said, his crimson eyes narrowing. “I’ve been keeping her alive.”

“Barely,” Megumi muttered, sliding the plate across the counter. “She used to like this when we were younger.”

“She’s not a kid anymore, brat,” Sukuna sneered, taking a bite of his own creation as if to prove its worth. “She needs real food.”

“And you think that is real food?” Megumi shot back, nodding toward Sukuna’s plate. “It looks like you scraped it off the floor of an incomplete domain.”

“It’s better than whatever bland crap you’re making,” Sukuna retorted, leaning closer.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Seriously, you two—”

“Stay out of this,” they both said in unison, their voices sharp enough to make you blink.

You were trying to hide a chuckle at how serious they both were about their cooking.

Megumi crossed his arms, smirking. “Look, she’s laughing at you.”

“Watch it, brat,” Sukuna growled, his energy crackling faintly.

“Oh, please,” Megumi said, rolling his eyes. “You’re just mad she liked my cooking better.”

“She hasn’t even tried your cooking,” Sukuna snapped, his grip tightening on the fork. “And she won’t, because it looks like a toddler made it.”

“Better than your attempt at weaponized nutrition,” Megumi shot back.

The bickering continued, insults flying back and forth with increasing absurdity. By the time Sukuna accused Megumi of “summoning Mahoraga to chop onions,” you were doubled over, tears streaming down your face as you laughed harder than you had in months.

//

Your employees had welcomed you back with open arms while you still chose to work remotely. But the lack of light in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

But instead of bombarding you with questions, they took matters into their own hands.

During a virtual meeting, your CTO appeared on camera dressed as a game character, complete with poorly made props and a monologue.

“Fear not, boss,” he declared, brandishing a foam sword. “I shall vanquish the deadlines!”

The entire team erupted into cheers, clapping as he pretended to fight off invisible enemies.

Another time, your marketing manager created a meme slideshow of your company’s latest release, complete with captions like, “When the servers crash but the players still think it’s part of the game.”

Even Sukuna got in on it, lurking just off-camera during a meeting to mutter sarcastic commentary loud enough for you to hear.

“Do they always sound this unhinged?” he asked during a particularly chaotic brainstorming session.

“Yes,” you replied, your lips twitching into a small smile.

During a virtual meeting, one of your lead designers appeared on camera wearing a cardboard replica of a game console, complete with buttons that actually lit up. “Presenting the latest in gaming technology!” he announced, spinning in his chair.

“Is that a fire hazard?” you asked, unable to stop the corner of your mouth from twitching.

“Probably,” he replied, grinning.

Your PR team wasn’t any better. They sent you a PowerPoint presentation titled, Why Our Boss Deserves to Laugh More , which included memes of your favorite characters, clips of game glitches they’d purposely caused, and an oddly heartfelt slide featuring a stick figure version of you labeled, The Coolest CEO Ever .

---

Megumi stayed for as long as he could and then had to return to take care of his mom and his company once you started to feel better.

The air buzzed with the familiar hum of distant conversations and the faint echo of footsteps on polished floors. Megumi stood by the entrance, his duffel bag at his feet, his shoulders tense despite the calm mask he wore.

“I’ll come back in a few days with Mom, okay?” he said, his voice softer than usual as he pulled you into a hug. His arms were strong, grounding, but there was a hesitance in the way he held you, like he wasn’t ready to let go. “She’s been worried sick since you stopped talking after leaving Japan. She asks about you every day.”

You nodded against his chest, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Tell her to video call me. I miss her.”

“I will,” he murmured, ruffling your hair in that infuriatingly fond way he knew you hated. “The moment I land.”

You stepped back, your eyes darting anywhere but his. “Take care of yourself, Megumi. And her. She doesn’t listen to anyone but you.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, his dark eyes flicking over you like he was cataloging every detail. “You should talk, hypocrite.”

Your snort was half-hearted, but it was enough for him.

This goodbye was nothing like the one all those years ago. Back then, his anger had burned through the distance between you, his words cutting deep enough to leave scars you both carried. Now, there was only understanding—an unspoken truce built on shared pain and quiet forgiveness.

Megumi’s gaze shifted to Sukuna, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed and clearly bored. With a tilt of his head, Megumi motioned him over.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “What now, brat?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached.

You watched them from a distance, your old DSLR— Megumi had brought back with him—in hand. The click of the shutter was oddly comforting, a rhythm that let you focus on something other than the ache in your chest. Yuji and Choso hovered nearby, pestering you with questions about aperture and lighting. You answered absently, your eyes never leaving the two figures standing just out of earshot—the most important men in your life. So important, your very essence was tangled with them, unlike the way it used to be with someone else.

//

“What do you want?” Sukuna muttered, his tone dripping with disinterest.

Megumi’s voice was steady; he was smiling, all friendly and unsuspecting. The way he smiled while threatening people—oddly reminiscent of Toji on an adult Megumi. “Keep her safe. Or I’ll gut you alive.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh, loud and sharp. “Bold, brat. But I’m not an idiot like them.” His grin widened, his crimson eyes gleaming. “I don’t take my eyes away from the destination for snowflakes.”

Megumi’s eyes narrowed, his posture shifting slightly, like he was ready for a fight. “She’s not a prize, Sukuna.”

“No,” Sukuna agreed, crossing his arms. “She’s everything. That’s why I won’t screw it up.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “But don’t tell me you’re in love with her, brat. You’re already pathetic enough.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, his face a mask of calm, but the faintest flicker flashed in his eyes. Before he could respond, Yuji’s voice rang out from behind you.

“Stay in touch, Megumi!”

Megumi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sukuna chuckled.

Yuji had stuck to Megumi like pollen ever since they’d met. Whenever he walked out of your floor to get anything, or even went to the balcony for air, Yuji would immediately pounce on him like an overbearing puppy, talking like they had always known each other.

“Your fan club’s waiting,” Sukuna teased, stepping back with a mocking wave.

Megumi shot him a cold look before turning on his heel, his suitcase rolling behind him. He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder at you, still clicking away with your camera.

“I’m getting late,” he said, his voice louder now, directed at no one in particular. “See you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, his silhouette swallowed by the steady flow of travelers.

You lowered the camera, watching the space he’d left behind. Sukuna sauntered over, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Miss him already?” He drawled.

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “Shut up, Ryo.”

He chuckled, his gaze flicking to the camera in your hands. “Better get my good side next time. Wouldn’t want the brat to outshine me in your collection.”

You let yourself mock him. “He’s my best friend; of course he’ll shine.”

“Here I thought we were at least friends by now,” Sukuna shot back, his grin widening as he dragged you back to the car while also wrangling Choso and Yuji.

But nothing could have prepared you for the spectacle unfolding in front of you. Yuji stood precariously on a luggage cart, holding what looked like a security baton he must’ve stolen from somewhere.

“Onward, noble steed!” Yuji bellowed, jabbing the baton forward.

Choso, pushing the cart, sighed heavily. “Yuji, this is dumb. You’re going to fall, and I’m not paying for the damages.”

“You don’t pay for anything anyway!” Yuji shot back, wobbling as the cart veered dangerously close to a potted plant.

“Not my fault you’re the one with no sense of balance,” Choso deadpanned, shoving the cart harder.

“Balance is for losers!” Yuji yelled triumphantly—right before the cart hit a bump and sent him tumbling onto the floor with a loud thud.

You burst out laughing, clutching your camera as you tried to steady yourself. Sukuna groaned.

“Do these idiots have a death wish?” He muttered, glancing at you. “Why do I let them out in public?”

“They’re grown adults,” you replied between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from your eye. “Well... Technically. Have been for a few years.”

Yuji scrambled to his feet, rubbing his ass with an exaggerated pout. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Choso!”

“I was until you called me a steed,” Choso replied, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw you into that plant.”

“You’re just mad because I’m faster,” Yuji shot back, grabbing the cart again.

“Faster at what? Hitting the ground?” Choso said, raising an eyebrow.

Sukuna snorted, his crimson eyes narrowing as he gestured toward the two. “You know what? Let him break something. Maybe he’ll finally learn.”

“Doubt it,” you said, grinning.

Yuji, undeterred by his earlier failure, climbed back onto the cart. “Round two! Let’s go!”

Choso sighed again, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he grabbed the handle. “Fine. But if security catches us, I’m blaming you.”

“You always blame me!” Yuji whined, holding on tighter this time.

“Because it’s always your fault,” Choso replied, shoving the cart with a bit more force than necessary.

As the cart barreled down the terminal, narrowly missing several unsuspecting travelers, you and Sukuna watched in bemused silence.

“You should film this,” Sukuna said, his lips curling into a smirk. “Might go viral. ‘Local lesbian and his Itadorki.’”

You doubled over laughing while Yuji and Choso glared at Sukuna.

//

Later that evening, the chaos of the airport was a distant memory as you and Sukuna sat together on the couch. The quiet was comforting, the kind of stillness that didn’t feel heavy for once.

“Thank you,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Sukuna turned to you, his expression unreadable. “For what?”

“For… everything,” you said, your cheeks heating under his gaze.

He smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. The weight on your chest lifted just a little, replaced by something warm and unfamiliar.

//

But the mornings still clawed at you like ghosts, dragging you into the suffocating reality of what you’d lost. The ache in your chest wasn’t a dull pain but a jagged wound, raw and unrelenting. But Sukuna was there, always.

Without fail, he brought you breakfast in bed, the tray heavy with whatever he decided you needed to eat that day. You’d protest, pushing the plate aside, focusing on pending work, and he’d glare, the kind of glare that made it clear he wouldn’t leave until you took at least a few bites.

When he walked with you in the park, his hand brushed your lower back, a gesture so casual yet grounding it left you disarmed. He didn’t say much, but his presence filled the empty spaces in ways words never could. Slowly, painfully, the walls you’d built began to crack, the light seeping through despite your efforts to hold it all together.

// Playlist

A couple of weeks later, one evening, the two of you sat on the balcony of your new home, the air heavy with the scent of cigarettes and rain-soaked concrete. You rested your chin on your knees, watching the city lights blur into a smear of orange and white.

“You’re not as awful as you pretend to be,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Sukuna chuckled, the sound deep and rough. He lit a cigarette with practiced ease, the glow illuminating his features. “Don’t ruin my reputation, princess,” he drawled, exhaling smoke like a dragon.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. It felt foreign, but it didn’t hurt. Not this time.

You reached for the cigarette, plucking it from his fingers. Taking a slow drag, you coughed, the burn familiar but unwelcome after years away. “You know,” you started, voice quieter now, “I never wanted kids. I even got a hysterectomy, but... I think their RCT might’ve worked on me.”

Sukuna leaned back, smirking as if the universe amused him. “Good thing I hate brats too,” he said, his tone laced with mockery but softened by something genuine. “But I’d be fine either way you lean. I care more about you than any kid.”

You tilted your head, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “So confident I’d end up with you, huh?”

He nodded, the movement slow and deliberate.

The words spilled from you before you could stop them. “But I’m sure. I don’t want any more kids. I’m done.”

His grin widened, sharp and wolfish. “Great. Then I’ll have you all to myself,” he said, plucking the cigarette from your hand and taking a drag as if the conversation hadn’t just carved open a vulnerable piece of you.

You watched him for a moment, the question heavy on your tongue before you gave in to it. “Why are you still here? I mean... you’re attractive, Sukuna. You could have anyone. Why’d you help me?”

He exhaled smoke slowly, his gaze cutting to yours. “You really want to know?”

You nodded, feeling the tension coil in the air between you.

“The first time I saw you was at that dingy grocery store near our building in Norway. You were glaring at a Norwegian label like you could burn it into understanding if you stared hard enough.” He smirked, the memory vivid in his mind. “Then some store employee came over, and you covered your belly like you’d fight him if he even looked at you wrong. You were scared—hell, I’ve seen fear before, plenty of it—but yours was different. The kind I’d seen in survivors—the kind that said you’ve been through hell and still haven’t given up. There was this stubbornness in your eyes, like you’d fight to your last breath even knowing you’d lose.”

His voice dipped lower, his eyes locking onto yours. “That’s when I knew I wanted to know you more. Then you walked past me like I didn’t exist. You didn’t even glance my way. I knew right then you weren’t a sorcerer. You were oblivious, but your fear begged me to protect you. Practically dared me.”

A laugh escaped you, soft but real. “Or maybe you just couldn’t handle a woman not noticing you,” you teased, though your gaze lingered on him, soft and awed, like he’d hung the stars just for you.

His grin sharpened, dangerous yet intoxicating. Without warning, he flicked the cigarette over the railing, his hand shooting out to grab your waist. You gasped as he pulled you flush against him, his heat burning through your defenses.

His lips crashed into yours, the kiss anything but gentle. It was raw, demanding, and devastatingly sensual, as if he was trying to claim every fractured piece of you. Your hands instinctively found his chest, but instead of pushing him away, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you into a rhythm that left you breathless. Your head tilted back as his hand tangled in your hair, the other anchoring you to him. The world blurred around you, the city’s hum fading into nothingness.

When you finally broke apart, your chest heaved, your lips tingling from the intensity. His crimson eyes bore into yours, a smirk playing on his lips. “Still think I’m not worth noticing, princess?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you smiled, leaning into him, the ache in your chest momentarily quieted by the storm he’d stirred in you.

---

Japan

// Playlist

The apartment was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the refrigerator. It had been months since Gojo and Nanami had received the news, but the weight of it hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had grown heavier, pressing them into themselves, into the shadows of their shared space.

Gojo sat in the darkness of their penthouse, the glow of the city outside mocking him with its indifference. The blinds were drawn just enough for the neon lights to cast fractured shadows across the floor. His sunglasses sat abandoned on the table, forgotten. His eyes—once impossibly bright, reflecting the limitless sky—were bloodshot and hollow, the kind of emptiness that no amount of sleep could fix.

His phone buzzed on the table, a cruel reminder of the hundred unanswered messages he’d already sent. He stared at it for a moment, his hand twitching toward it before falling back to his lap.

He chuckled, the sound sharp and bitter. “Why bother?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his unkempt hair. The white strands fell limply, no longer carrying their usual defiance.

Across the penthouse in your old office, Nanami sat with the glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside untouched. He stared at it, his reflection distorted by the curve of the glass.

He thought of the twins. Their faces haunted him—not as they were in the sterile images of the report, but as they could have been. A boy with Gojo’s wild grin and his own steady gaze. A girl with your sharp wit and quiet strength.

He raised the glass to his lips but hesitated, the smell of alcohol turning his stomach. With a quiet curse, he set it down, the sound of glass on wood too loud in the silence.

//

The train station was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there. Gojo stood near the edge of the platform, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. The sound of the approaching train grew louder, the vibration humming through his feet.

He stepped closer, the yellow line glaring up at him like a warning.

Just one step.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration jolting him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up with another name that wasn’t yours.

Yuta.

He hesitated before answering, his voice cracking as he said, “What?”

“Sensei?” Yuta’s voice was hesitant, like he was trying to gauge how far Gojo had fallen. “I just... wanted to check on you. You’ve been... quiet. We heard you were suspended.”

Gojo let out a dry laugh, stepping back from the edge. “Quiet’s good, isn’t it?”

There was a long pause on the other end. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Gojo replied, ending the call before Yuta could say anything else.

The Rainbow Bridge stretched out before him, its lights reflected in the dark waters below. Nanami gripped the railing, the cold metal biting into his palms. The wind whipped through his hair, tugging at his jacket like it was trying to pull him over the edge.

He leaned forward, staring down at the waves.

He thought of you. Of your smile before everything went wrong. Of the way you used to laugh at his dry humor, your head tilted just slightly.

The phone in his pocket felt like a lead weight. He pulled it out, his thumb hovering over your name.

What could he even say?

The words felt heavy, impossible. Instead, he stared at the screen until it dimmed, the reflection of his hollow face staring back at him.

//

At home, Gojo stared at the bottle of pills on his nightstand, his hand hovering over the cap. His reflection in the nearby mirror caught his eye—he barely recognized the man staring back.

“You’re pathetic,” he muttered, the words slicing through the silence.

Nanami sat on the floor of his bathroom, his back against the wall. The report sat beside him, its pages wrinkled and stained with spilled whiskey.

“They never had a chance,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Both men lived in the silence, haunted by memories of what could have been. The world moved on around them, but they were stuck, trapped in a purgatory of their own making.

The only thing keeping them tethered to this existence was the faint hope that, one day, you might pick up the phone. One day, you might let them explain. One day, you might forgive them.

But for now, they waited, drowning in the unbearable weight of their own guilt.

A/N: And that’s how we turn pain into comedy and back again. I know you’re emotionally damaged (same). Who do you think was the woman Sukuna went to meet? (Hint: It's not Urame, so use your critical thinking skills). Meanwhile, Gojo and Nanami are one bad day away from booking permanent balcony seats in purgatory. Next chapter, we might actually let Nanami catch a break—or not. What do you think? Should Gojo finally punch Sukuna for calling him a ‘failed Barbie’? But seriously, next chapter—more tension, more heartbreak; maybe someone actually admits how they feel and SUMT (don't expect too much; I'm not very good at it).

Next Chapter will be out in 2-3 Days.

Also I have a seprate fluff series going on which can be read as part of this AU - Bubble Butt Problems - Nanami X Reader X Gojo - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx

Taglist Open - If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[vaquerolvr]

so… if we have your sexuality hcs what about their types?

(and maybe how would they approach their future s/o? maybe with a letter or just straight up “i like you”)

hope you’re doing good and staying hydrated

-🍂

i tried to focus on personality rather than physical appearance so idk if it’s exactly what you wanted. sorry if it sucks, i am trapped in a car again. Free Me.

price

his type

dilf/milf enjoyer

he wants someone who’s caring but also independent

who can handle themselves when he runs off on missions for weeks at a time

how he’d ask you out

is weirdly blunt about it

sounds like he’s negotiating a business deal

(the overly formal language is to hide that he’s nervous)

gaz

his type

people who don’t take things too seriously

carefree but not childish yknow?

how he’d ask you out

smooth af

has you laughing and blushing so much that you don’t even realize you’ve agreed to anything

until you’re alone later and you’re like “wait did he mean a friend date or a Date-“

ghost

his type

not picky about appearances, focuses more on personality

someone who has their shit together because he definitely doesn’t

how he’d ask you out

doesn’t

bottles his feelings up until he dies

being serious, it would take literal years because even if you were giving him the clearest signs that you like him, he’d still gaslight himself into thinking you’re not attracted to him

it would probably take one of the guys pushing him into it and he’d be fully expecting you to reject him

soap

his type

women who look like they can kill him

most important thing for him is hygiene/self-care

not necessarily a bodybuilder,, just like someone who takes care of themselves

idk how to explain this

how he’d ask you out

just blurts it out randomly

you don’t take him seriously at first

so he gets friend-zoned like ten times before you realize he’s serious and go out with him

alejandro

his type

i hate to say it but he’s definitely one of those guys who likes to be coddled

so someone who’s caring and affectionate (and clingy, like him)

how he’d ask you out

surprisingly sweet about it

he falls hard and fast and he doesn’t want you to underestimate how much he cares about this/you

he’s a fan of big gestures

so he brings mariachi and one of those big ass bouquets to your house

rudy

his type

just,,, someone who’s not dumb

he deals with alejandro’s antics enough

he just wants someone with common sense

how he’d ask you out

i think he’s a bit old fashioned

so he spends weeks ‘courting’ you before actually making a move

similar to alejandro but he does it somewhere private so there’s no pressure (or nosy neighbors recording)

graves

his type

emotionally vulnerable people who rely on him

WHAT WHO SAID THAT

tbh i don’t think he has a ‘type’

he just likes what he likes

but if he had to pick, he prefers partners with experience

how he’d ask you out

again: doesn’t

you just wake up one day and realize you’ve been dating him for the past two years

makarov

his type

confidence

doesn’t care what you look like, having a confident demeanor is enough to catch his eye

how he’d ask you out

kidnapping someone counts as asking them out, right?

keegan

his type

alternative fashion (specifically goths)

personality wise, someone who’s not afraid to call him on his shit/speak up in general

how he’d ask you out

nothing fancy, just casually asks one day

is really nonchalant about it but nearly throws up from excitement when you say yes

nikolai

his type

he needs someone who matches his freak

and by that i mean, someone who won’t even blink if he comes home with 5 stray cats one day

so just someone who’s generally chill and laidback

how he’d ask you out

hear me out-

you spend months agonizing over whether you’re just friends or if he likes you

and when you finally ask him, he’s just “wdym do i like you? haven’t we been dating for the past four months??”

[truths33k3r4]

Thanks for the tag, @phoebepheebsphibs!!

Melissa’s end of year stats!

Age: just turned 24 today

Height: 5’3 (I'm small but SCRAPPY)

Grade: I graduated high school eight years ago and never went to college. XD

Confidence: It's doing much better now that I have found my own community here on Tumblr and Youtube. :) TMNT has been something that has opened up SO MANY opportunities and friendships in the last year or so. :) So that has certainly boosted my confidence!

Happiness: UUHHHHH.... This past year was... not easy. One of the hardest in fact. So to be honest, happiness levels were at an all time low for a lot of it. But for the times that good things were happening, it made them shine ever brighter. <3 I'm doing better now, mentally and emotionally. <3 Seriously helps that I'm getting better sleep too. :)

Gender: female

Sexuality: straight

Romantic: Nope. Tried it. Not for me. Not now.

Favorite Food: ramen with fried eggs, chicken, and my homemade terriyaki sauce!

Favorite Show: TMNT 2003 and Avatar the Last Airbender!

Favorite Movie: OOOF. Uhhh (There's so many what the frick-) I'll go with How to Train Your Dragon and National Treasure. :) (I also agree with Pheebs- SONIC 3 ALSO BROKE ME- That movie was SERIOUSLY so well written compared to the first two- I NEED TO DRAW SHADOW AND MARIA LIKE NOW-)

Favorite Song: I am LOVING "Dangerous" from Epic the Musical. Any time it starts playing while I'm drawing, it sparks an impromptu dance break. XD His voice is just so smooooooth~

Favorite Artist: Tauren Wells has been one of my favorites lately. :)

Relationship Status: No thank you, I'm good. XD

Favorite Color: Deep Teal!

Favorite Season: AUTUMNNNN ALLL THE WAYYYYYY

Followers: 444

This was fun! Feel free to join in guys! :)

@indieyuugure @brightonstudios @allyheart707 @poetique823 @carrots-bear @sarathrwizard @risebabyx2 @jadetheblueartist @jasminegazer

End of year stats!

Age: won’t say but minor

Height: 5’5

Grade: won’t say

Confidence: 7/10

Happiness: 5/10

Gender: gender fluid

Sexuality: asexual

Romantic: aroflux

Fav food: probably ramen?

Fav show: b99

Fav movie: not any

Fav song: too many to pick!!!

Fav artist: wallows or dayglow

Relationship status: single

Fav colour: green

Fav season: winter

Followers: 358 (as of Dec 29 at 2 am)