#this tag needs to be updated at least every Sunday

[alexispunkkk]

soaked

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows — chapter 4

read the series!

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- warnings: religious trauma + guilt, masturbation, arousal in a religious setting/context, blasphemous themes, mentions of the bible, fingering, sexual repression, descriptive sexual thoughts, orgasm

- summary: a moment in a closet after church with joel makes you reach your breaking point

- word count: 4.7k

on ao3

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You shouldn’t have come. But you have to.

Being the preacher’s daughter, there’s no instance for you to be skipping church—you’re expected to be there every Sunday, decked out in white, ready to listen to hours of repetitive sermons—no exceptions.

The second your shoes click against the floor of the vestibule, the feeling irks you. The church is both calling to you and pushing you to stay away after the past four days of tortuously cleansing yourself of sin. Of shame. Of Joel.

Your legs are trembling and raw under your tights, rubbed red earlier this morning in the shower yet again, overscrubbed to the point of burning. Your dress feels looser than usual, exhibiting the lack of food consumption for the past few days.

Consuming nothing but scriptures made you starve. A kind of starving that doesn’t hollow your belly but also gnaws at your soul like acid on your insides.

You don’t want to be there. But you’re supposed to, and you have to. You need to prove to yourself—and to Him—that you can still get yourself to show up. That you’re not totally dirtied by sin, still redeemable.

The church smells of polished wood and dust, somewhat of sins that you tried to rinse away. And still, when you pass through the doors and enter the sanctuary, the weight hits your chest like judgement passed without words.

Your bible is tightly clutched in both of your hands, tucked in tight against your stomach. Walking quietly and stiffly, you make your way to the usual pew with your father: second from the front, center-left. The one that you’ve come to recognize the creaking of each time you kneel down, that your father told you was “closest to the light.”

The entire service, you don’t look up–not at the cross, not at the stained glass windows. Not at the pulpit, and certainly not across the room where you feel a familiar pair of dark eyes staring you down.

Joel.

You hadn’t seen him since the night in the church, just the two of you, where he’d held you like his own child and let you weep about everything you’re afraid to even tell the Lord. You were honest, and so was he, and it felt good at first. But now, you told yourself you wouldn't look–you’d avoid him at all costs, avoid this place entirely. Try to avoid the damage you’d done to your soul by an attempt to replace God with a physical body–Joel, to be specific.

But here you are, in the house of God, with Joel sat somewhere behind you, the memory of his hands on your face seared into your skin like a second baptism. You’re kneeling, the pain in your legs is grounding. Makes you feel somewhat present. But Joel’s persistent gaze is dragging you to a place you can’t let yourself go.

You try to at least make a bit of noise while the choir begins to hum the opening notes of a hymn you’ve known since the age of four, but nothing seems to come out. Your lips only move silently, making it feel like your voice died in the same room your old self did.

On the inside, something is trembling. Your shoulders feel like they’re shaking, but only to you, not to the rest of the room. They can’t see the turmoil bubbling in you, the weird feeling in your stomach when you catch sight of Joel for the first time. The one the week prior that made your thighs squeeze together a bit tighter, causing a funny feeling between your legs. Pounding, even.

And you can’t help but feed into it. Your mind goes right to the familiarized sight of Joel’s big, heavy hands, as well as something else that’s probably just as large, if not heavier. His graying beard and mess of hair that you so badly want to run your fingers up through, gripping and grabbing at while his head burrows between your thighs and fixes the heated ache.

The bible in your hands crinkles when you unknowingly grip it a bit tighter, your head lowering in more of a bow. No, no–you’re not supposed to think about him here. Christ, you’re not supposed to be thinking about him at all. But especially not in this place again, not during worship.

But you do. Because you feel him watching you the entire time. It feels even worse when you sense that he’s not exactly wanting or leering, but simply seeing you. Something about even being perceived right now–by Joel, in particular–makes you ache. You feel disgusting. Unfit and bothersome with only your presence.

And Joel has the same damn deliberate gaze that never tapers. Looking at you like he knows all, except this time, he actually does. He remembers every word spilled on the floor by the altar, recognizes the curve of your eyebrows under the pads of his thumbs and the supple skin of your cheek when he wiped the falling tears. He’s now familiar with the heat of your breath when you break down and hide your head in his neck, the way your hair falls against his skin when your foreheads touch.

He hasn’t stopped hearing all of it echo, either.

There’s a small moment during prayer where your eyes bravely flick up, meeting his. Only for a second–that’s all it takes.

No smile, no nod. Just a look, quiet and steady. The kind that makes your chest ache like a physical wound. Borderline suffocating.

Because Joel Miller isn’t God, he isn’t heaven, and he isn’t the cross above the altar. He’s just a man. A burly, Texan, boot-wearing, whiskey drinking man.

But he was there when God wasn’t, making it the worst sin of all.

You almost make it out before the final “Amen,” ditching your father in the church while he wraps up the prayer. Slipping out the side aisle and down the hall past the font, your little heels click on the floor. You thought no one was really paying attention, because this hall is where the voices don’t ever follow, but one person is always watching in the way God is supposed to.

You thought you could maybe escape before he sees you, but of course not. His eyes have been on you the whole service–making sure you’re okay, but silently looking at your legs in those tights. Your pretty hair swishing each time you look around to avoid the cross up front, your blushed cheeks and the cross around your neck.

Unfortunately, you hardly make it six steps before you hear your name. Soft and low, like he’s not supposed to say it here–a confession.

“Hey–hey. Hold on, kid.”

Joel’s voice sweeps up behind you while your hand is on the door to the parking lot. So close to making it, to escaping the eyes you were avoiding in fear that they’d remind you of everything you’re trying to forget.

You turn too quickly.

And there he is. Big, as usual, in the hallway. Wearing a similar button down to the one you saw the other night, except this one is green, a little too tight at the shoulders. He looks less cleaned up, hair damp at the sides like he showered just before church and didn’t bother to shave. Sleeves rolled up his forearms and the top button undone, looking like a man.

The sight hits you in the chest.

“I can’t talk.” You murmur, almost breathless at the mere company of him.

But he steps forward, persistent as ever, and his hand catches your wrist with the same gentleness he’d handled your delicate body with days ago.

“I know,” he says, nice and low and soft. “I know, I know. Just—-come here, jus’a second.”

For whatever reason, you follow. You’ll always listen to him.

He pulls open the nearest door, revealing an old supply closet near the fellowship hall. Small, too small for the two of you, and filled with extra folding chairs and bibles stacked in large plastic bins. Joel steps in first, and you follow obediently as if he’s leading you to the altar.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you’re alone. Stuffed in a dusty closet of a fucking church after your dad led the Sunday service.

It’s dark except for the little strip of light peeking through the crack of the door, illuminating only the smallest fragment of Joel’s hardened face. His nose. His big, aquiline nose. The light cuts across his profile, warm and gold, while his chest rises and falls with slow and practiced breaths.

Neither of you can speak at first. Your eyes are glued to the ground, blinking fast. You’re still trembling, feeling the Lord in your chest and the weird feeling of Joel low in your stomach.

He watches for a second longer before reaching out, gently, placing his hand on your shoulder. It dwarfs it, rubbing the cold skin and relaxing the light shake of your body. You flinch. Not away, but inward, when the heat of his touch sinks below your skin.

“Why’re you shakin’ so bad?” He questions. “You’re alright. Look at me, yeah?

You do. It feels like a mistake.

Because up close, even in the dark with only the smallest streak of light on his face, Joel looks like a wicked mix of sin and safety all wrapped into one. Like a body sent in answer to a prayer you sent to finally see God.

“Because you make me feel worse.”

You admit, voice a hoarse whisper. There wasn’t much else to say, because with Joel, you somehow just feel the need to spill your feelings. He’s the only one you can tell, after all, and luckily he listens.

He stills.

“The other night, I told you things I can’t even tell God. And now I can’t even sit through a sermon without feeling bad.” You begin, sighing and leaning back against the wall behind you. Your head hits the wood with a soft thump, an old broom shifting next to you and threatening to fall. “Without feeling you, either. Without thinking of you.”

His eyes don’t move from yours during that admission, but his hand slides down your arm. Just barely, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your elbow. The smallest touch, but you feel it everywhere. It makes the cold skin of your body from the lack of nutrition recently warm up, heating from your neck up to your ears. But it’s dark, Joel can’t see that. Thankfully.

“I don’t mean to make it worse.” Joel responds, quietly. “Don’t mean to mess you up.”

“I know, you didn’t. I did. It’s my fault.”

He exhales through his nose, thumb brushing the inside of your elbow while he just barely backs up. Chest puffs out. Your whole body is now warm.

“Don’t gotta blame yourself, sweetheart. Didn’t do nothing wrong. We’re only human.”

Joel calling you sweetheart of all things isn’t helping your case here. Being trapped in a closet is one thing, being up close like this with little oxygen to share in a tiny room, bodies almost pressed against each other. But when he uses a sweet little name like that for the first time, smelling like heaven and towering over you, it’s over.

“I keep thinkin,’ maybe what you said that night. ‘Bout God never feeling like love.” Joel continues, breathing softly but a little louder now. Something about his breaths and the way his chest moves is so masculine, and you’re drawn.

You, on the other hand, can hardly breathe. You don’t. You suck in.

“Maybe you’ve just been waitin’ a long time to feel it from somebody who sees you. I mean, really sees you.”

The words crawl into your chest and curl up in there, thudding and warm and terrifying all at once. It’s sinful to think about waiting on anybody to see you like that other than God–it’s what you’ve been trying to avoid and cleanse away for the past few days. But with Joel, something else is calling to you.

He’s giving it all up for you like he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about the church anymore, abandoning the Lord and letting his life be stripped away for you. A younger girl he hasn’t seen in years, but needs saving in the same way he needs it. Desires it.

It’s comfortable, in a way. A physical body. A warm, big man to hold you when it all gets too hard–when the weight of the world and the Lord is pushing on you like a million bricks.

Nevertheless, it’s still a struggle. You can’t abandon that, and you just can’t do it. Do anything.

“I can’t do this.” You admit in a whisper, your voice trembling. On the verge of tears, once again. You haven’t cried in the few days you spent trying to cleanse yourself, and something about Joel makes you want to. “Not here. I can’t.”

His hand stays where it is for a second, unmoving and hesitant. But in an act of reassurance, it slides down further–to your wrist now. Not moving anymore, not pressing, but there. Warm and grounding and comfortable.

A touch you feel not just on your skin and on your fingers, but lower. Down between your legs again, a ripple in your stomach. You hate yourself for it.

“I know. Me neither.” He nods, huffing.

You breathe in deep, desperate to stop yourself from drifting back into the blasphemous headspace from the funeral the other day. Trying not to remember what his hands felt like on your face, his breath and voice in your ear. Your thighs clench together.

Joel notices, his eyes darkening for half a second before softening again. He drops his hand.

“You can go,” he steps back, voice hardening out of nowhere. Gravelly.

You stare and nod, silenced from his sudden dismissal. Did you give yourself away somehow? He can’t even see you in the darkness of the closet, can’t see the blush creeping up your neck or the way your eyes haze in lust each time he speaks. Can maybe sense when your legs squeeze together in an attempt to ease the aching between them, but can’t see anything real.

So what was it?

Perhaps he was going through the same thing. It’s wrong, so, so wrong for him to be thinking that. About a girl in her early twenties while he’s fifty-six, especially in the church. The preacher’s daughter, for Christ’s sake, the most precious thing this town has ever seen. A good girl of God–right?

Your dad insists on driving you home after you find the way out of the closet. No more sneaking out, Joel had already found you, and your dad almost caught you on your little escape route from the secret meeting.

Walking down the hallway to head back into the nave, he catches you. Just finished talking to some neighbors, and now you’re stuck with him.

You don’t fight it, too shaky to argue, your voice caught in your throat where Joel left it. Where you were dreaming to have another part of Joel, stuffed deep, nice and heavy. But you nod, like a good daughter, and get in the passenger seat of his truck.

It’s been a while since you willingly drove with your father. Hadn’t seen him in two years, and on this time back from college you don’t dare to subject yourself to a whole car ride with him in fear that you’d have to talk that much. The two of you haven’t even spoken much.

It smells the same as it used to, a faint reminder of your childhood. Faded peppermint from the altoids he keeps in the glovebox, old leather, his aftershave lingering in the air. The heater is turned on too high for your comfort, blowing right onto your knees, making you hotter and hotter after that interaction with Joel.

Every one of your nerves feel on fire.

“Good to see you in service again,” your dad says after a few awkward minutes of silence. His voice is warmer than it was that day you got home, like he’s more accustomed to the idea of you being home. Finally warm in a way that fathers and pastors are supposed to be. Or maybe he’s just happy to have spoken to the Lord earlier. “Missed you.”

You nod again, but it's more slow and delayed. Your legs are pressed tightly together, thighs crossed and squeezed while your palms bury under them. Like it might help. And it doesn’t.

The truck bounces gently along the road, making the ache worse. You try to distract yourself with the trees that are blurring at the window. Can’t look at your dad in this state, after all.

“You feel alright?” He asks. It’s not odd for you not to respond–he’s used to that. But you are acting weird. “Looked a little pale when we left.”

You almost laugh. Pale, fuck. If only he knew the turmoil building in your body right now.

If only he could see into your eyes, see the shape of Joel’s body burnt into your head. The ache that began blooming in the closet and won’t seem to settle, the heat won’t go away between your legs. Your underwear is clinging to you uncomfortably, soaked through with horrible, horrible guilt.

You’d spent so long trying to teach your body how to not want that–you were always told it’s sinful. Not to touch yourself and whatnot.

But now you’re truly feeling it for the first time, and it isn’t like the stories warned you. No devil is whispering in your ear. Just heat–a slow, blooming heat rooted low in your abdomen. Your limbs feel weird, like they’re borrowed from somebody less obedient. It comes on quiet.

Deep and aching, it feels like breaking a promise. Not to someone else, not to God, but to you. The wetness of course is there, but it’s not just that, startling and warm. It’s a pull and a yearning. Feels foreign, but so, so good. Starting as a hum, low and electric and buried deep, but slowly becomes something greater.

Your thighs keep pressing together without thinking, chasing something you’ve never actually understood. You knew you wanted it, but all these years, you wouldn’t let yourself. It was always a thing that you could out-pray. When you were close enough with Him, you could pray and the feeling would dissipate. But this, this isn’t fleeting. It’s consuming you, wetness gathering between your legs, sudden and sacred.

Your body isn’t quiet, for once. It’s begging. You’ve never met someone who could do this to you until the little reunion with Joel Miller.

A good girl would’ve confessed, would’ve ran. Instead, you’re letting Joel close that door. Allowing this to consume you like the worst sin of them all.

And the truck bumps along, your dad still next to you. Not noticing the hands shaking in your lap or the constant blinks to hide your eyes hazed over with lust.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

The same excuse as always, but he hums, satisfied enough. He always takes your silence as peace.

“Powerful sermon today.” He offers. “Something heavy in the room, wouldn’t you say?”

God, if only he knew what you’d done. What you want to do. What you wanted to do in his fucking church. And what part of you wants to do the second you’re out of this truck and alone.

You nod. “Mhm. Heavy.”

The road stretches on, every little bump in the old road sending jolts between your thighs. You’re nearly sick the time you reach home and pull into the driveway, so incredibly overwhelmed with utter need.

“Want any lunch?” Your father asks as he kills the engine. Fuck no, you don’t want lunch. You want Joel. You want to fix the ache.

“No.” You shut the idea down, way too quickly. “Gonna take a shower. Gotta wash my hair today. I’ll have some after when I’m done.”

Nice. Shower. Perfect excuse.

He doesn’t press, just gives you the same weak smile he has all week. Faded, distant, not the man you once knew as your father anymore. Just a light squeeze of your shoulder before you slip out of the front of his truck.

“Proud of you.” He mutters before you shut the door, stopping you in your tracks.

Proud of you. If only he knew what you’d been up to the last few days. Thinking about his friend in the most ungodly way you can, then falling into a terrible cycle of trying to redeem yourself. Only this time, you’re letting it pull you down more. Letting Joel make you worse.

You nod. You lie. “Thanks.”

Your steps up to the porch are fast and shaky, hands trembling as you unlock the door and head up to your room. Your good old room–old stuffed animals, clean white sheets, and of course, the cross above your bed. It makes you a little guilty to do what you’re about to do.

The second the door shuts behind you and your fingers manage to lock it, your knees give. You flop down on your bed, pressing your thighs tightly together.

Your mind rushes–Joel. His hands. Joel. His breath. Joel. His shoulders in that button down, his grip on your wrist, his big nose and the deep scars that seem to cover him. And the cross above your bed. You can’t seem to stop staring at it while you tremble, hiking up your dress.

Pressing your knees together worked in the church and in the car, when the throbbing was more of a light heat. But now that you’re alone, it’s crashing down. The knee movement only makes it worse–tighter and needier.

The ache is making your breathing shallow, the ache you’re not supposed to be feeling. Not in the house of your father after a Sunday service. Normally, the guilt would consume you. You’ve stopped yourself so many times by opening up your bible or staring at the cross that's watching you, judging. Ever since you were fourteen, you’ve been decent at handling the ache.

Not now. You don’t look at it. Instead, you close your eyes and look at Joel.

The image of him burnt into your eyelids, even in the darkness of the closet. You can imagine what he would’ve looked like with more lights on. You’re not trying to remember any verses–resist the devil and he will flee from you–or not give in, because Joel Miller isn’t fleeing from your mind. He’s staying. Still there: in your mouth, your breath, your fingertips, in the wetness between your legs that’s clinging to the fabric of your panties. Building.

They’re still soaked from the church closet, clinging to your slit like sin. Your thighs feel too hot, almost sticky. Shifting just a little, it pulls a sound out of you that you didn’t know you can produce. Unrecognizable. Your body is crying for mercy.

You try for the last time to ground yourself, your palm digging into the sheets–but this time, you don’t look at the cross.

Fuck it.

Your dress gets fully hiked up in half a second, and your hand slips between your thighs. No longer shaky, but with determination and intent. You’re gonna let yourself have this after all those years.

You feel the wetness before your fingers even graze fabric. You’re soaked–dripping with it. Dripping with Joel, still slick from church. You haven’t been able to think since he pulled you into that closet, since he breathed your name like his own secret.

You’re wrecked, and it’s totally his fault.

Pressing against the heat, you’re trembling. A little whimper escapes your mouth when you slowly rub your index finger in a circle over your clit, just testing. Feels good. New.

In seconds, your back arches like you’ve been struck. The ache in your belly twists into something hotter and dirtier. You spread your legs, pressing again, a little harder.

Joel’s name lingers in the back of your head and throat, thick and heavy. You can’t say it, don’t dare to. But it sits there, and you imagine it’s his thick cock buried deep in your throat instead. If you open your mouth, nothing would come out besides his name and the lingering pleas in your mind for his body.

So you stay quiet, knees bending and spreading as you rub slow little circles into the one part of yourself you’re not supposed to be thinking about, not supposed to be touching. But you feel as if Joel touched it, even if he didn’t. That’s all it takes.

The rhythm starts to build, shame and slick mixing on your fingers. Your mind is just Joel, Joel, Joel–curling and coiling while your eyes roll back in your head and your breath catches in your throat.

You picture him in the pews of the church, head bowed in prayer. Broad hands pressed together. But your mind wanders, and soon the picture of Joel changes. Head bowed between your legs instead, hands on you where yours are now. Whispering warm and soft things as you break apart.

Your legs shake, your spine bowing, head spinning. Instead of just on your clit, you finally make the decision to move the fabric to the side. Too desperate and in the moment to take the panties off, just sliding two fingers inside of them. Good enough.

They test your folds, checking around the area you’re strangely unfamiliar with for a young woman. Collecting slick before meeting your entrance, one finger just barely sliding in.

You almost whimper, but your hand flies over your mouth. Eyes open for only a split second, making guilty contact with the cross before shutting in shame. You’re too far gone to stop, anyway.

Within minutes, you’ve worked up to two fingers, pumping in and out of you like a piston. Eyes shut, pretending it’s Joel’s thick fingers instead. Or his cock. Or, his fingers in you while his cock is slammed down your throat. Either works.

You can only imagine the way he looks under those stupid flannel button downs he can’t ever seem to take off–tanned, warm, big and broad. A man. A physical man with a heavy cock and deep set eyes and scars and hair and everything. He has a soft belly, you can tell through his shirts. Like he definitely works out, but also can never seem to deny a beer.

His fingers probably work wonders, roughened up by all those years of working and contracting, rubbing against wood and toughening them up. Much thicker than your own, they’d make you feel a whole lot better than this.

He’s old, he’s got experience. But you don’t want to think of the number of women he’s probably slept with in his fifty-six years of life versus your lousy twenty-one. Instead, you focus on the building in your stomach.

The orgasm is quiet–you have to be–but it ruins you.

No thunder and no screaming, but a hot and damp wave that makes your eyes water. Makes your thighs twitch, your guilt scream. You slump back against your pillows, chest rising and falling fast, like Joel’s did early in the closet.

You’re dizzy and empty, but feel strangely euphoric. Something you regret praying away all these years if it felt this good. There's a small wet patch on your bed, a reminder of what you’ve done. The cross is another.

But for once, you don’t feel as guilty. It felt good. Eye-opening, even. You don’t want to pray, the words don’t come.

All you can do is lie there, shaking, beneath a crooked old cross and a God who never was there to listen. While Joel Miller slowly becomes your new religion.

@joeldarling @melmel-fandom @ssssc0m @rafeovermorals @lilac-boo

[onceafanalwaysshallbeafan]

What is the current status of KOSA? As of last night, 2024-04-20, this is what congress.gov had to say about it:

I'm seeing lots of posts fearmongering about how it's passed the Senate and is now in the House.

I've seen coordinated attacks against the democratic process over the past 8+ years. It would not surprise me in the least to learn that this might be part of a coordinated attack to get us to let up pressure on our Senators, letting them think that we're suddenly okay with it.

Please remember that Tumblr can just as easily be used to spread misinformation as Twitter or Facebook or Instagram or TikTok. Check authoritative sources.

What I would do? Call your senators, your representative, and the White House switchboard to leave comments on pending legislation.

The government website says it's still in the Senate. Call your senators to oppose it as a current issue.

Call your representative to oppose it as a heads-up to ensure they are aware of it and your opposition.

Call the White House to ensure that President Biden knows not to sign it if it crosses his desk.

Former President Trump already destroyed 50 years of women's rights, and presided over the initial hysteria of the anti-trans groups. He appointed enough justices to the Supreme Court that we're guaranteed social regression until at least two conservative justices retire and are replaced with new Ruth Bader Ginsbergs. He and the GOP (he is basically synonymous with the GOP, after Laura was elected as co-chair) have done a huge amount of damage to our ways of life and our ability to address climate change and global warming. We need to say that enough is enough, and that they won't deprive us of our abilities to discuss the topics they find uncomfortable and want to prevent any kids from hearing about in any online spaces their kids could possibly stumble into.

OUR LIVES AND EXISTENCE AND CULTURE ARE NOT POLITICAL PAWNS TO BE BARTERED AWAY IN BACKROOM DEALS.

We must stand united, or divided we shall surely perish.

[thinkinonsense]

I KNEW YOU IN ANOTHER LIFEᰔ

dp&w!logan howlett x past wife!reader

cw: mostly angst, some fluff, sorta mean logan, cussing.

wc: 800+

a/n: this is inspired by a one-shot I read a while back but I cannot remember who wrote it. If anyone knows, please please please let me know in the comments so I can give them credit <3 update!!! this is it!!

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The last person you thought you would find here in the void is Logan. There has never been a Wolverine in here. You almost didn't believe it when you found out; needing to see him for yourself. And here he was. Right in front of you, the Logan you grieved all those years ago. The one who stole your heart.

Your Logan.

"And who the fuck are you?" He barked, pushing you away from him.

Those words broke your heart the second they left his lips.

Wade smacks Logan, informing him of your past together. Logan looked like he didn't believe Wade at first. You were way too beautiful for any version of him, Logan thought. What would someone like you want with a man like him?

Tears well up in your eyes as you leave, not wanting it to sting anymore. Laura follows you, glaring at the man who looked like her father. Logan didn't seem to care about the new information, instead reaching for another one of Gambit's bottles.

"I'm sorry, mom," Laura whispers, wrapping her arms around you.

"It's okay, sweetie. I'm not sure what I expected to happen." You sniffle. "He just looks so much like him."

"I know."

Suddenly, Laura stood up and stomped out the door to confront the man who upset her mother. She found Logan sitting outside alone by the fire.

"Look kid, I'm not the man you and your mother think I am." Logan sighs, not even bothering to turn around to check if it's Laura.

"You made her cry," Laura hissed, ignoring his previous comment. Logan looked up at the young girl almost apologetically before shaking his head. "Her Logan would have never made her cry."

Logan felt a sharpness in his stomach at the news. Deep down, he wondered if you two were together at some point. He doubted it though because you looked out of his league. If a past version of him managed to marry you then maybe he did some good during his time.

"If you two haven't noticed, I'm the worst Logan apparently."

"You don't have to be."

ᰔ

It's late when you finally stumble out of bed, not able to sleep. Hours of tossing and turning, trying to get Logan out of your mind. This felt like a cruel joke on your poor heart. You know it's unfair to have him pretend to be your Logan but you desperately wanted it to be him.

All of your memories together haunt your mind like a graveyard. Sweet Sundays spent wrapped in sheets. How he kissed your face every morning, had you wear his dog tags, and ride on the back of his motorcycle. You would give anything to get just one of those moments back.

"What are you doin' awake?"

The voice behind you caused you to jump slightly. A hand coming to rest on your back. You turn around, face-to-face with Logan.

"Can't sleep." You shrugged, opening the freezer to pull out a container of strawberry ice cream.

"That shit won't help you sleep." He grunts, sitting at the table. You ignore his grumpiness and continue scooping the ice cream into a bowl.

"Can we talk?" Logan didn't look you in the eyes as he spoke. Too ashamed of his actions earlier.

"I suppose so." You shrugged, pulling the spoon from between your lips.

"Were we really married?"

You answer by pulling the chain around your neck for him to see. A small diamond ring dangled next to the dog tags he gave you. The moment he saw it, he felt like the biggest asshole who ever lived.

"How many years?" The words stung in his throat.

"Five."

"What was our life like?"

"Perfect." You smile softly down at your bowl. "At least it was to me."

"You did a good job with raising her." He muttered, referring to Laura.

"You would have to."

He's silent for a second, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of being a husband and a father. He wished he knew what it was like to be cared for as much as you cared for your Logan.

"You know, you have the same look in your eyes," Your voice was so quiet, stepping closer to him until you were in front of him.

Logan could see the desperation on your face as you stared at his lips. It would be wrong for him to toy with your widowed heart, but he wanted to be the man you needed. The man you deserved.

"I'm not him, sweetheart," He said, attempting to stop you before you hurt yourself. "And I don't want you to get hurt-"

"Please," You beg, eyes filling up with tears. "I don't care who you are. I just don't want it to hurt anymore."

You were slowly killing him. How could he say no to you? Even if he was the worst Logan, he has a heart. Which is why he lets you close the gap between the two of you. His hands are tangled in your hair while one of yours rests on his jaw before climbing into his lap.

For the first time in years, your heart began beating again. You and Logan could play pretend for now. Neither of you cared what would happen tomorrow, right now was all that mattered.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (18 - The Civil War)

Chapter Summary: “She shouldn’t feel like she’s a threat," you said. Natasha tilted her head slightly, considering you. “She doesn’t just feel it, Y/N. She’s been told it. Over and over. The Accords, Vision, everything. It’s going to take more than two weeks to undo all that.”

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5k+ | Chapter Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: Hell yeah I'm finally done with midterm week! So, as promised, here's an update for Sunday that I was supposed to post last Wednesday. Thank you all for waiting! // More author's notes here. GIF credits to the owner. Let me know is this is yours!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The debate over the Sokovia Accords had always seemed like a bureaucratic exercise to you—a lot of grandstanding and red tape, destined to drag on without anything concrete coming of it. But when it ended in literal casualties, moments after the UN summit in Vienna, you realized how naive that assumption had been.

The explosion dominated every news channel, every forum, for weeks. Footage of the carnage played on a relentless loop, like a ruthless reminder that refused to let the world move on. It stoked their anger and fear of the superpowered intensifying—further solidifying the need for a regulation of some sorts. 

And then there was Steve—Captain America—standing between the law and a man the world had already convicted in its collective mind. Protecting a criminal—or so it seemed at first glance. But if you squinted, if you dug beneath the hysteria, you could see the loopholes in the story.

You were taught to never take things at face value. To investigate, to question, to confirm. The video evidence of James Barnes near the scene of the bombing was damning, but not airtight. The timing was too perfect and the evidence too clean—as if it was designed to be found. And then there was the sheer improbability—someone like Barnes being sloppy enough to leave a clue, to incriminate himself by carrying out such large-scale destruction carelessly.

If it really was him, you figured, no one would know. The world wouldn’t have a name to blame or a face to crucify. 

Steve believed it too. He didn’t just think Barnes was innocent—he knew it. Or at least he believed in him enough to stake his own reputation on it. 

The manhunt for Barnes split the Avengers right down the middle. Tony and Natasha were working with the UN and the German authorities, pushing for Barnes’ immediate capture, while Steve enlisted Sam’s help to find him first and uncover the truth once and for all.

Which left you stuck at the compound with Wanda and Vision—because, of course, that’s just how your luck worked.

—

You’d been keeping to yourself, burying your head in books and doing whatever busywork you could find to keep from dwelling on it all. It wasn’t a peaceful kind of quiet, though—not even close. It was rife with tension, and you hated that your main orders were to stay put. 

You’d seen Vision and Wanda together more lately. They were spending time in the kitchen, of all places. Vision seemed to have developed a fascination with cooking, and Wanda, for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, had decided to humor him. 

That’s how you ended up at the world’s most uncomfortable dinner.

The table stretched long, built to fit the entire team, and you settled a few spots away from them. Vision had made something intricate, his approach to food as overly analytical as you’d expect. Wanda had contributed in small ways—chopping vegetables, stirring sauces—but it was clear who had taken the lead.

You sat across from them, awkwardly poking at the meal on your plate. It was good, technically. Perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked. But the scene around the table made it hard to enjoy. Vision sat still, weirdly choosing this time not to participate in this human activity. He looked perfectly content watching his two eaters, wanting to see if he had earned their approval. Wanda wasn’t eating much. She was pushing her food around, her eyes darting toward him, then to you, then back to her plate.

“Is it to your liking?” Vision asked. 

“It’s fine,” you said, knowing full well it was much better than that but not feeling generous enough to say so.

“Wanda assisted with the preparation,” he added, almost as if he thought that might tip the scales.

You glanced at her. She gave a small, half-hearted smile and shrugged. “Just chopping and stuff,” she said.

After that, the conversation died again.

It had felt like a good time to disassociate, and you let your mind drift off somewhere else. More specifically, to the growing rift between Tony and Steve. The misunderstandings were no longer petty disagreements but fundamental divides. If push came to shove, you still hadn’t decided where you stood.

You used to joke about Tony and Steve acting like divorced husbands, bickering over every little thing. Now, the irony wasn’t so funny. They were barreling toward something that resembled a real divorce, and you could almost see them dividing the team like children—figuring out who got custody of whom.

But you? You were always the lone wolf. It seemed more likely you’d walk away from them both, let them fight their battles while you disappeared into the shadows. You’d done it before, and the thought of doing it again didn’t terrify you. And maybe that was the problem.

A sharp noise from outside yanked you out of your thoughts. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was enough to put everyone on edge. Vision’s head cocked slightly, as if concentrating to learn more about what they all just heard.

“Stay here,” he ordered calmly.

“Wait—” you started, but before you or Wanda could get another word out, he disappeared, phasing cleanly through the nearest wall and leaving you both sitting in uneasy silence.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You glanced at Wanda, her fork frozen midair, her eyes trained on the spot where Vision had disappeared. Finally, you exhaled and nudged your plate aside. “This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” you murmured.

Wanda’s head snapped up. Then, to your surprise, a laugh slipped out of her—short, almost involuntary, like it had been startled into existence. “I could tell,” she said, her lips curving into something that might’ve been a smile.

It was angelic and utterly contagious. You smiled back, soft and unplanned, like your body decided for you. It’s the most interaction you’d had with her for a while after bringing her to the orphanage weeks ago. 

God, you’d missed her. 

Out of the corner of your eye, something shifted. Without thinking, you were on your feet, moving to Wanda’s side, positioning yourself as a human shield. It was a ridiculous gesture—pathetic, even—considering what she could do versus what you could offer. But instinct doesn’t care about logic. The drive to protect her overrode everything else, propelling you forward before your brain could catch up.

Clint Barton strolled toward you, bow slung over his shoulder, every inch of him looking like he was prepped for a mission. And judging by the timing, it didn’t take a genius to figure out—you, Wanda, and Vision were the mission.

“Clint?” you uttered in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Disappointing my kids,” he replied dryly, stepping fully into view with that familiar half-grin you hadn’t seen in ages. “Cap needs our help. Come on.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I’m not disappointed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint muttered, his eyes scanning the room, barely giving you a glance. “We need to move. Both of you. Now.”

You were on your feet before he could say anything else, your hand closing around Wanda’s wrist without a second thought. It wasn’t until you felt her skin warm under your grip that you realized what you were doing. You let go just as quickly, glancing back at her with a quiet apology in your eyes.

But Wanda wasn’t paying attention to you. She was giving Clint a hard look, her feet planted firmly on the ground.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wanda said, surprising you both.

“Wanda, you can’t stay here,” Clint said. “After Lagos—”

“I’ve caused enough problems,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s better if I stay out of sight. Out of everyone’s way.”

“You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, you can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass. Y/N, help me out here.”

You glanced at Wanda, trying to decipher what she’s thinking but you came up empty-handed. You turned back to Clint. “You let her decide, Clint. You don’t drag her onto your side—or anyone’s. She chooses.”

Clint chuckled, eyeing you like he already expected your answer before you did. “And what about you? Which side are you on?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but hesitated, not because you didn’t know the answer—you did. You just weren’t ready to say it out loud.

Because the truth was simple: whichever side Wanda chose, that’s where you’d be.

You’d told yourself you could walk away from this. From the Avengers, from the divide, from the mess of it all. And maybe you could. Maybe you would have.

But Wanda—

You wanted to look after her. 

You were saved from answering altogether when Vision reappeared, phased through the far wall.

“Aw, hell,” Clint muttered, his hand twitching toward his bow.

“Clint Barton,” Vision said. “You are not authorized to be here. Step away from Wanda.”

“Yeah, see, the thing is,” he said, casually shifting his stance as he engaged an arrow, “I don’t really care about authorization.”

Clint didn’t wait for Vision’s retort. He released his arrows and triggered the traps he’d set—an electrified net sprung from the ceiling, enveloping Vision in crackling energy. For a split second, you thought it might actually work.

It didn’t.

Vision freed himself out of the net like it was tissue paper, the electricity harmlessly dissipating around him. 

“Yeah, well, worth a shot,” Clint muttered, already nocking an arrow. He let it fly, but Vision caught it midair with a speed that was almost unfair. 

Clint moved fast, dodging Vision’s strikes with a skill that came from years of experience. He didn’t try to overpower him—he wasn’t stupid—but he kept Vision moving, trying to distract him, to buy time. 

Vision held back, almost smug—you'd think he was waiting for Clint to tire himself out, running circles that led nowhere.

“Y/N, a little help?” Clint called, ducking under a swipe from Vision that could’ve caved his skull. Before you could even think to move, Vision had Clint in a chokehold, his vibranium arm coiling around Clint’s throat. Clint's attempts to break free looked almost pathetic, his fists thumping uselessly against Vision's arm.

You froze for a split second, looking at Wanda. Was this what she wanted? Her face gave you nothing, and in that moment of indecision, Clint’s choking gasps snapped you into action.

You rushed forward, grabbing onto Vision’s arm and hauling yourself up, trying to throw him off balance. He barely budged. Desperation took over as you reached behind your back, pulling a small blade from your pocket.

Vision caught the motion instantly. His free arm shot out, grabbing your wrist and twisting it sharply. Pain shot through your arm as the knife clattered to the floor.

You gritted your teeth, trying to fight through the pain. “Let him go, Vision!”

Clint’s face was red now, his struggles weakening. You kicked at Vision’s side, but it was like hitting a brick wall.

“Vision, that’s enough!”

Vision's grip loosened for just a moment, enough for you to catch your breath, before it cinched tighter. You bit back a whimper, already feeling the marks that would bloom across your skin.

"I said, that’s enough," Wanda commanded as red energy crackled menacingly at her fingertips. 

Vision moved to finish the job and the energy surged from Wanda’s hands, slamming into Vision and lifting him clean off the ground. The moment his hold broke, you and Clint crumpled like discarded ragdolls. 

“If you do this, they will never stop being afraid of you,” Vision said. You opened your mouth to argue, to tell Vision he was wrong, but Wanda spoke first.

“I can’t control their fear,” Wanda murmured. Her shoulders sagged as she sighed wearily, looking like she already regretted what she was about to do, knowing it would hurt Vision. “Only my own.”

The ground opened up like a wound, swallowing Vision whole. Wanda’s power didn’t just push him down—it buried him. The compound’s reinforced flooring crumbled like dry leaves, and the sound of his descent—steel on steel, concrete splitting apart—made your stomach churn.

You sat up, head pounding, ribs screaming. Clint was coughing beside you, dragging himself upright with a hand braced against the wall. Neither of you spoke. What could you say?

Wanda stood over the crater she’d made, her hands slack at her sides, red sparks still licking at her fingertips. Her face was blank, but you knew her well enough by now to see through it. Her breathing was too shallow, her shoulders too stiff. She wasn’t fine at all. 

It was a little jarring to think that just a few hours ago, they were cooking together in the kitchen.

“Wanda,” you started, still trying to catch your breath. “Is he—”

“He’ll survive,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Clint gave a weak chuckle, thoroughly impressed and a little horrified. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

—

Things happened dizzyingly fast after that. 

You’d only meant to get Wanda to Clint, to make sure she was safe, but everything spiraled at the airport. You hadn’t thought past that, hadn’t considered the bigger picture or the consequences of leaving the compound with her.

The fight was brutal—friends turning on friends—and you barely kept up, trying to shield Wanda when you could. You’d been hurt, subdued like a criminal, strapped into restraints that bit into your skin. But none of it mattered. Your entire focus was on Wanda—if she was okay, if she was hurt, if she blamed you for any of it.

When they threw you in The Raft, the humiliation of it barely registered. All you could see was Wanda, restrained in that awful straitjacket, her face pale and blank, her hands trembling. It must have been harder on her than anyone else—treated like a criminal with the weight of Lagos hanging over her head. In that moment, you made your choice—Steve had your loyalty now, no matter what came next. But even that didn’t compare to how fiercely you had Wanda’s back. That was something else entirely.

Now, two weeks later, Valencia felt like limbo. A place to breathe—

—with a target on your backs, well, not really.

—

Valencia might’ve been halfway around the globe, but you treated it like hostile territory all the same. Your face—along with the rest of those who backed Steve in his fierce objection to the Sokovia Accords—had hit every newsfeed, and you couldn’t afford to relax here or anywhere else, for that matter. You dressed down, stuck to side streets, and kept your head low. It was Spain, but it might as well have been home—just another place where you were never really safe.

“Have you heard from Clint?”

Natasha nodded before turning the page of the newspaper she’d been reading since this morning. “Yeah. He’s working out a deal with the government.”

You frowned. “What kind of deal?”

“Something about a plea bargain,” she said. “House arrest, probably. It’s the only way he gets to be with his family.”

Clint had fought for all of you, risked everything to stand with Steve, to break Wanda out. It hadn’t fully sunk in just how much he’d sacrificed until now—how much he put on the line for what he believed in.

“That’s messed up,” you muttered, mindlessly stirring the honey you’ve put in your tea a few minutes ago. You’d yet to take a sip.  “If Clint’s willing to sacrifice being with his family, how can Tony not see what we’re standing for?”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Tony sees it. He just sees something else too.”

“Like what?”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. She just looked at you, her gaze steady, like she was weighing her next words. “You weren’t there.”

For a moment, you were confused. “Where?”

“In the Battle of New York. When the sky opened up, and Earth faced the greatest threat it had ever seen—and wasn’t ready for.”

Natasha sighed and took her sunglasses off—a risky move as the cafe was in the middle of a crowded street—but she needed you to more than just hear the words out of her mouth, you needed to see how this wasn’t some trivial disagreement between two people who cared about the same thing. “Tony was at the front lines, throwing everything he had into the fight. There were so many casualties. We couldn’t save everyone, no matter how hard we tried. And the guilt of that... it doesn’t wash off, no matter how many victories come after.”

You frowned, gripping your mug a little tighter. “So his solution is what? Autocracy?”

Natasha laughed and put her glasses back on. “I wasn’t aware you knew what autocracy was,” she teased. “Though, if you really did, you’d know what Tony wants is far from it. This is an entirely different situation.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at your own lips. “If you understand Tony so well, why are you here with us?”

“I’m not here because I switched sides,” she said simply. “I’m here because you need me more than Tony does.”

And she was right. You did. It was bad enough that Clint wasn’t here. You hadn’t realized how much they’d become your safety net until you were on your way and it hit you—you were on your own now. No longer celebrated as a hero but a renowned fugitive. Natasha’s grounding presence was the only thing keeping your nerves from unraveling completely.

“Are you going to drink that?” Natasha asked after a while.

You glanced down at your tea, still stirring the spoon aimlessly. It was cold by now. You shrugged. She waved to the waiter and asked for the bill.

“I tried to convince Wanda to go out today,” Natasha said casually, like she wasn’t sure how you’d take it. “Thought a walk might do her some good.”

You looked up from your tea, surprised. “And?”

“She passed.”

You sighed loudly. “It’s been two weeks.”

“It’s not enough time for some people.”

You didn’t say anything right away, not wanting to push or show how much that affected you. Two weeks felt like forever when you were going over everything in your head when you first got out of the country. For Wanda, it must’ve felt like a lifetime—and not in the way that healed anything.

“Did she say why?” you asked quietly. 

Natasha’s lips twitched, like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or sigh. “She didn’t have to. She thinks stepping outside is dangerous. For her, for everyone. And maybe she’s not wrong.”

“She shouldn’t feel like she’s a threat,” you said.

Natasha tilted her head slightly, considering you. “She doesn’t just feel it, Y/N. She’s been told it. Over and over. The Accords, Vision, everything. It’s going to take more than two weeks to undo all that.”

—

The hotel you’d been staying at for the past three nights was tucked away from the town center, far enough that the food you’d picked up for Wanda had gone cold by the time you got back. The isolation had its perks, though. This part of town had a quiet charm, with streets adorned in LED lights strung like Christmas was a permanent state of mind here.

The team had split up to stay under the radar. Steve accompanied Bucky to Wakanda, bartering a deal with T’Challa. Sam was stationed in a modest inn on the opposite side of the city, while you, Natasha, and Wanda ended up here, in a small, charming hotel surrounded by cobblestone streets and 15th-century architecture. With no mission except to stay hidden, it should’ve been the perfect chance to soak in the city like a tourist, to appreciate the timeless beauty around you.

But instead, you found yourself standing outside Wanda’s hotel room, the takeout bag dangling from your hand. You took a shaky breath, then another, willing your heartbeat to slow. It wasn’t working. Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of the bag, the cheap paper threatening to give out at any second.

Why were you so nervous? It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d seen Wanda since… everything. But things were different now. She felt different, like she was retreating into herself more and more each day.

Another deep breath. You adjusted your grip on the bag, smoothed down the front of your jacket, and gave yourself a silent pep talk. She needed you, just like you needed Natasha. Like you needed Clint.

Finally, you raised your hand, but before your knuckles met the wood, the door creaked open.

Wanda stood there, barefoot, her frame almost swallowed by an oversized shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder. It was frayed at the hem, the fabric softened by too many washes. Her pajama pants—faded plaid—looked like they’d seen better days, one cuff slightly torn where it dragged against the ground. She looked as worn as her clothes, her hair in a messy bun with stray strands framing her face.

For a moment, she just blinked at you.

“You knew it was me?” you asked, your voice coming out thinner than you'd intended. 

“I had a feeling,” Wanda said with a small, knowing smile. “You breathe a little too loud.”

An embarrassed chuckle escaped you, awkward and unsteady, and you suddenly remembered the takeout bag clutched in your hand. Her gaze followed yours, and she tilted her head slightly. 

“What’s that?”

“Oh, right,” you said, your face heating up as you held it up like a peace offering. “It’s for you. Some kind of beef stew—I, uh, forgot the actual name. It’s probably cold now, though. You should—”

Before you could ramble any further, Wanda reached out and took the bag from your hands. Her fingers brushed yours briefly, and the simple touch sent you into a headspin. “Thank you,” she murmured, looking into the bag.

You swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “You’re welcome, Maximoff.” It felt like the right moment to leave, like you’d done your part, but your feet refused to move. You stood there like a fool, heart hammering, until Wanda—thankfully—broke the silence.

“Would you like to come in, Y/N?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly, as if she wasn’t entirely sure of herself either.

Too nervous to speak, you merely nodded.

—

The room was a bit of a mess—not filthy, but definitely in disarray. Books and papers were scattered across the coffee table, a pair of shoes lay haphazardly near the door, and a jacket was draped over the back of a chair. Wanda must have noticed your gaze drifting across the space because she quickly began tidying up. She grabbed a bundle of clothes from various corners—sweatshirts, a scarf, what looked like a pair of mismatched socks—and folded them into a neat pile. With an almost embarrassed smile, she placed them on the small sofa tucked beneath the room’s single window.

“Sorry,” Wanda murmured, “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, though your eyes darted back to the room despite yourself. There was something endearing about the lived-in clutter, a reminder that Wanda, for all her power and grace, for all that had happened in recent weeks—was still human in moments like these.

She gestured awkwardly toward the sofa. “You can sit, if you want. Sorry again for the mess.”

“You really don’t have to apologize. My place is worse,” you said. It wasn’t.

Wanda offered you a half-smile as she moved to the kitchenette, pulling open a drawer to grab some utensils. “I find that hard to believe,” she teased lightly.

Busted. Your room at the compound had been practically bare. Your hotel room now was even emptier. You missed your own apartment, but could only assume it had already been raided by the feds.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shot back, and she laughed softly, the sound settling something nervous and fluttering in your chest.

Wanda set the bowl on the counter and turned on the stove. You watched as she poured the stew into a small saucepan and stirred it absently. 

“You should eat some too,” she said over her shoulder. “It’ll taste better warm.”

“I already had dinner, actually.”

Wanda glanced back at you, her brow lifting in question. “With Nat?”

You nodded, feeling oddly exposed under her gaze. “Yeah.”

Her lips quirked, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How’s she doing?”

It wasn’t the kind of question that invited much of an answer—it felt more like something to say, just to fill the space. You gave a half-shrug, unsure what else to do with it. “She’s fine.”

Wanda didn’t push for more. She settled onto the sofa beside you, tucking her legs beneath her and taking a small bite of the stew.

You wanted to ask how she was. How she was holding up after everything. But you couldn’t get any word out. You didn’t know how to ask without making it sound like pity, and you didn’t want to do that to her. Still, the question burned at the edge of your thoughts.

It had to be hard, being in the middle of all this again, being wanted—hunted—just like she was when she aligned with Hydra. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Vision was on the other side now, the person who should’ve stood with her through it all, standing with the people determined to stop her. That kind of fracture would break anyone.

You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. She was focused on her food, but the energy radiating off her couldn’t talk you out of asking her if she was okay.

“Wanda?” you started, “Are you—”

“I’m okay,” she said, cutting you off gently, as though she knew what you were going to ask. For a moment you considered if she was reading your mind at the moment. 

She set the bowl down and offered you a faint smile. “Really.”

You nodded, though you didn’t really believe her. The room fell quiet again, and you looked away, legs starting to bounce a little as you thought of what to say next. 

“Has Steve come up with the next plan yet?” Wanda asked.

Her question confused you for a moment, making you feel like you’ve missed something. “Plan? Plan for what?”

She shrugged, chewing her food thoughtfully. “To come back. To clear our names. To return to…” She trailed off. To return to our normal lives.

Oh. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. Being an Avenger never felt anything close to normal, so you weren’t sure you ever really knew what normal was.

You wanted to assure her that Steve’s working on it, but you couldn’t lie to her either. From what you heard from Nat, Steve was preoccupied with helping Bucky’s asylum in Wakanda. And that could take a while. “I don’t think that’s possible anytime soon.”

“Why not?”

“Steve and Tony…” You exhaled slowly, trying to find the right way to explain. “Their misunderstanding—it’s serious this time. It’s not something that’s going to blow over.”

“Right,” Wanda said curtly, then fell silent, turning her attention back to her food.

Without thinking, you blurted, “Do you miss Vision?”

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide like she hadn’t been expecting you to mention Vision at any point in this conversation.

“I…” Wanda deliberated. “I do.”

You forced your jealousy down your dry throat. Of course she did. What were you thinking, even asking? Vision was her lover. They were clearly going through something, and here you were, dredging it up. You should’ve left right after giving her the food—that would’ve been the perfect time to go.

“I regret what I did to him,” Wanda said suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. “Burying him w-with…with my powers.” Her hand tightened around the spoon, the metal scraping against the edge of the bowl. “I didn’t think—I just reacted. And it wasn’t just him. I hurt the others too. At the airport.”

Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you expected. “Wanda—”

She shook her head quickly, cutting you off. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I thought I was doing the right thing. Fighting for the right side. But after everything… I don’t know if there is a right side anymore.”

Her honesty floored you. You’d spent so much time blaming Tony for losing control, for going after Bucky, that you never stopped to turn the lens on yourself. You’d had your careless moments, caused your share of injuries to civilians on missions. You were just as responsible for how things unraveled—just like Steve, Tony, and the rest of the team.

“I want to believe we’re all still on the same side,” you muttered, resting your elbows on your knees as you searched for the right words. “That we’re still fighting for the same things—for justice, to protect people, to make things better. We’ve just… messed up how we’re going about it. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. We just need to figure out how to sort it all out.”

You swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak. “I’m sure Vision forgives you for what happened. He… he loves you. And you two? You’re going to be okay.”

Her head snapped up at that. “What do you mean, ‘we’re going to be okay?’”

You winced, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck as you tried to clarify. “I just mean, yeah, sure, it might be a deal breaker for some people—getting buried alive and all—but Vision… he’s not like that. I don’t think he’d break up with you for—”

“We already broke up.”

You froze, staring at her. “What?” was all you managed to say.

Wanda sighed, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a soft clink. “We broke up. Before Clint came to get me from the compound.”

“Why?” you found yourself asking. You thought you'd feel happy, or at least relieved, but the truth left a bad taste in your mouth. Two people you cared about—yes, you’d finally admitted to yourself that you cared more than you wanted to—had ended their relationship, and somehow, that didn’t sit right with you. “I thought… I thought you two…”

“It wasn’t working,” Wanda explained. “We wanted it to, but things between us were always… complicated. And after the Accords, after everything that happened in Lagos…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It became clear that we were too different. He wanted peace. I wanted… freedom. And I guess we couldn’t find a way to have both.”

Wanting different things has a way of pulling two people off the same path. You wanted freedom too—but until you stopped chasing it, how could you want anything else? How could you want what Wanda wanted? But then, you’ve never aligned your interests with someone just to stay by their side, so why start now?

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, the words feeling small but all you had to give.

She gave you a small, tired smile. “Don’t be. It was mutual, even if it still hurts.”

You wanted to say something—to comfort her, to remind her she wasn’t alone—but it didn’t feel like the right time. Maybe this was a moment to sit with it, to let everything settle. So instead, you reached out, your hand finding hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. A quiet way of saying, I’m here.

It was the first time in weeks you’d touched her.

Wanda looked down at your hand, then back at you. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Your heart slowed, like it wanted to stretch this moment out, to hold onto the feeling of her hand beneath yours forever.

You gave her a small nod. “Always.”

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - six (j.yh); section one

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. five | six (section 1); (section 2) | series masterlist 🔗read on ao3✨across stardust pinterest board

note: the end. thank you all so much for loving this story and being so kind and supportive. this fic has meant the world to me, and i hope you all are happy with the ending. there will be a short epilogue posted soon, but for now our story comes to a close.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, some general angst and upset emotions, allusions to a bad household growing up and cptsd, very frank coversations about idol life, pr, etc. saesangs and saesang invasions of privacy, discussions about delulu both fun and not okay delusion, but then also smut! including.... oral m!receiving, throat fucking, messy oral, cockwarming, dom!yunho, sub!reader, actual d/s dynamics even if it's kinda not defined, subspace but reader doesn't know that's what it is, fingering, dirty talk, fingers in mouth, light degredation, mostly praise, heavy on the good girls / pretty girls, cowgirl, absolutely intense multiple orgasms, creampie, dw they don't need to wrap it up they're married and in love

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 21.9k **note, this part was too long again for tumblr! please make sure you continue on to part six section 2, linked here!

The ring feels heavy on your finger when you wake up on Sunday morning to an empty bed, but you’re grateful for the weight of it. Without its presence you’d have nothing tangible telling you that the wedding happened at all, that you and Yunho were all of a sudden husband and wife. As the days of the week drag on, the ring becomes your tether. Every time you feel his spikes of anxiety, disappointment, or discomfort, you find yourself fiddling with the ring, your only true way of communicating with him while this is all happening around you, to you.  

By Tuesday you think you’ve memorized every divot and scratch on the band, and by the evening on Wednesday you’ve taken to spinning it in twisted little circles on your finger, so many times you probably have an indent already. 

On Thursday, you wake up once again to his side of the bed empty. You were up late the night before, a deep pit in your stomach, but once you fell asleep you really, truly slept. With Yunho gone, it’s hard to get rest like this, but somewhere in the back of your mind you know your body is trying to carry you both through the stress. 

When your eyes open it’s to a room bathed in full sun. For a second you feel relaxed, at ease, but the quiet of your apartment and the silence around you jolts you properly awake and you twist in the sheets to find your phone. 

Each morning, Yunho had been updating you on the negotiations. 

The meetings had gotten off to a rocky start to say the least, with their CEO truly blindsided by the sudden negotiations. Yunho hadn’t revealed too much about his reaction to the marriage, but you can put two and two together. 

Your eyes flick up to the clock on your nightstand and with the sharp sink of a stone in your stomach you realize it’s already ten. 

Scrambling in the sheets you search for your phone and hastily take off the Do Not Disturb. 

You have a missed call from an unknown number from eight thirty this morning, but then one simple text from Yunho sent only fifteen minutes ago. 

I know I said you wouldn’t need to speak with anyone, but our CEO would like to meet you.  

You sit down immediately, tapping back a fast reply - Meet me? 

He must be keeping a close eye on his phone, because his reply flicks back in record time - He wants to discuss your job directly, and it should be your choice how things are handled, not mine.

Your stomach flips, but he’s right - What time? 

Can you be here by eleven? 

You check the clock again - Yes. 

It takes a moment for him to respond this time, and you wonder if he’s in a meeting now and organizing things. If he’s speaking to the CEO directly, if their attorney is at his side. 

Your phone buzzes with his reply and you breathe out a sigh of relief - This feels like the last step, and I’ll be next to you the whole time. I love you. 

You text him that you love him too, and with a mix of tumbling excitement and panic in your belly, you get ready and start the all too familiar walk to the KQ offices. When you get there, you’re early and a new face from the security desk gives you a visitor’s pass and walks you towards the elevators. 

You haven’t seen Yunho in person since he kissed you on Saturday night and tucked you back into bed, but when the elevator doors open and you’re greeted with his face, everything melts away. 

“Hey,” He smiles, “I thought that was you,” 

“Hi,” You smile back, probably giving too much familiarity away for being in a shared hallway, but with him looking at you like that, you couldn’t care less anymore. 

“Are you ready?” He asks. 

“As I can be,” You nod, “is he upset?” 

Yunho shakes his head, “No, but I don’t know, this whole negotiation process has been strange,” 

You take in a deep breath and nod, “Let’s get this over with then.” 

Without hesitation, Yunho takes your hand in his, “Let me walk you back,” 

Your heart stutters, your hand solidly in his within full view of anyone, but he doesn’t pull away or apologize like the touch was an accident, he meant to take your hand and he meant for people to see. 

His thumb smooths over your knuckles. 

“You’ll be in the meeting?” You double check as you start to follow him up the hall. 

“All of us will,” He assures you, “don’t worry.” 

You give his hand a squeeze and steady your racing heart. 

The CEO’s corner office is nice, but somehow still modest. That’s the first thought that strikes you as Yunho knocks lightly and opens the door, nothing like the last corner office you were dressed down in, flashy in ways that made you want to roll your eyes. 

You’ve met Kim Gyu-uk before, but it was brief and years ago when the teams were much smaller. He’s around sometimes on tour or gives rousing speeches at larger company parties, but otherwise the KQ CEO was largely out of your orbit, your jobs so vastly separate you rarely cross paths even in the halls of the same building. 

Despite that, he greets you with a smile like he’s been friends with you for years, standing the moment the door opens and crossing to the front of his desk to outstretch his hand to you. 

Your hand slips out of Yunho’s and you meet the handshake. 

“Miss y/n,” He shakes your head, “it’s very good to see you again.” 

“Oh,” You bow your head, “thank you,” 

“Perhaps I should say Mrs. Jeong,” He grins, eyes flicking between you and Yunho, “Yunho, now that your lovely wife is here I can offer proper congratulations.” 

Yunho wraps an arm around your shoulders, thanking him, but you have the strangest sensation that this can’t be real. He’s too kind, too pleased about the marriage, too congratulatory, and it makes your stomach clench with unease. 

“Alright,” He says after a moment, returning to his commanding side of the desk, “let’s chat,” 

Yunho guides you forwards to an empty chair, and you sink down into it, nodding to the rest of the men in the room, Attorney Choi at your right, Yunho at your left, and the rest of the members perched around the room in various spots. 

While there’s a subtle air of tension in the room, no one looks upset or outwardly stressed, and all you feel from Yunho’s side of the bond is anticipation. 

“So,” Kim Gyu-uk begins, “I trust that Yunho has been keeping you up to speed on our meetings this week?” 

He hasn’t, not nearly enough for you to feel confident in this meeting, but you nod anyways, “Yes, I think I’m clear on things,” 

He leans back in his chair, “Then you already know my position on your termination. While you two technically broke contracts and the company was within the right to fire you, I was not properly informed of the situation and of the true nature of your relationship. Mr. Minchul took it upon himself to handle it in the way that he did, and though I disagree with his actions, this is my company and my responsibility.” 

Yunho takes your hand back in his. 

“I apologize,” Gyu-uk says, “on behalf of the company and personally, you were treated without respect or consideration. I can assure you it won’t happen again,” 

“Oh,” You manage, “I… thank you, of course, thank you,” 

“Mr. Michul was let go this morning,” He adds. 

Your eyes widen, but Yunho leans forward, “What?” 

“Clearly we need a bit of housecleaning,” Gyu-uk offers, “you know we’ve never operated that way, and I don’t intend to start now.” 

Hongjoong smiles in your peripheral vision and nods, pleased. 

There’s a collective sense of relief, and your tense fingers start to relax. 

“Now,” Gyu-uk rests his elbows on the desk, leaning forward to address you, “as for your position here. I cannot offer you the same job,” 

Your heart sinks. 

“With your relationship,” He nods towards you both, “it wouldn’t be professional to have you work in such close proximity. I would say the same to any couple in this building,” 

You nod, “I can understand that,” 

“That being said,” He smiles, “I hope that you will accept a position working with the Xikers team,” 

Yunho smiles next to you, watching your face carefully. 

Gyu-uk continues, “You’d be in a slightly more senior role with that team of artists, but you’ve done great work for years with us, and until this I’ve never heard anything but positive feedback about you and your performance.” 

You’re stunned silent. 

Their CEO smiles and nods, “And of course,” he says, “Ateez may need an extra pair of hands on tour from time to time, if you’re comfortable with a certain amount of additional responsibilities and overtime,” 

Your eyes prick with tears, “Of course,” you interject, but then catch yourself, dipping your head and getting your emotions under control. 

Yunho rubs the back of your hand again. 

“Good,” He nods, “then Monday, can I expect to see you back at work?”

You swallow back the knot in your throat, “Yes, sir,” 

He nods, pleased. 

Attorney Choi clears his throat next to you, “I’d like to see her employment contract,” 

“I assumed so,” 

“We want explicit statements excluding their relationship from any of the standard language,” He continues, “and we expect an increase for a more senior position, even if Xikers is a junior group.” 

“Oh, I,” The words slip out, a slight shake to your head, you can’t lose this job when it’s been such a fight to get it back. 

Attorney Choi holds up a hand towards you, rendering you silent, but his eyes stay on their CEO. 

“I anticipated that already,” Gyu-uk laughs, a huff of air through his nose, “I’ll have the contract forwarded over for your review today. Satisfied?” 

“For now,” Attorney Choi nods, “where do we stand on our redlines?” 

It’s clear the conversation has shifted back to their employment contracts, and you make brief eye contact with Yunho and then Gyu-uk, “I’m sorry,” you interrupt, “should I step out?” 

He shakes his head, “Stay, we have a few more things to discuss.” 

Yunho separates your hands, shifting in his chair, and his hand finds a new home on your mid back. 

Their CEO looks to Attorney Choi and nods, “I am comfortable saying we have reached an agreement,”

You can practically feel the energy coming off the members at that sentence, and you glance to the side to see their faces. Hongjoong looks pleased and deeply relieved, and San and Seonghwa are grinning from their position at the far wall. 

Relief courses through you from Yunho. 

On his side you catch Mingi’s eyes, calm and betraying nothing, but you can see that he’s pleased and relieved too. Your eyes meet for the barest second, and in it he gives you a small, private smile. You can’t see the other members' expressions without twisting in your chair, but you imagine they’re feeling the same collective relief. 

“Can we agree on a five year term?” Gyu-uk continues, and you look back up. 

“Five years, with a salary review at three,” Attorney Choi says, completely calm and cool. 

There’s a pause. For a moment you wonder if this will push them back from the agreement and back into negotiations, but blissfully Kim Gyu-uk smiles. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” He says, reaching his hand across the table, “but I think we can agree to that.” 

Attorney Choi shakes his hand firmly. 

“Contracts will be ready for review by this afternoon,” Gyu-uk confirms, “if everything looks good, we can execute tomorrow and put this all behind us.”

Yunho lets out a heavy sigh of relief. 

“Dinner,” Gyu-uk says, “tomorrow after your recordings, my treat. We have much to celebrate.” 

In a snap the tension of the week is gone, and there’s a sudden rush of handshakes, hugs, the members erupting in a flurry of excitement all around you. You know from conversations with Yunho that they didn’t get everything they wanted in the renegotiation process, you know that’s how contracts work, but they got the important things. And you and Yunho got each other.

In the celebratory fray, Gyu-uk steps close to Yunho and claps him on the shoulder, “Now that that’s settled,” he says, “let’s have that talk,” 

Attorney Choi smoothly slides into the conversation, “Yes, let’s.” 

You glance between them. 

Gyu-uk nods and steps back, “Alright, everyone, I have some additional things to discuss with the happy couple,” 

Yunho leans in, “It’s okay, don’t worry.” 

You nod, but his words do nothing to soothe the strange sensation in your gut. 

“I’ll see everyone else for dinner tomorrow night,” He nods, “I’m glad we could reach an agreement, and I appreciate everyone’s additional time over the past week while we worked this through.” 

It’s the most professional and polite dismissal you’ve ever seen, but the meaning is clear. Gyu-uk wants the room cleared out, and he’s not waiting around for it to happen naturally. 

Hongjoong exchanges a quick word with Yunho as he steps out, “You good?” 

“Good,” He nods, “we’re fine,” 

Hongjoong nods, and then meets your eyes, “Glad to have you back, y/n,” 

“Me too,” You smile, “thank you, for everything, seriously,” 

He nods, shrugging a bit, “It’s nothing.” 

It wasn’t nothing, not at all. You know how many sleepless nights the members spent preparing for this moment, how many difficult conversations they had to get through. And while not every part of it was for you and Yunho, they put themselves on the line right alongside you both and you feel like you’ll never be able to thank them enough for that. 

After a moment, the room clears out, leaving you and your husband and your attorney, and a sea of empty chairs. 

Gyu-uk looks a little more serious this time, and he sighs as he takes a seat behind his desk. 

Nervous bubbles pop in your stomach. 

“I won’t lie to you,” He says, looking at Yunho, “you’ve put me in a hell of a position here, kid,” 

Yunho nods, “I know.” 

Gyu-uk waves you all down to a seat again and rubs his eyes, he’s tired too, you realize, “I want you to know, I would have agreed to dropping the clauses and having her back without the marriage. If you say you’re bonded, I personally believe that, and I can see it, it’s plain as day looking at the two of you.” 

Your heart thumps quickly in your chest. 

“In another life you would have made a good business man,” Gyu-uk laughs, “because this was one serious fucking ace of a negotiation tactic,”

He glances at you when he curses, “Excuse my language,” he says, but you shake your head to tell him it’s fine. 

“Sir,” Yunho takes your hand again, “I love my job, but you and your wife are soulmates, aren’t you?” 

Gyu-uk’s eyes flick up and he nods. 

That’s new information to you, and your breath seems to stay trapped in your chest anticipating Yunho’s next words. 

“Tell me,” Yunho says calmly, “what kind of a man would I be if I left this up to chance?” 

Emotion bubbles in your chest and you blink back another tug of tears. 

Gyu-uk sighs and leans back in his chair, “Point taken,” he says. 

“I stand by my choices,” Yunho adds, his thumb passing over the band of your wedding ring. 

“I know,” Gyu-uk nods, “and you better keep that mentality, because I don’t know if you both have thought this through, but what happens from here is going to be ugly.” 

You grip Yunho’s hand a little tighter. 

“We know,” Yunho says. 

“No,” Gyu-uk shakes his head, “you don’t know.” 

Yunho takes a breath, but Gyu-uk continues smoothly. 

“We’re going to take a serious hit from this,” He explains, “we’ll lose appearances, venues, brand deals. Fans are going to boycott, they’re going to say cruel things, girls are going to burn your photocards and say you betrayed them. Our revenue will take a dip, potentially a significant one, and that has ramifications of its own.” 

Yunho swallows tightly. 

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the honest scrutiny of his words. 

“What’s more than that,” Gyu-uk continues, “is what will happen to her.” 

Yunho’s posture broadens, defensive, his spine straighter as he takes in a breath to push back. 

“Her name, her family's names, where she lives, everything you’ve ever posted online will be scrutinized and picked through. That’s to say nothing of the fans that will cross the line offline; stalking, harassment, death threats,” 

Your breath feels thready, panicked. 

“Did you want this meeting just to scold them? Get to the point,” Attorney Choi interrupts, “They know the risks.” 

“Do you want that for her?” Gyu-uk continues. 

“Of course not,” Yunho’s jaw is set tightly. 

“You should have come to me first,” Gyu-uk says firmly, “I’ve known you since you were a boy, Yunho. I would have listened to you, and we could have made a plan for the two of you together,” 

Yunho shakes his head, “Sir, with all due respect I don’t know if I believe that. No matter how long we’ve known each other, I’m an idol on a rookie contract, and you’re still my CEO.” 

Gyu-uk regards him, his posture tight, and then he nods, “Maybe,” 

“‘Maybe’ wasn’t good enough for me,” Yunho says plainly, “and I may have let the company lead for me in the past, but this is about more than me now.” 

“I can understand that,” Gyu-uk concedes. 

Both of you wait for him to say more. 

“My point is,” Gyu-uk finally says, “you’ve put me on the back foot, and that’s not somewhere I enjoy being.” 

Yunho stays silent, unapologetic, but nods. 

“What I’m asking you now,” Gyu-uk says clearly, “after we’ve made our deals internally, is to buckle up for what we’re going to have to do.” 

The men on either side of you don’t say a word, and you glance between them before you finally speak up yourself, “Which would be?” 

Gyu-uk’s eyes click to yours, assessing, “We need to be on the right side of this story. You’ve worked with idols for years, are you clear on what that means?” 

“You want to announce it?” Your eyes widen a little. 

You were ready for the story to break at some point, and you and Yunho had agreed that being together was worth the risk of that, but going public this quickly still strikes you in the chest. 

“Immediately,” Gyu-uk nods. 

Yunho shakes his head, “Absolutely not,” he leans forwards, “we have time to figure things out,” 

“Yunho,” Gyu-uk stares at him with a withering look, almost fatherly in amusement at Yunho’s naivete, “you can’t make a move this strong and then concede before the check mate.”

Yunho’s jaw tightens. 

“Catch me up here,” You rest a hand on Yunho’s leg and lean forwards to keep Gyu-uk focused on you. 

“This past week,” He explains, “we had discussed a strategy for how to handle the story of your relationship breaking. Standardly, the company line for dating scandals that don’t produce definitive proof is silence. When caught in something more serious or undeniable, there’s usually a lot of apologies from the idol, groveling, and again, silence from the company. In both of those scenarios there is no real room for the couple to be together.” 

“Okay,” You nod, hand sliding to find Yunho’s. 

“Marriage is different,” He continues, “it has a different public perception, so do soulmate bonds. Marriage is also legally binding, which I know both of you are very clearly aware of,” 

Yunho bristles a little, but Gyu-uk isn’t wrong, it’s exactly why you did it now. 

“There are three options as I see it,” He holds your gaze, and something tells me that these three things were made very clear to Yunho this week even if you’re still in the dark. 

“Option one,” Gyu-uk says, “we renegotiate and Yunho leaves the company on positive terms, leaving you both free to pursue whatever lives you want together.” 

Your breath quickens. 

“It’s clear from this week that option is not viable, but it is the path that would afford you both the most privacy.” 

“What’s option two?” You prompt him. 

There’s a strange flicker of appreciation in his face for your directness and he continues, “Option two is that we wait for you both to be caught and then run the company playbook. It’s not a matter of if that will happen but when given marriage licenses are public record and people outside of this room are aware of your relationship.” 

You nod. 

“Option three is to go public now,” 

“We don’t have to announce it right away,” Yunho presses, “we can wait a little while, figure out the best way, this isn’t,” 

“Yunho,” Gyu-uk interrupts softly, “we do, and you know that.” 

“What do you suggest?” Your thumb strokes over the back of Yunho’s hand, but you keep your focus on the conversation. 

“I have a larger plan put together with the PR team,” He explains, and then looks to Yunho, “but we are willing to take this risk with you for the good of the group. We have worked together since you were trainees, and I hope you understand that the reason we are even having this conversation is because I genuinely, genuinely believe this group is stronger with you in it.” 

Yunho nods, his eyes flicking down. 

“The company will announce it,” Gyu-uk says smoothly, “very clearly and in no uncertain terms you will have our support in that announcement. You will need to address your fans in a variety of posts, but the PR team thinks starting off with something personal on your Instagram is the right path.” 

“From there?” Your husband asks. 

“We remain positive and we handle the questions as they come,” Gyu-uk offers, “we’re wading into unprecedented territory here, but we will handle it all head on.” 

Yunho nods and then looks up sharply, “Does her name need to be in the announcement?” 

“Yunho,” You murmur softly. 

No matter how ready you both were for the oncoming storm the day of your wedding, it’s clear that here and now all he can think about is the risks, the worst case scenarios. 

“No,” Gyu-uk says, “and we’d like to keep your relationship as private as possible, not just for you, we really do not want to stoke things further and invite more inquiry. Y/n, your name will be public one way or another, but it won’t come from our announcement. You should prepare yourself for when it happens, but we’ll provide you with as much time as we can.” 

“Thank you,” You murmur. 

“She’ll need security,” Attorney Choi speaks up. 

Yunho nods, his hand tightening on yours. 

“That’s a given,” Gyu-uk says, “if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” 

Relief bleeds through your chest. 

“That being said,” He continues, “there is a chance this story is uncontrollable, that this industry is not ready for the change you want them to be ready for.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest. 

“We can only do so much,”

Yunho nods and looks from you to his CEO, “If that happens, I already told you, I will resign and I’ll make sure the members know it’s my choice. They won’t follow me,” 

Your eyes widen, your hand tight on his. 

“Yunho,” His attorney warns. 

“We will do everything we can to prevent that and avoid that,” Gyu-uk says earnestly, “that is not a path any of us want to walk. I give you my word on that,”

“This needs to be in writing,” Attorney Choi says, “if you want a stipulation for their relationship have an attorney draft-,” 

“No,” Yunho shakes his head, “no more contracts. I’m trusting you on this, and I give you my word too,” 

The assess each other quietly for a moment, and then Gyu-uk nods, “Alright,” 

Yunho’s hand rests on your back, “When do you intend to announce, then?” 

“We’re on a bit of a time clock with the next comeback,” Gyu-uk says, “but we’ll go to print on Thursday of next week. We’ll work through the language this week, and then Wednesday night you both will leave Seoul for a few days until the brunt of it blows over.” 

“Leave Seoul?” You ask.

”My brother has a house in Jeju. It’s private, rarely used, and far, far away from any newspapers or fans who would want to show up and harass you,” He explains, “consider it a wedding present,” 

You blink.

He sighs and then leans forwards, “Think of it as a way to get out of town and stay offline for a few days,” he says, “whatever the response is, it won’t be easy. Take a few days to yourselves and get your heads on straight, this is going to be a long process with a lot of publicity to manage. Let us handle it and get a few days alone,” 

You nod, and Yunho says, “What else?” 

“Nothing else,” Gyu-uk assures, “you both need to meet with Harin, and then you both need to lay low and let this play out.” 

Harin, the head of their PR team, was always available to nip and tuck a story into just the right language to sway public perception, and you’re not surprised in the least that this is where you’d be heading next. 

“If we’re doing it that soon,” Yunho says, “we need to discuss the apartments.” 

“What?” You turn your head, studying Yunho’s profile. 

“I was going to say the same thing,” Attorney Choi adds, “it would certainly make security easier.” 

Gyu-uk only looks at him.

“What apartment?” You ask again. 

Yunho turns his head to you, “We’re able to get our own apartments now,” he explains, “without managers living in unit as long as the building has approved security protocols and is within a reasonable distance to management and the offices,” 

You remember that clause in the paperwork you read, “Right,” 

He smiles, “I’m also contractually able to have a roommate,” 

You’re sure the surprise is all over your face. 

“So,” He turns back to Gyu-uk, “if we’re concerned about people stalking her or harassing her, I think she’s a lot safer living with me in a building that has security,” 

Gyu-uk sighs. 

“And I think you know better than anyone,” Yunho adds, “how much better I will be at my job if I’m not unnecessarily separated from my bonded soulmate,” 

For a moment, Gyu-uk shows nothing on his face but calm calculation, and then he nods, a small smile pulling at the edge of his lip, “I agree.” 

Yunho’s hand closes on yours, “Good,” 

Gyu-uk rubs his tired eyes again and then nods, “Let me speak with security, there’s not much time for us to get an apartment sorted before the announcement, but until we can, you’re of course free to stay with y/n at her apartment or at your dorm. But communicate clearly with management, no driving yourself or public transportation,” 

“y/n walks to work,” Yunho adds. 

“Not anymore,” Gyu-uk shakes his head, “not until we know what this is going to be like, is that fair?” 

“Absolutely,” Yunho agrees, “whatever we need to do.” 

All you can do is nod, once again your head spinning at the amount of information you’re being dropped into. 

“Alright,” He leans towards the telecom on his desk and presses a button, calling out to reception. You listen as he sets up a call with the head of the security team and as he directs Harin and the PR team to set up in the small conference room down the hall. 

“Last thing,” Gyu-uk says as he stands, clearly signaling the end of this conversation, “rings off, until the story breaks.” 

Yunho nods, “Fair enough.” 

“Stay discreet for a few more days,” He advises, “and then after that, well, we’ll take it as it comes.”

The meeting ends with more handshakes, with both of you being ushered into a conference room with the PR team who are more than prepared to discuss strategy at length. You don’t have a moment to debrief with Yunho, to drop your smile and take a breath and ask him how you got here to this result all of a sudden on a Thursday. Instead, you’re at another conference room table with a team of people who seem to know more about social media than you could have ever fathomed. 

Harin is a small woman, but within two minutes you can tell she’s a fearsome adversary when it comes to arguing and spinning a story. You’ve never been the subject of her inquiries before, but all of a sudden you’re center stage. 

For hours you pour over details in ways you couldn’t even imagine. Yunho seems unphased by the directness and the detail in their questions, but they peel apart every facet of your life and your connections until there’s no stone unturned, no surprise story about your life that could break without them knowing and having a pre-planned response. 

You don’t have any school drama, no history of bullying or bad behavior. Your relationship history isn’t all that scandalous, only one bad breakup, but it was him who cheated and not you. Your relationship with your parents is described as unfortunate, but not unfamiliar in their line of work. The PR team files these little facts away for a rainy day, detailed and meticulous in their every follow up. 

Harin is clearly pleased that you’re at least moderately attractive, but you watch the way they try to label you and market you, your tattoos at least ‘consistent’ and ‘feminine’ enough to be deemed trendy and artistic. She’s appreciative of your personal style, but when she suggests layering in particular designer pieces to look more elevated you start to think that Harin and her team can only communicate in backhanded compliments. 

By the end they’ve dissected you open. 

It isn’t until one of the PR team members asks you a pointed question about your gay sister that real annoyance flickers through you and Yunho interrupts, making it very clear that Hana and Em are not only off limits, they’ll be publicly supported by both of you if anyone publishes anything negative about them. 

Once again, Harin takes it all in stride, a perfect story and a perfect response for everything. 

It isn’t until the meeting breaks and the room clears out that you get a moment alone with Yunho to digest any of it at all. 

In the sudden quiet of the conference room, Yunho shifts back to work, fielding a litany of texts, his eyes tired as he catches up what he’s missed and invariably needs to make up from being trapped in board rooms all day, and you stay quiet. Your own gut is churning with discomfort, but you bite the inside of your cheek, and you wait. 

Eventually, he drops the phone to the side and sighs, his office chair spinning towards you as he reaches out to take your hand, “I’m sorry,” he says, “you must be so exhausted,” 

“Me? I’m fine,” 

“I didn’t realize they’d take you through all that today,” He admits, “Harin’s just thorough,” 

“Mm,” You nod, “it’s fine,”

He fixes you with a look, finally picking up on your flat tone, “How are you really? And don’t say fine,” 

You can’t lie, not to him. 

He squeezes your hand and you let out an exhausted breath of air, “It’s been a long day,” 

“I know,” He soothes. 

Your chest throbs a little and you pull back from him, “Yun,” you murmur, “why didn’t you tell me about the apartment? About you leaving the group if this goes badly?” 

His back straightens, “What do you mean?” 

“You have to be honest,” You sigh, “you have to talk to me.” 

“You’re upset,” He observes, his brows ticking up in surprise. 

“I’m not,” You say it, even though deep down you both know it’s not the perfect truth, “but you can’t keep handling everything by yourself and expect me to just be on board,” 

His face falls, “Are you uncomfortable with what we decided today? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” You take his hands in yours, “you’re handling all of this so well, but Yunho, what was the plan if Gyu-uk didn’t ask for me to be in the meeting? Would you have told me we were moving in together after getting the keys?” 

“y/n,” He shakes his head, “that’s not it,” 

“Listen,” You settle him, catching his cheek in your hand, “I love you. I love that you’re trying to protect me from this, and I know this is new for both of us, but this is our lives together, we need to make decisions together.” 

“We are,” He presses, “I’m telling you everything, you read all the contracts, I’m,” 

“Yunho,” You press, “stop,” 

“You are upset,” He says. 

“Okay, fine,” You lean back, “I’m upset,” 

“Tell me,” He nods, expectant. 

“I’m trying to!” The words slip out, exasperation through your tone. 

Yunho looks surprised, but he just nods, “Go on,” 

“You think you’re talking to me about everything?” You ask the question calmly, clearly. 

He nods again.  

“Baby,” You shake your head, “you’re keeping me in the loop, but that’s it. You tell me what’s happening after the fact, and then you plug me in to make a decision when you need one,” 

“That’s not fair,” 

“I waited for you for days after I got fired,” You tell him gently, and his face falls, “and when I came back everything was already in motion and we were married before I could even blink. I am so, so happy to be your wife, please don’t misunderstand me,” 

“You regret it?” His heart hammers in his chest. 

“Never,” You slide closer to him, “never, ever. Listen to me,” 

His eyes study yours, his mouth snapping shut. 

“You are making big decisions about our life together without me,” You tell him gently, “I think because you want to shield me from all the bad parts about your life as an idol, or maybe because you think it’s your job as my partner, as my husband, to take care of the hard things so I only get the good parts.” 

His eyes drop. 

“I trust you,” You murmur, “with my life, my whole heart, but I don’t want a marriage like that.” 

His brows draw together, his hands tightening on yours. 

“I want you to tell me our options,” You continue, “I want to decide things together. I want to hear about the bad shit so we can face it together, get through it together.” 

He doesn’t look up. 

“If this all goes badly,” You tell him softly, “I don’t want you pulling the ripcord on your career because you decide you don’t want to put me through something. We’re bonded, we’re married, we’re going through it together no matter what, but I want you to talk to me so we can decide how to get through it together.” 

He sighs, dropping his head into his hands. 

You insist, “I know you’re just trying to keep me safe,” 

He nods. 

“I promise you, I can handle this,” You murmur, “whatever people say about me, whatever people do to me, I don’t care.” 

His head lifts at your words, his eyes flaring with sudden intensity, and his hands close over yours, “No one’s doing anything to you.” 

You can feel the sudden pit of fear in his body, and you shake your head, “Yunho, breathe.” 

His lips pull into a frown and he leans back in his chair, your hands still secured in his. Something’s frozen on the tip of his tongue, you don’t need a soulmate bond to tell you that. 

“What?” You murmur softly, squeezing his hand. 

 His knee bounces, nervous, strained energy bursting out of him until he finally says it, “Did you know that two years ago some fans, stalkers, put GPS trackers on our managers' cars?” 

You nod, “I heard,” 

“Did you know our old dorms were broken into?” He asks calmly, finally turning back to look at you. 

Slowly, you shake your head. 

“We came home after promotions and there were gifts in Yeosang’s room,” He explains, “and letters. A whole box of love letters that started off like fan mail and turned into threats,” 

“Against Yeosang?” Your eyes widen. 

He shakes his head, “No,” he murmurs, “against everyone else. The company was keeping them apart, the management was conspiring against them, the members were jealous of their connection,” 

“Jesus,” You breathe. 

“She was very sick,” Yunho explains, “but very fixated and very motivated.” 

“What happened?” 

“We had security footage, the company turned it into police and she was arrested,” He explains, “but that’s not the point,” 

Your stomach sinks. 

“I want you,” He laces your fingers together, “and I want to be with you in front of the world, all of that is true.” 

You nod. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of what that means,” He confesses, “I would shield you from the cruel things people are going to say online because I love you, and I know what that kind of attention feels like, but,” 

You squeeze his hands, your chest aching as he opens up to you more and more. 

With a deep breath he shakes his head, “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “when I say I’m terrified, it’s not about what people could say. It’s what people could do,” 

“Yunho,” You manage.

“I wake up terrified that someone will find your address,” You can feel his heartbeat thundering in your own chest, “that someone who doesn’t know me, but thinks they love me, will find you and hurt you or take you away from me in a way that I c-can’t,”

 His breath hitches on the word and he shakes his head, pushing those thoughts out of his mind, “I didn’t tell you because I don’t want you to be scared, but there are things we have to do to make sure you’re safe once people find out about us, and I won’t risk your safety.” 

“Come here,” You pull him close into a hurried embrace between the chairs, “you think I don’t worry about the same things?” 

He exhales heavily against your hair. 

“I’m not naive,” You murmur, “I’ve worked with you for years, I know what some fans can be like.” 

“Then,” 

“I’m safer if you talk to me,” You pull back to see his eyes, “we’re stronger together and that includes making decisions together. Trust me to know when something doesn’t feel right, let me carry this with you.” 

“y/n,” He murmurs, his expression pained, “some of this job is so ugly, so horrible. I just wanted to keep that from touching you,” 

“I know,” 

“If anything ever happened to you,” He shakes his head, cupping your cheeks.

“I know,” You assure him softly, “but nothing bad is going to happen to me,” 

He just looks at you.

“Yun,” You murmur, “I trust you to keep me safe, I trust your judgement with the company, the extra security, all of it. I just don’t want to be in the dark, I don’t want to be unaware and I don’t want you killing yourself with all this pressure.” 

He sinks forward, his lips connecting with your forehead, but he nods, “Okay,” 

“If we’re together,” You murmur, letting the feeling of his lips ground you to him, “then whatever happens can’t divide us,” 

He nods again, his shoulders sinking, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry,” 

“It’s okay,” You pull back, meeting his warm eyes, “we’re okay,” 

“Are we?” He checks, fingers soft on your cheeks. 

“Always,” You assure him. 

He smiles slightly, just a twitch of his lips, his dark brown eyes full of tenderness, “You’re everything to me,” he kisses you softly, “I’ll do better, I promise,” 

You shake your head, taking his hands in yours, “Me too,” you tell him gently, “we’re still just figuring this out. Six months ago we were co-workers, now we’re married,” 

He smiles properly now, “That’s true,”

“And it’s not as if I had the best track record with relationships,” You add, “figuring all of this out takes time, learning how to be the right kind of partner for each other takes time,” 

He hums, appreciative of your words, “I always thought it would come naturally with a soulmate,” he murmurs, “my parents always said it took work, but I never really understood that until you,” 

“Yeah,” 

He nods, sitting up a bit in his chair and sighing, “Together,” he says, “with everything.” 

“That’s all I’m asking for,” You reply gently. 

The tightness in both of your chests relaxes, the steadiness of your heartbeats in time bringing you both back down to center. 

After a moment, Yunho grins wide though and looks back up at you, “Was that our first fight?” 

A laugh bursts out of your lips and you cover your mouth with your hand, “I don’t know if that counts as a fight,” 

“You were upset,” He points out, “I upset you,” 

“I feel like fights have a lot more shouting, we figured that out pretty quickly,” You smile, leaning back in your chair. 

His brows pinch together, head cocking to the side at your words. 

“What?” You ask at his confused expression. 

“Yeobo,” He says slowly, “if that’s your definition of a fight, then I guess we’re never going to have one.” 

His confusion makes no sense to you, and you laugh reflexively, “That’s optimistic,” 

“I don’t shout,” He says, his eyes studying your expression, “not really at anyone, but definitely not at you.” 

“I don’t know,” You shrug, “marriage is hard, things happen. As long as we work through it though,” 

Yunho shakes his head again, “We’re not going to fight like that,” he says gently, “we’ll disagree sometimes and maybe we’ll hurt each other by mistake, but I’ll never raise my voice to you. I don’t do that,” 

Your expression falters. 

In the back of your mind there’s a steady image, your parents face to face, their expressions contorted in anger, shoulders squared off and tense, a broken vase at their feet on the kitchen tile. Hana hiding behind your legs, her small hands gripping your jeans, your body taut with a fraying cord of panic.  

Yunho’s hand gently smooths over yours, “My parents never yelled at each other,” he explains softly, and you wonder how much of your sudden thoughts he could see, feel the shape of, “even when things were difficult. Talking to each other like that,” he shakes his head, “that’s not something I want for us, you won’t get that from me.” 

You manage a nod, your throat tight. 

“So,” He smiles, rubbing the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, “our first fight, I think we did pretty good,” 

You release a soft puff of air through your lips, his smile infectious, bringing you back once again from the bad memory, “Yeah, I guess we did,” 

“How can I make it up to you?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your lips, “After two weeks of being a controlling ass,”

You roll your eyes, “You weren’t being an ass,” you assure him, “and you’re forgiven, honestly,” 

He brushes past that though, “Dinner,” he says, “Gyu-uk said lay low for the week, but I have my phone back. Let’s do takeout over FaceTime?” 

You grin, nodding, “I’d like that,” 

“I’ll tell you all about this week,” He adds. 

“Mhm,” 

He stands and stretches his tired limbs, “It was eventful,” 

“I thought so,” You stand with him, packing away what little things you have out. 

“Harin said she’d email over the first draft of the announcement tonight too,” He adds, “let’s review it together?” 

You nod, “Perfect,” 

He starts to reach for the door and then doubles back, “Oh,” he says, making a face, “I almost forgot.” 

You watch as he reaches for his wedding ring, twisting it off his finger. 

“Can you keep this safe for me?” He holds it out to you, “Give it back to me on our way to Jeju?” 

You take the warm loop of metal and slide it onto your thumb, the only place it’s sure not to slip off, “Of course,” 

“I have to get to practice,” He murmurs, leaning in and kissing you one last time, “but I love you. Text me when you get home safely?” 

“I will,” You nod, still caught in his gravitational pull as he reaches properly for the door this time. 

Yunho walks you out the same way he walked you in, with a hand on your back, making sure you’re safely in the elevator before he finally leaves you. 

You start the walk home with both wedding bands securely around your fingers, and only then do you allow the pure feeling of relief to flood through your body. 

It’s done.

Finally, finally done. 

By the time you’re home, your face hurts from smiling. You’re dialing Iseul the second you’re tucked away where no one can hear you. 

For the first time in months, a conversation with your best friend isn’t laden with panic and what-ifs. For the first time you’re both laughing, practically giddy. You diagnose every aspect of what being on the Xikers team means for your career, you joke about getting her pulled over onto that team with you so you have the same schedules again. She tells you all about her confrontation with Eunji, the way she dressed her down in front of Dahan and made it perfectly clear she wasn’t a welcome member of their inner circle. You speculate how many days before she quits. You fall apart into peels of laughter at the idea of her quitting the day of the wedding announcement. 

You talk about the honeymoon like it’s a real one, not an island getaway to avoid the press. You try not to think about the fact that you and Yunho are about to change this industry forever. Instead, you just talk to your best friend, in a way that you sorely, sorely missed. 

While you talk, you play with Yunho’s ring on your finger, twisting it this way and that, carving another indent into your skin just for him. You keep it safe, guarding it the same way you’ve been guarding both your hearts since brushing his cheek in Berlin. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

This part of Jeju is quiet in the off season. 

Nestled along the shoreline of Seogwipo, you and Yunho wait in a house far too big for two people, but blissfully far away from any other properties, overlooking the dark blue water of the South Sea. Despite the privacy and romantic scenery though, you’re both on edge after arriving late last night and having hours alone with your thoughts before the public announcement. 

You’re still wrapped up in bed at ten the next morning, hitting refresh on the Ateez official Twitter account over and over, nervously double checking the clock and your WiFi connection just to be sure you haven’t missed it. 

“Is it up yet?” Yunho asks softly, two cups of coffee in his hands as he walks back into the large corner bedroom, his wedding ring back in its proper place on his finger. 

“Not yet,” You check your phone again for good measure. 

He sets the coffees on the nightstand and slips back under the fluffy white duvet cover, sliding towards the middle to sit next to you, “They’re probably double checking the language,” 

“Yeah,”

“It’s going to be alright,” He wraps his arm around your back, “we’re going to be alright,” 

“I know,” You breathe, “it’s just a risk,” 

“It’ll be worth it,” He promises, kissing your temple softly. 

You nod, and then the phone buzzes in your hands. 

Both of your eyes snap down and you tap the push notification from Twitter alerting you to the tweet you’ve been waiting for. 

Your heart starts to pick up in your chest as you tap the link to the official announcement, even though you already know exactly what the text will say. You and Yunho both had given your consent on it yesterday before you left Seoul, but that was when it was just a draft in an email. 

This is real. 

Both of your eyes flick over the words. 

KQ Entertainment Artist Announcement 

Hello,

This is KQ Entertainment. 

We would like to provide an update regarding one of our artists, ATEEZ Jeong Yunho. 

Earlier this week, ATEEZ member Yunho was married in a private ceremony, supported by his family and friends. The company offers sincere congratulations and well wishes to the couple. 

While we apologize for the sudden news and any concern this may cause fans, we ask for your kind understanding and support for Yunho at this time. Yunho will continue participating in all ATEEZ activities with the full support of KQ Entertainment. 

We will continue to prioritize the well-being of our artists both professionally and personally, and request that fans do the same. At this time, we request privacy for the couple. 

Thank you.

Yunho takes your hand and gives you a squeeze. 

“It’s really out there,” You breathe. 

He nods, “It is,” 

“How long until they figure out who I am, do you think?” You chew the inside of your lip, dropping the phone back onto your knees, the announcement still open. 

“Not long,” He murmurs, “your socials are all private?”

He’s asked that numerous times over the past few days of preparations, but you smile, “Yes, Yunho,” 

He exhales slowly and wraps his arm back around you, tucking you into his chest. 

Preparation for this announcement had been meticulous, the past week spent quibbling over every word choice and potential outcome.

To maintain as much privacy as possible, you and Hana and Em had all made your social media accounts private, and then you and Yunho had gone to Jeju to weather the storm and stay out of sight.

Yunho kisses your hair gently and brings you out of your thoughts, “Our management should be posting my announcement soon too,” 

You nod. 

Yunho leans to the side and grabs his phone off the nightstand and you watch as he lights up the screen to show dozens of notifications already. He swipes the phone onto Do Not Disturb and swallows audibly, and you feel the onset of nerves in his chest. 

“We’re okay,” You wrap your arms around his middle, pressing a soft kiss to his throat. 

“Mhm,” He holds you closer, “I know,” 

You watch him navigate to Instagram, opening up his own profile, and he nods when he sees the new photo in his grid, “It’s up,” 

He hasn’t let you read it yet, and you shift in his arms to look up at him, “Can I?” 

He nods, placing his phone into your hands before sliding out of bed, “I’m going to get some water,” 

It’s a thinly veiled excuse, but you don’t press him. What he’s written must be deeply personal if he doesn’t want to watch you read it, and you let him go. 

He gives you one soft smile and then disappears again. 

Left alone with his phone, you take a deep breath and tap on the first photo in his grid. 

The post is simple, one single photo of Yunho. He’s far from the camera, sitting along a large stone wall overlooking the ocean in Japan. His head is turned slightly to the left so you can make out his profile and there’s a distinct, soft smile on his face. 

You tap open the text of the post and start to read. 

Atiny, I have something personal to share, more personal than anything I have ever shared before. 

While I know what I am about to tell you may cause concern for me or may upset you, you who I consider precious and beloved, I ask that you please read everything I have to say and remember that I am still your Yunho. 

Late last year, at an unexpected time and in an unexpected place, I accidentally bumped into a woman and knew the moment we touched that she was my soulmate. While she and I have known each other professionally for many years, we did not know that we shared this connection with one another until very recently. In complete honesty, which is what I think you all deserve, we did not know what we should do or how we could move forward and live honestly if we decided to hide this from the world. 

Those of you who have been lucky enough to find your soulmates will understand how difficult these decisions are, and how deeply your life is changed by finding your steadfast partner in life. 

We chose to be honest with our families, our friends, and our company and we will be forever grateful that we have received nothing but kindness and support. We chose to be married so that we could live honestly and openly in your eyes too.

As an idol, I have spent my life receiving love from you. Because of this, there are things I believe I should endure so that I may become a better Yunho and give more to my members and you, our Atiny. Those things are worth enduring to bring you a better Ateez, and I have taken personal pride in being called your happiness, I always will. But there are limits to what I think is fair for us as idols to endure, painful things that go beyond the bounds of what is normal for other professions and for what I believe is right. Idols conceal their relationships for years even after retiring from public life, and those who have announced their relationships have been met in the past with difficult words.

I speak for myself when I say it has been the greatest honor of my life to be a member of Ateez and to be able to feel love and support from our Atiny every day. But it would be dishonest to you and to myself if I did not stand up for my own happiness, and it would be both unfair and unkind to ask my partner, my soulmate, to hide herself away behind the shadow of my career out of fear. 

To my Atiny, I will always be grateful to you for the love and care you have shown me. You have taught me how to live well and how to love well, and it is because of you that have become the bright, energetic person that I am today. Now that I have met my soulmate, I can share that love with her too, someone that I can rely on, someone who helps carry me, and someone who I can spend the rest of my life with. 

I hope that you can give us your understanding and your consideration. I will always be your Ateez Yunho, and I will never stop working hard to be an idol you can embrace and be proud of. 

Atiny, you have been and will always be my happiness, but she is my heart. I can only hope that you can take care of us both for the years to come. 

You take a sharp breath as you finish reading, tears spilling over and splashing onto the screen, your eyes looping over the final sentence over and over again. 

“Was it alright?” Yunho’s voice is gentle, a little fearful, and your head snaps up to see him lingering in the threshold watching you carefully. 

“Alright?” You wipe the tears away with the backs of your hands, “Yunho, it was perfect, I don’t care what anyone says about us, I can’t believe you wrote all that,” 

His posture softens, “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” You take a breath, reaching for him, “I love you,” 

He climbs back into bed with you, arms wrapping around you, “I love you,” 

“It was so perfect,”

He nods, kissing your forehead, “I just wanted to be honest,” 

You lean into him, folding into a hug, until you’re both sliding back down into the bed and cuddling close. 

“It’s out there now,” He says after a few minutes, “everyone’s probably talking about it.” 

“Probably,” You nod, smoothing a hand up and down his arm, “but we’ve got this.” 

He nods, a ragged breath leaving his chest as he falls away from you onto his back, “Yeah,” 

You can feel the slight knot of tension in his gut, but you know he’s trying to stay strong and positive for you. Cuddling into his side again you kiss his chest, “Let’s let it be,” you murmur, “we’ll just hideaway right here,” 

His arm wraps around you, “Right here?” 

“Mhm,” You snuggle closer if it’s at all possible, “just you and me and this big bed. Ateez who?” 

That gets a laugh, and he turns into you, carding a hand through your hair, “Just you and me,” 

“Mhm,” You kiss his chest and he lets his head fall back to the pillow.

Your eyes flutter shut, sinking into the sound of his heart and the feeling of his warm skin. If you’re being honest, your mind is going a mile a minute too, but you focus on breathing in time with him. 

Time passes around you, both of you quiet and resting together, caught in your own individual thoughts. You keep your eyes closed, and for a moment you think Yunho might be falling asleep, his breath evening out and his arm relaxed on your back, but then a heavy pang of shame echoes through the bond and you blink your eyes open. 

The first thing you see is his phone as he quietly scrolls and studies something on the screen.  

“Hey,” You reach up, “what are you doing?” 

“Just checking,” He admits. 

Your eyes flick to the screen, and you see the comment that got a reaction from him. 

I should have known never to trust you. Too nice. Too sweet. It’s always a lie. 

“Stop,” You snatch the phone from his hand, locking the screen fast and putting it to the side. 

“I’m fine,” He swallows tightly. 

“You don’t seem fine,” You murmur, pushing yourself up to lean on his chest and look down at him. 

“I just,” His eyes flick away, “I wish there was a way to be with you that didn’t mean disappointing all of my fans, but they hate me now,” 

“They do not.” You argue. 

“They do,” He shakes his head, “you haven’t read the comments.” 

“The post went up ten minutes ago,” You counter, “the only people commenting are people that have you on post notifications, and I’d bet more than half of those people are the ones who will be the most mad,” 

“y/n,” He sighs. 

“Give it time,” You use the words he’s been using all week, “come here,” 

Pushing his phone farther to the side, you slide up on his chest and tug his mouth to yours. 

“Mm,” He laughs gently against your lips, “What are you doing?”

“It’s a honeymoon, right?” You kiss him again. 

“Yeah, but,” He grips your hips as you kiss him again, cutting off his words. 

“Let me make you feel better,” You murmur, peppering kisses down his throat, “take your mind off things.” 

“Oh,” He blinks as you shimmy down his body, “baby, I’m okay,” 

“Soulmate bond, remember?” You say, “I can tell when you’re stressed.” 

He swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple shifting under your lips. 

“I think we could both use the distraction,” You admit. 

You feel him soften under your body at that. 

Slowly, you separate your body from his and shift down to the bed between his open legs. His eyes are wide, a pretty flush already across his nose and cheeks, his chest rising and falling more quickly with the rapid onset of his arousal. 

He’s not fully hard yet, but you felt him start to get there at just the suggestion of sex, a firm press against your belly as you slid down over his body. As you peel away his boxers though, your hand ghosting over his cock to tease him, he starts to stiffen up fully, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen twitching at your touch. 

“Sweetheart,” His hands clench down on the duvet, “you’re killing me,” 

“I’ve barely done anything,” You tease him. 

“Doesn’t matter,” He shakes his head, “I think I’m Pavloved to get hard whenever you touch me,” 

You giggle, shaking your head at his words, “Oh yeah?” 

He hisses as your hand closes around his cock more firmly, his hips jumping, “Mhm,” 

“If that were true, wouldn’t you be hard all the time?” You tease him. 

“I basically am,” He smiles down at you, watching the way your hand strokes up and down over him, “you’re very distracting,” 

“Hmm,” You shift downwards in the bedding so that you’re laying on your front between his legs, propped up on your elbows as you continue to tease him, “that sounds difficult,” 

He snorts a gentle laugh, “I wouldn’t say wanting to fuck my wife all the time is a hardship,” 

Arousal bubbles up at his words and you can feel your face heating, “Well,” you murmur, grazing your nails up his abdomen and pushing up his t-shirt, “it’s a good thing you married me then,” 

“Why’s that?” His voice goes a little breathy as you cup his balls. 

“I’m pretty insatiable,” You press a kiss to his inner thigh, “I need a husband who can keep up,” 

He laughs again, his eyes growing hotter, tongue resting cheekily against his upper teeth, “I’ll show you ‘keeping up’,”

“I know you will,” You kiss him again, “we have days to keep ourselves busy,” 

“And distracted,” He groans lightly as you graze the underside of his shaft with your fingers again. 

“Exactly,” You kiss the velvet head of his cock and watch as his mouth falls open. 

“God,” He sighs.

“Just relax,” You murmur, teasing him slowly with a lap of your tongue, “forget about everything else,” 

He’s quiet at that, and when you search the bond you feel his tight hesitation. 

“Just be here with me, baby,” You touch him more, hands up and down his thighs, another lick, the teasing promise of your mouth, “fuck everything that isn’t you and me in this bed.” 

His breath catches, and you answer the sound by finally sliding your mouth down over his leaking cock. You start slow, practiced and measured, gentle bobs of your head up and down as you focus your tongue on his tip, the taste of his precum already salty and hot on your tongue. 

You lavish your mouth over him, focused on ridding him of any feeling but pleasure and need. Slowly you increase the pace, dropping your mouth down further, your nails scratching lovely lines into his thighs, doubling down on any touch that pulls a breathy noise from his lips. 

Despite his sounds, how you touch him, how you taste him, the knot of tension in his gut stays rock steady. You can feel his mind elsewhere. He’s tense, he’s stressed, and there’s an undercurrent of guilt and shame that you just can’t seem to shake out of him no matter how tender you are with your tongue. 

You know what he needs in a surprising pang of clarity, and strangely, you want it just as much as he does. 

You pull back from his cock to take a breath, and without a glance up at him, you find his hands with yours and draw them close. 

He sucks in a sharp breath as you guide his hands to your head, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Are you sure?” 

You nod, eyes flicking up to his, “I trust you,” 

He studies your face for a moment, and then his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He swallows tightly, and you feel his fingers sink pleasantly into your hair. 

“This okay?” He checks, his fingers tightening against your scalp just a fraction. 

It’s been years since you’ve allowed anyone to touch you like this, but Yunho’s hands feel perfect. 

It feels good. 

You nod again, your heartbeat quickening in your chest in anticipation.

“If you want me to stop,” He brushes one hand over your hair, keeping it back from your face, “tap my thigh, I’ll let go,” 

“I trust you,” You echo it again, and then you dip back down to take his cock deeply in your mouth, his hands heavy on your head. 

He groans earnestly this time, like he can’t stop the sound from ripping out of his chest, and you know he’s restraining himself still but you can feel his satisfaction in the way his fingertips press down. 

“Jesus,” He manages as you bob your head back up and then down, sinking him as far down your throat as you can, “baby,” 

You stay focused on his cock, teasing him with your tongue, sharp sucks, humming sensations at the velvet tip. 

His hands stay gentle, but present, taking it at your pace and letting you drive. 

When you pull off to take in a breath, you pant out one word, “More,” 

His body freezes, his breath caught in his chest, but you’re already back to sucking him sweetly, and he can barely contain himself as he watches you give everything you have to his cock. 

Slowly, experimentally, Yunho applies more pressure to your head, pushing you down on him just a little to see how you’ll take it. 

Your shoulders relax, and you let him push. This normally scares you, it makes you panic and scramble away with anyone else, but with him? After everything? It’s perfect and dizzying, and all you feel is overwhelming care from his side of the bond. 

You go lax in his hands the more he guides you, and you can feel his hips aching to move under your hands. 

You moan, silently begging him for more, when he stops things.

“F-fuck,” He pulls his hips back, drawing his cock from your lips, “come here, baby,” 

Dazed, you lift up to look at him, “What?” 

“Come here,” He beckons you up to him, “I want you closer,” 

His hands slide under your upper arms, gently tugging you towards him and you climb over his thigh, following his direction until you’re kneeling at his side, your knees by his hips. 

He shifts up in the bed until he’s somewhat seated, reclined against the pillows and headboard, and then he reaches out and cups your cheek, “Come lay down,” 

“Here?” You start to shift like you’re going to lay down next to him the same way, but he shakes his head. 

“Like this,” His hand presses against your back, drawing you down towards his abdomen again, and you realize how he wants you. 

You relax down until you’re curled up, your back to the headboard and your cheek against his stomach. 

Yunho rubs your back, soothing you into the new position, “There we go,” 

Like this, every stitch of his anxiety seems gone. Something deep seated in his body needed to touch you like this, see you like this, and you shiver in anticipation. Positioned like this, all you feel is deliciously submissive. 

“Can I touch your hair like this?” He asks softly. 

You nod against him, “Yeah,” 

“Mm,” He sighs pleasantly, “thank you, baby,” 

Your chest expands with dizzy warmth, and his hand tenderly passes over your hair twice before settling into a comfortable spot on the crown of your head. 

“Ready?” He murmurs. 

You nod. 

“That’s good,” His voice is so warm, low in his chest, “put those pretty lips around my cock again, sweetheart,” 

You melt into him, shifting forward to sink down over his shaft again. 

This time, Yunho’s in control, you’re under no illusions otherwise. You moan as he slowly pushes your head down, directing his cock in just deep enough that it settles heavily on your tongue without irritating the back of your throat. 

“Good girl,” He says, and at that your eyes flutter pleasantly closed. 

You press the flat of your tongue to his cock and relax your mouth, breathing in and out slowly through your nose. 

Yunho finds your hand and lifts it, placing it over his thigh, his hand tightening over yours to illustrate his words, “Tap and we stop, okay?” 

“Mm,” You reply, mouth still full of him. 

“Show me,” He strokes your hair. 

You tap his thigh twice, sharp and unmistakable. 

“Good,” He croons. 

Something about this tone from him has your body unspooling. You were just meant to take his mind off the hate comments, distract him with a little blowjob and maybe take a nap after, but something about this feels like therapy for you too. 

“So pretty for me,” He sighs, stroking your hair, letting his cock rest heavy between your lips. 

You sigh, your mind going soft. 

With his wide hand on your head, he applies a little pressure, directing you into a slow, bobbing motion, “There we go,” he says as you catch on, “that’s it, honey,” 

Your eyes roll, your hand gripping his thigh for purchase. 

He keeps this pace for a while, both your head and his hand moving with deliberate sluggishness. Curled against his side you find yourself breathing in and out deeply, almost meditatively, and with his free hand, Yunho continues to rub your back. He makes no attempt to touch you any other way, just slipping his hand under your loose sleep shirt to feel your skin and soothe you as you take his cock like this. 

Slowly, his hips start to move. First in time with the motion of your head, little undulating thrusts that push his cock a little deeper down your throat with every upstroke, but then you feel his hand tighten on your hair. 

You want him to take it.

That’s your single coherent thought as you whine around his shaft, his hand gathering your hair into a loose fist. 

“Good girl,” He groans, “making me feel so good,” 

You hum again, body relaxing in his grip. 

“Letting me use that perfect mouth,” His voice sounds tight again, thready with his own pleasure. 

You moan at his words, saliva pooling in your mouth, dripping and messy down his cock as he picks up the pace. 

“That’s my girl,” He thrusts a little more, fucking your mouth properly now, “oh, god, look at you,” 

Your eyes are watering, your jaw starting to ache, but don’t want to stop, not even close. 

“Can you take it deep, pretty girl?” 

“Mm,” You nod a little, dropping your head down as far as you can with your hair caught in his fist. 

“Oh, fuck,” He sighs, “of course you can,” 

With a push on your head and a jerk of his hips he buries the full length of his cock down your throat and holds you there. 

Your hand tightens on his thigh and Yunho waits, his body still, giving you the easy opportunity to tap out, but you don’t. 

His hand leaves your back, reaching around to cup his own balls and feel just how deeply you’re taking him. He groans, “So perfect,” 

You make a tight noise, the first tickle at the back of your throat, and he lifts your head up to give you a break from the overwhelming sensation of him stretching your mouth. In a second though he’s back to his pace before, sharp thrusts that drag his cock over your tongue, his breath getting more audible as he uses you. 

You can tell he’s close before he says it, the feeling of his pleasure building in your own gut, but you still moan when you hear him say it, his words punctuated by sharp pants, “I’m gonna come, baby,” 

It happens fast, with a jerk he pulls you off his cock entirely and you suck in a full, startled breath of air. 

He fists his cock, his arm wrapped around you, and he pumps himself hard and fast. 

“Fuck,” He shudders under you, “I’m close,” 

“Please,” Your voice is hoarse, but you nod, holding yourself up with your hands braced on his thighs, “Come,” 

He shudders, groaning, and you close your eyes again as his orgasm hits, warm cum splattering over you - painting your chest, your throat, ropes of his release on your lips and cheeks. 

You’re both breathing heavy, trembling, but Yunho clears the fog with a shake of his head and he releases his tight hold on your hair, easing you down to the bedding. He slips out from under you, dipping off the edge of the bed and you watch as he pulls his boxers back up and darts into the master bathroom and back out again, a damp washcloth in his hands. 

He’s sweaty, his neck and cheeks still dark pink, and you smile up at him as he kneels on the bed to get closer to you. 

“Hey,” He murmurs softly, “relax, let me clean you up,”

Your mind feels mushy and delicious even though you haven’t even come, and all you can manage is to hum a soft, affirmative response as he quickly wipes away his release from your skin. 

Yunho’s eyes flick over you, taking stock of your body language, your facial expression, how you’re feeling in the bond, before tossing the towel aside and laying down to be eye level with you. 

“Jagi,” He says softly, fingertips gentle on your jaw, “are you alright?” 

“Mhm,” You nod lazily. 

“I know that was big,” He massages your jaw with light pressure, “tell me how you’re feeling,” 

Words still feel distant, almost foreign, and you blink, “Good,” you manage. 

His lips turn up on one side, “Floaty?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, and you don’t know how he picked out the perfect word for how you’re feeling but he did. 

“Okay,” Yunho murmurs, “I got you, baby.” 

He wraps you up in his arms again but keeps his eyes on your face, guiding you through whatever soft, blissful feeling you’re swimming through. 

“Love you so much,” He whispers as he kisses your forehead. 

Little by little, your body and your mind seem to come back online, and finally you blink up at him, “Was that okay?” 

“It was amazing,” He assures you, “you’re amazing,” 

You smile, feeling strangely shy. You’ve never done something quite so intimate, never surrendered control like that. You’ve always liked men to be a little bossy, and you’ve loved how direct and vocal Yunho is when you have sex, but this was something altogether more intense and you’ve never felt safer or more held by him. 

His fingers slip into your hair again, massaging your tender scalp, “Was I too rough at all?” 

“No,” You breathe, “just right,” 

He smiles at your expression and nods, “Good,” 

“You feel better?” You manage. 

“Mhm,” He huffs a small laugh as if to say it’s obvious, but then he directs the attention back to you, “did you like that?” 

“A lot,” You confess. 

He grins this time, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, leaning your head back unconsciously into his hand, “you were so gentle,” 

“Good,” He softens, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips, “I love you,” 

“Love you too,” You sigh. 

Yunho gently lets you relax back down onto your back before he slides off the bed again, “I’m going to start the bath for you, okay?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “that sounds nice.” 

“I’ll be just in there, okay?” He nods towards the bathroom, “I’ll come get you in a minute,” 

“Okay,” 

He gives you another smile, and then disappears through the bathroom door. 

For a minute you take stock of your body. You feel relaxed down to your very core, something about the way Yunho held you and touched you during the blowjob felt primal, essential. You stretch out your limbs against the mattress, listening to the steady pour of the water from the next room, and by the time you sit up in the bed you feel strangely proud. It feels like a new chapter, maybe even an entirely new book. 

You pull yourself off the bed and right the sheets, and your eyes catch on Yunho’s phone. 

The rest of the world was undoubtedly talking about you both right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not after that. You take your phone and his and place them both face down on the bedside table, and resolve not to look at them again until much, much later. Whatever the world was saying would have to wait. 

You step into the doorway of the bathroom and smile when you see him again, pangs of your own arousal thrumming back through you. 

Yunho’s crouched by the side of the large, deep porcelain tub, his hand under the steady stream of water to gauge the temperature. 

“Almost ready?” You ask him. 

His head turns a little at the sound of your voice, “Yeah,” he says, “how are you feeling?” 

“Honestly? Kind of amazing,” You say. 

“Good,” He sighs. 

With a smile, you pull your sleep top off. 

Yunho passes his hand through the water in the tub, “it’s a little warm,” 

“I like warm,” You let your top fall to the floor and tug on the drawstring of your pants. 

His back is still to you as he adjusts the temperature of the water one last time. 

While he’s not looking you push your pants down and kick them away, your underwear right along with them, so that when he turns back around you’re naked and standing in the bathroom doorway. 

“I think if you want,” He starts to say as he looks up, but the words die on his lips and his eyes rake over you in an instant. 

“If I want what?” You smile, stepping into the room properly. 

“Want what?” He fumbles over his words, brow creased with confusion as he meets your eyes again. 

“Flustered,” You tease him, “that’s cute, you’ve seen me naked before,” 

He recovers, smirking and reaching for you, “It really does not get old,” he says, “now come here and let me touch you,” 

“Yeah?” You can’t help but take your sweet time, loving his hot eyes on you, the way his voice gets deeper when he sees you like this. 

He takes two steps towards you, pulling off his white t-shirt and letting it drop to the floor beside your discarded clothes, “I said, come here,” he murmurs as he gently tugs you into his space, “and let me touch you.” 

His hands travel over you slowly, lovingly. 

For a split second you think of the world outside, your phones on the nightstand, and you dip closer to press yourself against his bare chest, soaking up the feeling of so much skin on skin. 

“Hey,” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, “you okay?” 

You nod, “I’m good,” 

“You sure?” He checks, feeling the sudden pangs of tension in your chest. 

“Yeah,” You kiss his bare chest, “I just thought about everything else for a second,” 

“Mm,” He hums, a hand softly in your hair, “I got you, let’s just relax,” 

He draws you to the edge of the bath and checks the water once again, but you’re already reaching in, finding the water just the right amount of hot. He’s shucking off his boxers as you straighten back up to tie up your hair.

“Perfect,” You step directly into the water. 

Yunho’s hand settles under your elbow, “Careful,” 

“Babe,” You chastise him lightly, but if you’re being honest the affection in his voice and his tender care with you is something you could never really tire of, not when it’s him. 

“I don’t want you to slip,” He admits, stepping in behind you until you’re both standing in the center of the deep basin of water. 

“Mhm,” You start to say more, but his arms wrap around you loosely, his body nestled close to yours. 

“Look at that,” He says, nodding towards the floor to ceiling window along one wall of the bathroom. 

You look back up at the view and any teasing thoughts slip out of your mind. It’s beautiful, a private view only for your eyes, hidden away from the world entirely. The dark rocky beach outside leads right into the bright blue ocean, a little slice of heaven tucked away along the coastline in Jeju. 

“Now this,” You sigh, “this feels like a honeymoon,” 

Yunho kisses your shoulder, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” 

He kisses you again and then shifts back to sit down in the bath and you sink down into the water with him. His hands slide across your body and draw you back so that you’re settled between his open legs, your back resting on his chest. 

“Not too hot?” He asks. 

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head against the broad plane of his shoulder. 

Tangled together in the warmth of the water you rest, letting the tension in your muscles unspool, watching the waves surge against the rocks outside. For a while you just let it be, his arms wrapped around you in the cocoon of the water, fingertips grazing gently along your skin. 

“It looks like rain,” He finally says softly. 

You nod, “A storm,” 

“That’s alright,” He kisses your hair, “we don’t have anywhere to be,” 

You soften in his embrace, cuddled against him, “True,” you murmur, “just here.” 

“Tonight,” He says, “I’m thinking, movies on the couch? The TV out there is huge we could set it up like a theater,” 

“Like a sleepover,” You smile.

“Great idea,”

 “We’ll bring the pillows and duvet out,” You say, “oh, and snacks,” 

You feel his happiness, his contented warmth through the bond, “I love it,” 

Turning your head, you catch his bicep with a quick kiss, “This house is so nice, this is like rich rich.” 

He hums, gathering you a little closer, “Yeah,” he nods, “do you like it?” 

“It’s nice,” You tell him honestly, “this view is crazy,” 

A few birds cut across the darkening sky, the waves rougher against the rocks, but inside it’s perfectly silent and warm. 

He huffs a little laugh against your hair, “You want a house like this?” 

You shake your head immediately, “That’s crazy,” 

“Why?” He kisses your hair. 

“Yunho,” You nudge him gently with your elbow. 

“Yeobo,” He says affectionately, amusement in his voice, “I have money,” 

“Not this much money,” You laugh. 

He’s quiet, not laughing along like you’d expect, and then he clears his throat, “I do, actually,”  

You turn your head, twisting to see his face, “What?” 

“Uh,” He blushes a little, “well yeah, when I was eighteen my father helped me set up a few funds for myself, a way to keep my salary set aside as a nest egg and then some investments.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Now that I’m sure we won’t have to pay back any debts, and we’ll start getting properly compensated for the albums,” He smiles, “well, if I don’t have enough to buy this house today, I’ll have it in a year or two.” 

“Fuck,” You blink, the curse slipping out. 

He laughs, his head dropping to lean his forehead against your hair, “Did you think I was completely broke?” 

“You always hear about idols who never get their paychecks,” You counter, “like five years in and they don’t have a cent,” 

He shakes his head, lifting up to meet your eyes, “Well, I’m definitely not broke,” he smiles, “I like that you married me anyways, though,” 

You roll your eyes, nudging him in the chest, water sloshing around you, “Shut up,” 

He grins, “So,” he gestures with a jerk of his head to the room, “you want a house like this someday?” 

“This?” You shake your head, “This place is too much,” 

He looks amused at that idea. 

“Do you want a house like this?” 

He shrugs, “We could,” 

“You’re serious,” You laugh, still wide eyed in surprise. 

“You’re cute,” He kisses your lips once, before shifting you back to your reclined position in his arms against his chest, “you really thought I was broke,” 

“I don’t know,” You grumble, finding his hand under the water and thoughtlessly playing with his fingers. 

He smiles against your hair, and the sky outside opens up with rain. For a few moments you both rest together again, and then he murmurs a soft question, “y/n,” he says, “before Berlin, what did you imagine for your life?” 

 “My life?” You turn your head a little, your cheek against his wet chest. 

“Mhm,” He hums, the warm vibration of his tone running through you, “did you have big career dreams? A house in the country? You’ve never said,” 

You smile, your eyes locked on his wedding band and yours under the water, “I don’t know,” you confess, “for a long time I was just focused on making it out of my house, and then focused on protecting Hana,” 

He strokes your arm gently, listening quietly. 

“I imagined finding my soulmate someday,” You murmur, “and I love Seoul, I think it would be hard to leave the city. I love my life there, and my work is definitely suited for it,” 

“Mm,” He nods. 

“I don’t know,” You confess, “I just want a place of our own, somewhere we can make memories, I’ve never really worried about how big or how nice it would be,”

“I’d like that,” He murmurs. 

Your eyes drift shut and you think about your life, the images you played in your mind over and over while you waited for his call at Hana and Em’s. 

“I’d like a garden,” You continue, “and a nice kitchen. I’m not the best cook, but I’d like to learn,” 

Yunho’s hand laces with yours and he brings them up out of the water to kiss your knuckles, “What else?” 

“Hmm,” You shiver at the cool air in the room and he wraps you up, “a big bed, you’re so tall.” 

He laughs. 

Your stomach flip flops and you let your eyes open, finding your rings again before you confess a little more, “Maybe some extra bedrooms,” 

Yunho’s breath catches, his body stiffening behind you, “Yeah?” His voice is small, tentative as he searches for your meaning. 

You swallow tightly, a nervous bubble in your chest, “Enough space to grow into,” your voice nearly a whisper, “if we want a family?” 

He’s quiet, but his lips drop to rest on the crown of your head. He takes in a slow breath and then says, “How many extra bedrooms do you think we’ll need?” 

Warmth floods the bond, unfettered tenderness in your chest, “Maybe two?” 

Yunho squeezes your hand, “Two’s great, two’s perfect,” 

“You think so?” Your smile grows. 

He nods, “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“Someday,” You kiss his arm again. 

“Someday,” He agrees, his hand coming to rest over your soulmark, his palm warm over the sensitive skin of your looping red tattoo. 

You hum pleasantly as he kisses your forehead, your eyes drifting shut with a sigh. For a minute, you just listen to the rain against the window, your hearts syncing up their rhythms. The water laps around you with every little movement, relaxing you both into a pliant, warm mess of limbs. 

Yunho shifts behind you, and then the hand over your soulmark shifts, and you gasp lightly as it closes over your breast, kneading the soft flesh with gentle firmness. 

“Oh,” You exhale, “that’s nice,” 

“Mhm,” He squeezes your breast again, fingers teasing gently at your nipple while his opposite hand drifts down your belly, a promising descent towards your parted thighs. 

Your body responds instantly, heat reigniting to the surface. 

“I think it’s your turn,” He murmurs. 

You nod against his chest. 

“Let me take care of you, pretty girl,” He says as his finger curls over your mound and dips into your slick folds. 

“Oh, yes,” You sigh, letting your legs fall open a little more, your knees pressing against Yunho’s inner thighs. 

“Mm,” He slides his fingers over your clit, “you’re wet,” 

You can feel that you’re slippery from how easily he’s touching you, the bath water not enough to dull how much you want him, and you nod. 

“Are you that easy?” He says appreciatively, “Or have you been wet this whole time?” 

You moan as he rocks his fingers, “Whole time,” 

“Sucking my cock got you wet?” He teases. 

You nod, your legs straining to open wider despite the lack of space in the tub. 

“Look at you squirming,” He dips his head, nudging your face to the side so he can kiss your temple. 

“Feels good,” You sigh, your hips twitching to chase the stroke of his fingers as he rubs you. 

Yunho pulls his fingers away from your aching cunt and you suck in a sharp breath, “Relax,” he nips at your ear, “I’ll make you come,”

“But,” You manage, breathless already. 

“Let me touch you,” His hands feel heavier on your body this time, dragging up your stomach, over your sides, cupping your breasts in his large hands. 

You buck as his fingers tease at your nipples. 

“So sensitive,” He comments softly, “I wonder if you could come just from this?” 

“From this?” You gasp sharply as his fingers flick back and forth over your hardening nipples. 

Pleasure arcs through you, molten and throbbing from your chest down to your clit, and you grip down on his thighs. 

“That good?” He adjusts, leaning forwards a bit so he can kiss down your neck, sucking over your pulse point as he teases your nipples. 

You whine sharply, hips bucking on their own, “Oh, god,” 

He squeezes both your breasts again and groans, “Oh, baby,” he sighs, “one of these days I’m going to spend all night playing with these perfect tits,” 

“Please,” You pant, but what you really need is his fingers on your clit again. 

“Mm,” He drags his hands down, exploring your body under the water again, “I want to do everything with you,” 

“Yeah,” You breath, head lolling back onto his chest again, “yes,” 

Yunho’s hands settle on your hips, and then they stop. 

An involuntary whimper bubbles out of you and your hips rock, looking for some kind of touch, some friction. 

He takes in a slow, steady breath and then exhales against your temple, “What do you want, jagi?” 

Your hand searches for his, trying to tug it down between your open thighs, “You know what I want,” 

“Do I?” You can feel his smirk against your skin. 

Yunho lets you move his hand, pushing it into the right place over your slit, but he doesn’t move at all. You press down over his hand, trying to get his fingers back in the right spot, “Yunho,” you whine.

“Ask me nicely,” He says simply, “ask for what you want, and I’ll do it.” 

“Touch me,” You beg. 

“I am touching you,” He squeezes your hip. 

“Yunho,” 

“Ask me nicely,” He enunciates every word, his lips against your ear. 

Your heartbeat picks up, hammering in your chest. This side of him brings out something in you that you never understood before, but now you don’t know if you could feel this good any other way. 

“I already know what you want,” He murmurs, “I want to hear you ask for it,” 

You swallow tightly, “Please, Yunho,” you say, “will you make me come?” 

He smiles against your ear, “How?” 

Your nails dig into his skin, “Rub my clit,” 

“Uh huh,” He nods, prompting you. 

“Please,” You correct, realizing what he wants to hear, “Will you rub my clit, please?” 

“Of course, baby,” He teases, and all at once he starts to play your body like an instrument. 

His fingers shift over your clit, circling with perfect, firm pressure, and his other hand slides up your body, his fingers splayed wide over your chest and pinning you in place to his shoulder. 

You arch into him, one hand flying out of the water to grip the side of the tub, “Oh, fuck,” 

“There you go,” He says low against your forehead, “does that feel good?” 

“So good,” You shudder in his arms, “don’t stop,” 

“Not gonna stop,” He promises, his fingers sliding through your slick slit to gather more wetness, doubling his efforts on your clit. 

Your eyes slam shut, your body rocking against him as he cages you in, and you feel the stiff length of his cock nudging at your back the longer you writhe against him, the only sounds in the room, your echoing moans and the rhythmic slosh of the water. 

“Love you like this,” He groans, his hand sliding up to the base of your throat, “who knew my soulmate would be such a needy, filthy girl?” 

Pressure tightens in your gut, “God, oh god,” 

“And so good for me,” He sighs, rolling his fingers faster, “you like being told what to do, don’t you?” 

“Yes!” Your mind is starting to fray at the edges, only pleasure and his voice and the warm water. 

Yunho leans forwards in the tub, sitting up properly and slipping the hand that was on your throat under the water and between your legs. You’re not ready for the sensation of two of his fingers pushing inside you, and you gasp, your hand slipping on the porcelain lip of the tub, your body snapping forwards. 

“Ah, ah,” He’s quick to catch you, pulling his fingers out and bracing you back against his chest, “careful, babygirl,” 

You can’t say a word, your body too close to the edge. Your hips rut with needy, artless jerks into the firm press of his fingers, and you reach back to grip onto his shoulder, a whimper on your lips. 

“Suck,” He says suddenly, pressing two of his fingers through your lips, and you accept them with ease, “good girl, good girl,” 

You taste yourself on his fingers, lips closing instinctively just like he wanted you to, and through the dizzy haze of your almost orgasm you suck, taking them heavy on your tongue. 

He groans, his breath hot on your ear. 

Whimpering, your legs jerk with a spasm of sensation, just a little more and you’ll tip right over. 

Yunho laughs, amusement in his voice at how quickly you’re following his every direction, “Oh,” he drags out the sound to tease you, “needy girl,” 

You whine, clinging to his slick shoulder. 

“Come like that, just like that,” He says, “suck on my fingers while you come,” 

You inhale sharply through your nose, head digging into his shoulder as you arch, “Mm, mm!”

“There it is,” He pants, rubbing your clit faster, “there it is, come on, sweetheart, come for me,” 

Your orgasm slams into you, and you shudder in his arms, your body jerking so sharply that water sloshes over the side of the bath, but he just stays focused and works you through it. 

You jerk your head and he pulls his fingers free as you moan out the broken sound of his name. 

“I got you,” He kisses whatever part of your skin he can reach at this angle, “I got you, that’s it,” 

When his fingers finally slow, your brain is buzzing. You’re slumped lower in the water, your legs clamped together and bent at the knees, and you're shaking from your top to your toes. 

“Holy shit,” Yunho breathes, his hands finding your waist to pull you back up out of the water and against his chest again. 

You manage a nod, but your chest is still heaving. 

He kisses the side of your head hard and chuckles, “I think you have an oral fixation,” 

His words don’t sink through the cottony afterglow of your brain though, “Hmm?” 

“Nothing,” He smiles, “not a thing,” 

You feel the hard nudge of his cock against your lower back, and you twist in the bath, more water sloshing over the sides as you follow the needy pull inside you, finding his mouth, “Kiss me,” 

He groans against your lips, his tongue flicking against yours. 

“I want you,” You confess, trying to turn around despite the tangle of his long legs, “please,” 

He nods, but pushes you back, “Let’s go to bed, the bath isn’t big enough for that,” 

“Yeah,” You slide backwards in the tub through the water, and try to stand but find your legs still a little weak. 

“Hang on,” He holds a hand out to you, keeping you in place. 

He climbs out of the bathtub, grabbing a towel from a hook on the wall and tossing it down on the wet floor to keep you both from slipping, and then he locates two luxuriously fluffy looking white robes and smiles down at you, “Here, baby,” 

He pulls his robe on first, and then holds one out to you, slipping it on you as you get out of the tub. You wrap the robe around yourself, tying the cord, but before you can dry off properly, Yunho pulls you into his arms, one arm under your knees as he carries you. 

A startled noise slips out and you laugh, “Yunho!” 

“You’re still shaking,” He says, stepping back into the master bedroom, “I’m just helping,” 

He tucks you both into bed despite your still wet skin, yanking the fluffy duvet up over both of you until you’re completely encased under the covers with him. He tugs you close, wrapping his arms around you until you’re chest to chest, nose to nose. 

You laugh softly, “What are you doing?” 

“Warming you up,” He murmurs, rubbing up and down your back, “you’re shivering,” 

You reach up, looping your arms around his shoulders and diving into another kiss. His hands on your back slow, fingers gripping down as the kiss heats up again, and you pull yourself closer to touch more of him. 

Your robe parts open naturally as your legs tangle together, and Yunho slips a hand underneath to cup your ass, groaning into your mouth as you buck against him. You lose yourselves in the kiss, more skin starting to press together, and your heart beats hard in your chest, the heat between you building in steady waves. 

“Love kissing you,” He pants before dipping his tongue back into your mouth. 

Something between a sigh and a moan slips from your lips and you nod, “Love you,” 

His hand travels, sliding up to lock down on your hip. 

Your body’s thrumming, the orgasm in the bath only enough to settle your need for him for a few moments. Tucked away with him like this, the warm air of your shared breath, just the sounds of your bodies together, it’s enough to make you wish this were your whole life. Rich, tucked away on the coastline, only the two of you, no amount of days together enough to sate this hunger in your belly.  

His hand slips between your bodies where your stomach presses into his, and he finds the tie of your robe, pulling at just the right angle for the knot to come undone and the fabric to fall slack around your body. 

“Mm,” You slip a hand into his robe, gripping his firm ass, “please,” 

His hot eyes flick over you, settling on your face, “You need it?” 

“Yes,” You breathe. 

“Hold onto me,” He says as he kisses you once more, and then he hikes your leg up by your knee to hook over his hip, opening you up wide. 

You grip down on his shoulders, “Yes, yes,” 

Reaching between your bodies he pushes his robe open and directs his hard length into your slick heat, no amount of hesitation in the way he pushes into you. Once his cock catches, he secures a hand back on your ass and drags you down as he thrusts, sheathing himself deep inside you. 

You moan at the familiar stretch, “Oh, Yunho,” 

“Baby,” He shivers, “god,” 

Without another word, you sink into each other. Your lips connecting in a crash, tongues tangling as you moan into him. Using his shoulders and your leg hitched over his hip to secure yourself to him, you start to roll your body.  Yunho curses, hips snapping into a steady rhythm, his hands anchored on your naked skin and pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke. 

It’s needy, frantic, and you wonder distantly if there will ever be a time that sex with him doesn’t feel like an all consuming wildfire in your veins. This time there’s nothing to say, no teasing, no dirty talk, just both of you moving hungrily together, every kiss bringing you higher and higher as his cock spears you open. 

You fuck like this until Yunho changes the tempo, responding to the sound of your arden whimpers. 

Without breaking the kiss he rolls onto his back, dragging you with him so that you’re perched on his hips, the sudden position change pushing his cock in to the hilt. 

You moan sharply, the kiss disconnecting as you tremble over him, “Oh my f-fuck,” 

His hands grip your hips, “You’re so tight,” 

Heat floods your brain, and you scramble to sit upright, your robe falling off your shoulders. You shove it off, pushing it to the side, and then pull open the tie on Yunho’s robe, getting it open so you can see all of him. 

“C’mere,” Yunho mumbles, taking your hands in his and lacing your fingers together, “god, you’re beautiful,” 

Your cunt clenches around him. 

“Yes,” He nods, pupils blown with desire as he looks up at you, “ride me,” 

Using his hands as your balance, you lean into it, hooking your feet over his muscular thighs. You bounce on him slowly at first, getting used to the feeling of how deep inside you his cock connects every time you drop down, but once you have it, you let yourself get lost in it. 

His eyes flick from your face down to the connection of your bodies, and his plush lips part as he watches his cock disappear all the way into your slick sex again and again. 

“Good girl,” He sighs, squeezing your hands, “that’s it, baby, keep fucking yourself on my cock,” 

You gasp sharply, pleasure blooming inside you, his and yours all at once in a tangled mess of want. 

“Oh god,” Your thighs are aching, but you keep going, up and down with every breath, the sound of your bodies wet and messy. 

“Say my name,” He pants. 

You crumble a little, shoulders caving in but he holds you steady with his hands, “Yunho,” you moan, “Yunho, Yunho,” 

“That’s right,” He says, nodding up at you, “tell me how good it feels, babygirl,” 

“S-so good,” You can feel it building, knotting in your belly, “love your cock,” 

“Yeah?” He groans, his head pressing back into the pillows. 

“Yes, yes,” You grip his hands harder. 

“Don’t stop,” His eyes find yours, “ride me until you’re coming all over this dick, baby,” 

You fall forwards, pressing his hands back into the mattress, and your brain shorts. In a breath you’re dropping down your hips so that he’s fully buried inside you, a cry on your lips as you start to grind against him. 

Yunho disconnects your hands and you collapse on his chest, your head over his shoulder, lips against his throat, your body just jerking and grinding against him as you chase your pleasure. 

He hisses, his arms banding around you, “Fuck, pretty girl,” 

You whimper into him, “Need it,” 

“I know,” He murmurs, turning his head to yours, “I got you,” 

“Close,” 

He holds you to his chest, his lips at your forehead, “Come for me, sweetheart,” 

“Oh, god,” You grind down on him harder, endlessly rolling your hips, faster and faster as your body tightens. 

“You’re all mine,” He soothes, “aren’t you, gorgeous girl?” 

“All yours,” You babble into his skin. 

He groans, his hips jerking under you just once, but he holds himself still so you can take what you need. 

It comes over you fast, and you fall apart into needy shakes above him, biting down on his shoulder as your body breaks open. Sucking in a sharp breath, he adjusts his legs under you, and with a few hurried thrusts into your spasming cunt, he spills himself hot and deep inside you. 

“Perfect girl,” He presses kisses over your face, holding you to his chest, “love you so much,” 

You’re still panting, out of breath, but you nod, “L-love you,” 

You fall asleep in a tangle of sheets, his cock still deep in you, his hands stroking a tender line down your back. 

The world outside, completely forgotten. 

Nothing but you and Yunho and your makeshift honeymoon suite. 

**remember to continue on to section 2!

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 2

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you’re eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, lil bit of angst with a sprinkle of fluff and not edited im sorry lol word count: 2.1k authors note: *screams internally* thank you guys so much for the love on this story so far. I was super hesitant to post it at first but I am glad you guys like it! I'm posting this a little early but updates will be every sunday from now on. This chapter is kinda sad but happy times are on the way <3 thanks for the feedback, and if you like part 2, let me know!

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Sitting across from Mat for the first time in almost eight years, doesn’t go exactly as planned. He’s waiting for you even though you arrive fifteen minutes before the agreed time, hoping to rid yourself of the anxiety you are feeling which means he’s been here even longer. So you wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans and stride over to where he’s waiting and sit on the chair across from him. He’s staring at his phone so his head jerks up when he hears you.

The first words that come out of his mouth are: “are you sure she’s mine?”

Which, okay, that’s a fair question because you did tell everybody and their grandmother who asked that Mat was not the one who knocked you up. Of course, nobody actually believed you but there were a few people from your high school that believed it. Most girls who had always had a crush on Mat, would say that you cheated on him and obviously Nora couldn’t be his child because for some reason, they never actually accepted that you and Mat were a couple. 

So yeah, his question is fair and you did know he would ask. 

“Yeah, we can do a paternity test if you don’t believe me,” you say quietly. It’s not something you necessarily want to do, because then you’d have to come up with some reason to tell Nora why she needs to go get her cheek swabbed or blood tested. She’s as stubborn as Mat, and you would probably have to hold her down to get whatever the doctors needed unless she agreed. 

“No, I believe you.” 

His words take a huge weight off your shoulders but also replace it with a new one. You know Mat, he’s the kindest soul and has the biggest heart and he’s going to want to at least properly meet Nora and might ask to be in her life. In the first few years of her life, there wouldn’t have been anything you wanted more in the world. However, you’ve grown now and so has she. Your number one priority has to be what is best for Nora, and turning her life upside by introducing her to Mat is scary. For both you and her. 

And Mat? Despite what he might think, he’s nowhere near prepared to jump into being her dad.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. 

“Sure,” you say even though you know what he’s going to ask. It’s a question you’re nowhere near ready to answer but you have no choice now.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

He doesn’t sound as angry as you were expecting, maybe thanks to his dad talking to him but there’s underlying hurt. You try to put yourself in his shoes, trying to think if there was anything in the world that would have stopped you from wanting Nora. You know for a fact that if Mat knew, he would have been in her life somehow but you’re not sure if he would have given up the NHL to do it, and that’s exactly why you didn’t tell him.

“I didn’t want to hold you back,” you say softly, watching his facial expression change. He just looked confused before but now he looks sad almost. His eyes close for a moment and when he opens them, you feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach. 

“I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I did! I do,” you argue. “If you knew about her, it would have kept you away from everything you worked hard for. Your dream was the NHL, Mat. If I told you about her, it would’ve crushed that dream. We didn’t want to hold you back.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Who’s we? You and my parents? You shouldn’t have made that choice for me, it wasn’t right.”

“This is a child we’re talking about Mat. Were you really ready at eighteen to drop everything and raise one?” 

“Were you?”

“No,” you say truthfully. “But I didn’t have a jersey with my name on the back waiting for me.”

He doesn’t say anything and for a moment, it’s silent between the two of you with background chatter from the cafe. You’re sure that he’s just going to get up and storm out but he takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, knotting his fingers together.

“I wish you’d told me,” he mumbles before looking up at you. “I would’ve stayed.”

“I know,” you whisper but you can’t meet his gaze.

. . .

You’re picking Nora up from her day camp a couple of days later when you get a message from Mat asking if he can meet up with you. There’s been no contact since the two of you last met, having left with a short goodbye to pick up Nora. He hadn’t asked to see her and you hadn’t offered so you thought maybe he would leave it but you should’ve known better.

You fire off a sure, see you in twenty, and debate on whether to bring Nora with you or drop her off with your mom. Mat might not even want to see her, but if he’s reaching out to you again it’s probably about her. 

“Wanna go meet my friend?” you ask, looking back at her to gauge her reaction. She might just want to go home after all day at camp, but she perks up immediately when you ask.

“The one from the grocery store?” she squeals but narrows her eyes and gives you a suspicious look. “Hey, I thought you said he was a stranger.”

Shoot.

“Well, he was to you,” you try to explain. “I knew him when I was younger.”

“As young as me?”

“As young as you,” you tell her and she grins, nodding her head and shouting an excited yes, so you pull out of the parking-lot and start towards Mat’s parents house. You’re a little nervous to be around his family after dancing around them for so long after Nora was born. Meeting up with Liana wasn’t as hard as you were expecting, but you’re not so sure about his parents. Aside from the occasional awkward greeting, you haven’t properly spoken to them since before Nora and you’re starting to think maybe bringing her will just make things worse but before you can change your mind, you’re parking your car in the driveway. 

He’s sitting outside on the porch swing when you step out, and his eyes widen in surprise when Nora climbs out of the car. He definitely wasn’t expecting you to bring her but this could be a good test. If he decides he wants to be part of her life, having all their interactions scheduled wouldn’t be a good start so you decide to just jump in the deep end.

“Hey,” you call out before grabbing Nora’s hand and making your way towards him. He’s already making his way down the pathway and meets you about half way, pulling you into a surprising hug before crouching down to Nora’s level.

“Hey Nora,” he says, smiling gently and offering her his hand to shake just like last time. “Do you remember me?”

She bobs her head once, accepting his hand but tries to hide her face in your leg. Of course now, she’s practicing Stranger Danger, instead of blurting out her full name. 

“Mom made dinner, if you guys are hungry?” 

Family dinner is just about the last thing you want to do but Nora perks up at the idea of food so you agree, following Mat into the all too familiar home you spent so much time in as a kid. Not much has changed, you realize as you look around the foyer. It feels a bit like coming home but you’re not sure if you were missed. 

“Smells good,” you say, trying to make conversation and Mat smiles awkwardly. 

“Yeah, mom is making your favorite.” 

How she can remember your favorite meal is beyond you, but you’re not about to miss a peace offering and this is certainly one.

“My favorite food is spaghetti,” Nora informs him and you watch Mat nod seriously, taking in anything she says. You try not to look too deep into it because even though he knows she’s biologically his, Nora is still just a cute kid talking a mile a minute about anything and Mat has probably been trained on how to handle excited children. 

When the three of you make your way to the living room, with Nora still chatting excitedly, you stop short when you see a picture frame on the wall. 

It’s you. Well, it’s you and Mat at graduation. Arms wrapped around each other and Mat kissing your forehead. If you look close enough, you can see past your smile and see the sadness in your eyes. This was before you were pregnant but you were already grieving the loss of Mat. He left for hockey shortly after and your only reminder was the brown haired little girl still talking to Mat. 

“Is that you, mama?” Nora asks suddenly, standing on the tips of her toes so she can get a better view. Her nose scrunches up and she looks at the photo, then Mat, and then the photo again.

“Oh,” she says and you sigh. 

“Let’s go see Mat’s parents.”

Nadia and Mike are waiting in the kitchen, trying to make it seem like they weren’t listening in on the conversation. Liana is sitting at the table, reading a book casually but you know she was probably listening too.

“This is Mike, Nadia, and Liana,” you tell Nora who lights up at Nadia’s name.

“My middle name is Nadia!” She squeals and you stare at the floor, not wanting to meet any of their eyes. Someone - probably Nadia - inhales sharply and then lets out what sounds like a sob. 

“That’s a beautiful name,” Liana says and you look up to see her looking at Nora with a soft smile on her face. Mike has an arm wrapped around Nadia who’s trying, and failing, to hide tears. You’re glad Liana is trying to distract Nora because you’re about two seconds away from crying and Mat must be able to tell because you feel his hand lightly touch your back. His hand lingers for a moment until you take a deep breath and blow it out steadily. 

Then his hand is gone and you feel the loss right away.

“Hey, we have a swing outside in the backyard,” Mat tells Nora. “Wanna go check it out while dinner finishes cooking?” 

He looks at you for permission so you nod, smiling at Nora when he takes her hand and leads her outside. Liana follows shortly after and then it’s just you, Nadia and Mike. Both their eyes are red rimmed and Nadia only hesitates for a moment before striding over and pulling you into a tight hug. 

“Thank you, my girl,” she whispers and all you can manage is a nod because you’ll probably cry now if you try to talk. The two of you just stand there for a couple minutes until Mike chuckles. You pull away, wiping your eyes to see him standing in front of the patio door so you make your way over to see what he’s looking at and almost start crying again. 

Mat and Nora are playing what looks like a game of tag, Liana laughing at them while trying to film. It’s exactly the kind of thing you had sometimes allowed yourself to imagine.

“Would you look at that,” Mike says softly. 

“He’s a natural,” Nadia agrees. “Always was.”

Then she turns to you with a small smile on her face. “I know the struggles of being a mom. You have to do what’s best for your kids…” she hesitates, gazing outside before looking back at you. “He wants to try, if you’ll give him the chance. We’d all love to get to know Nora.”

You would love nothing more than to have Mat’s family in Nora’s life. For her to get to know her other grandparents but you can’t help but be scared of what could happen if you let Mat into her life. She could get attached only to have him ripped away when he has to go back to New York but you can’t have Nora in Nadia, Mike, and Liana’s life and not Mat’s. 

But maybe you owe it to Mat, to give him a chance at having a place in her life after not telling him about her all this time. You were doing what you thought was right - what was right - but if Mat really wants to be part of her life, maybe it’s time. 

You look outside and see Nora on Mat’s shoulders with Liana chasing them, before looking back at the woman in front of you and smiling softly.

“I think Nora would love that.”

tag list: @dasiysthings

[estrellami-1]

Pay the Price

Here you go, you insatiable little shits. Love ya. I’m gonna try to update every Sunday, at least until I run out of prewritten parts. Taglist is CLOSED (bc y’all are feral ❤️) so if you’re new and want to follow along, “#pay the price fic” is the fic tag and “#starambles” is my writing tag. Subscribe to whichever you want!

Part 2

“Ed, phone!” Wayne calls, and he scrambles from where he’s on his bed, writing lyrics.

“Coming!” He yelps, barely not running into a wall.

He takes the phone and vaguely recognizes the voice on the other end. He figures it’s someone at school, but can’t quite place it until the end of their conversation.

“Y’know Loch Nora?”

He scoffs. “Doesn’t everybody?” He asks, derision clear in his voice. Only the richest of the rich for their little podunk town, the who’s-who of Bumfuck, Indiana, live in Loch Nora.

“Last house on the right. Twenty minutes. See you then, Munson.”

Then the absolute asshole—because of course Eddie knows who it is now—hangs up.

Steve Harrington. The golden boy of Hawkins High.

Except that’s not the case anymore, is it? He thinks about the past year. He fell from the top of the totem pole like a rock, doing a perfect fucking swan dive all the way to the bottom, then standing up and brushing off his shoulders like it didn’t even matter to him.

And what had he said- babysit? The Hellfire freshmen? Yeah; Eddie definitely needs more context.

He grabs his keys, jams his feet into his shoes, and takes off.

He gets to the Harrington house (can it be called a house if it fits five of Eddie’s trailers? Or would that be classified as a mansion?) not much later, bounds up the steps, and knocks confidently on the door.

Steve Harrington—the man, the myth, the legend, the enigma—has some explaining to do.

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[ladykailitha]

A Heads Up and a Schedule Update

Just a few things to go over with you today!

Posting schedule

What's Next Story Wise

Halloween and WIP Wednesday

My permanent tag list

1- First up, my posting schedule. The days AREN'T changing. This is just an update on which stories will be released.

This Sunday is the last chapter of Icarus (metal band) and I will start posting its sequel "Around the World" and it's epilogue "The Rise of the Fallen".

Because I want to get as much of "Around the World" out as possible in the spooky month, it will post starting on Tuesday, Oct. 22 and will post one chapter every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday until it completes. Then once it is done, "The Rise of the Fallen" will premier at the first Sunday AFTER "Around the World" is done. So if it ends on Oct. 31st then it will come out on Nov. 3rd. But if it ends on Nov. 5th, the epilogue will premier on Nov. 10th. Does that make sense?

"The Rise of the Fallen" only has two chapters so there is no need to rush them out. So the two chapters will release a week apart.

The Hellfire Club (stripper) is nearing it's completion and will have 13 chapters. It will continue to release every Friday ending on Nov. 22.

Now, depending on what finishes first, "The Au Pair Boy" (nanny) will premier the following week. So if the Fallen verse ends first, then it will come out on a Sunday, if Hellfire does then it will come out on Friday Nov. 29th.

As always I am constantly writing so as these finish I move onto other stories and will begin posting new stories once they get at least 3 chapters in backlog. Which brings me neatly to number two!

2- What's next story wise?

I have so many ideas (waves at my Discord chat, if you know, you know).

Some really interesting ideas that I've come up with recently are:

Noir AU

Mafia AU

FB Prompt

Amnesia

Steddie as Dragon Dancers (which I haven't written up for Tumblr yet)

And any or all of them will be used as I finish the other stories. If you have one you'd really like to see, put a comment or tag in and I'll see about moving it to the top of the list or at least closer to the to the top.

3- Halloween and WIP Wednesday.

I won't be having WIP Wednesday on the 30th, because I'm doing the Trick or Treat ask game on the 31st.

This is how I will be doing it. I will have two pick wheels up on my laptop. You send Trick or Treat (with the name of a current WIP) and the first wheel determines whether you get a trick or a treat. A treat is a snippet from that WIP or if it's a trick it will go into the second wheel where it pick a number and I will answer the corresponding ask from this list.

Just like with WIP Wednesday you can play as often as you like. You know me I love asks. Any remaining asks will be answered the next week as part of the usual WIP Wednesday.

4- Permanent Tag List.

It's that dreaded time of year again. Trimming and rearranging my tag list. About every six months or so, I go through all my stories and if you haven't liked, reblogged, or commented on a story in the last three months, I give you a whole month of me constantly, almost aggressively tagging you to respond whether or not you want to remain on the list.

I do this because sometimes people fade from a fandom and I don't want to keep tagging someone who isn't interested in my writing anymore. It's not fair for them, and it's not fair for the other people who want to be on the list but can't.

If after the month and you haven't responded or if you respond that you want to be removed from my list (which I am 100% okay with I promise!) you'll be removed from the and refill any vacancies to the list.

I have a hard max total of 40, and depending on how many I lose this time that might go down.

THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO REQUEST TO BE ADDED TO THE LIST PLEASE!!!

I already having a waiting list of SIX people who comment, like and reblog my stuff all the time that I want on it. And they will be given top priority to be added. @fearieshadow

@dreamercec @blondie1006 @kultiras @thesecondfate @sadisticaltarts

If there is any room after I add them, then I might be open to requests. But again it depends on how many is left. Like if after the six get added and I have 37, then I'll open for three more. But if I have 35, I might lower the hard limit to the 35 so more casuals can get a chance to be tagged in a specific story as my story tag lists have a hard limit of 50. Which means as it stands only 10 casuals can request to be added at this time.

So starting on Nov. 2nd I will send out the call. And every Saturday until the end of Nov. I will repost (not reblog as a reblog doesn't RE-notify you) with how many days you have left to reply.

Then on Nov. 30th I will trim the unanswered and the removals from the list and add the wait list. Then if there is any room I'll do an open call. If there isn't enough room for all six, I will use a pick wheel to fill the list to keep it fair. Same will go for the extras if more than required amount to fill it goes over.

[pedrostories]

UPDATE! New deadline: 20 August (Sunday)

PedroStories 1000 followers celebration

PedroStories hit 1000 followers in May, around the same time the blog had its 2nd birthday, so we decided to celebrate it with the fandom’s writers and readers!

We prepared with a few general quotes, other quotes from Pedro and his characters and with some fanfiction tropes. You don’t have to stick to the character whose quote you choose – actually, we encourage you to mix and match any of them as creatively as you want! The celebration starts today and lasts until 20 August!

Please read the rules carefully, then you will find the list of prompts under the cut.

Rules

We welcome pairings with readers/characters of any gender, non-romantic pairings or even fics with no pairings. 💚 The rating can be anything from general to explicit.

Choose at least one quote from any of the quotes lists (you can use more prompts in one fic) and choose at least one trope. You can write as many fics as you want using these prompts!

It’s not necessary to let us know what prompts you’ve chosen! Just let your creativity flow - this challenge is completely open!

Please mention in your post that your work is for @pedrostories’ celebration and use the special tag #pedrostories1k, just so we can track and queue every single entry.

Please post your work until 20 August – we will track the special tag until that day, and in a few days we create a masterlist of all the fanfictions. You can keep using the list later and we will queue them as usual if you tag the blog, but we won’t track the special tag anymore and won’t update the event’s masterlist.

Please make sure you use tags and warnings properly – we take tagging stories seriously to help our followers find the story that caters to their needs and avoid those they don’t want to see on their feed - If there’s character/trope/dynamic/etc. you would like to avoid, you can easily blacklist tags on tumblr, you can find a tutorial about it here! 

Please remember that even though this list has quotes from Pedro, we don’t reblog real person fics (aka fics about Pedro himself)– this blog is for fanfiction written for characters played by him.

Following the blog in order to participate in the game is not mandatory, but it’s very much welcomed! 🤗

Send us an ask if you have any questions – we will use the tag #pedrostories1k questions so you can check previously answered asks about the event.

Signal boosts about this event are appreciated!

Have fun! 🌻

List of prompts below the cut!

List of prompts

Quotes

General Dialogue Prompt List: 

“The price of my affection is high.” 

“You pushed me off the bed!” - “I’m sorry?”

“I got shot and I’m fine! Relax, would you?” 

“If I (…) will you behave for me?” – „Only if you kiss me first.”

 “I can’t believe I ever thought you were different.”

“You’re not going to believe this” 

“Not again”

“Run!”

 “Do you trust me?” 

“Please, just listen to me!” 

“You’ve lost.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I hate that I can’t seem to live without you!” 

“Oh, don’t be modest, just kiss me.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that your eyes sparkle in sunlight?” 

“You can’t go until I tell you” 

 “Do I really have a choice?” 

“You’re the reason I wake up every morning.”

 “I hate you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now.” 

“You wanna go save the world?” 

“I don’t think that’s exactly what I had in mind.” 

“‘Sorry’ just isn’t going to cut it anymore.” 

“Come back in five more minutes”

Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe Quotes: 

Pedro Pascal quotes:

“I’m not short”

“But bad guys are more fun!”

“Smack me, I deserve it” 

“That bad?”

“I really need to stop eating the sticker on the tomato”

“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it.”

"You naughty dog.”

“That me. Working on the buns.”

“But those were MY CRISPS!”

“I’m going straight for that bottom.”

“Somebody gimme a hug.”

“If you're freaky you're hot, if you're hot you're freaky.”

Dieter Bravo quotes: 

“I’m trying to care, but it’s hard.”

“We’re fucked” 

“Do you wanna have sex with me?” 

“This is creepy, but I like it”

“I’m not giving this up!”

“Hold my hair!”

Javi Gutierrez quotes: 

“I fucking told you” 

“Honestly, I’m too nervous” 

“I think I need to go to bed” 

“Whether you like it or not, you have a gift.”

"Sometimes circumstances get in the way of love. That's just the way it is."

“We need to open our minds to the infinite possibilities of what the cosmos has to offer."

Din Djarin quotes: 

“I know everything that’s in there”

“This is a pile of junk”

“I’m not leaving my fate up to chance.”

“Your song is not yet written. I serve you until it is.”

“Take it off.  Or I will.”

“I like those odds.”

Javier Peña quotes:

 “You're breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

“Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American.”

“Things don’t always go according to plan.”

“I got a better idea.”

“Fuck this!”

“Well, what have we here?”

Dave York quotes:

“ There is no sin. No virtue.”

“Who did this?”

“There’s no coming back from this.”

“You do what you have to do and you move on.”

“It’s who we were. It’s what we did.”

“You shouldn't start a war with us.”

Jack Daniels quotes:

“Whoo. I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”

“What are we doin’?”

“Looks like we’re hookin’ up with a chick at a rock concert.”

“It's a lasso.”

“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

“Now, is that any way to welcome a visitor from out of town, moonshine?”

Pero Tovar quotes:

“Maybe you can fool them, but I know what you are.”

“The time before that I saved your life!”

“You can never undo things you have done.”

“Is that the best you've got?”

“I want to eat.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

Frankie Morales quotes:

“Alright baby, alright baby. Come on now.”

“This is not what I signed up for.”

“What the fuck we’re gonna do with that thing?”

“Move. Move!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“It's not a big deal. Actually, it's a big deal.”

Fanfic Tropes

AU fic 

Forced Proximity

Time Travel 

Roadtrip

One Bed

Second chance romance

Friends to Lovers 

Enemies to Lovers 

Fake dating

Redemption

Forbidden love (legal)

Hurt/Comfort

Soulmates 

Secret identity/billionaire/royal

Blind Date 

Platonic Relationship 

Body Swap

Love Triangle

5 times this and 1 time that

Opposites attract

[nowoyas]

koi no yokan 39: stop being stupid (nishinoya yuu/reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list 1-30 - M.list 30-60 - Ao3

A/N: hi. I'm in a lot of pain and wanted to feel good about something and the coin landed heads so here's a chapter. normal update in the morning also. <3

Summary: The long-dreaded date with Asuka Chouji.

Warnings and Tags: blanket series warnings, descriptions of a panic attack

Words: 3000

No one on Earth seems to not agree with you on the point that breaking up over text is shitty. This is a problem, because for once, you'd like permission to just be a little shitty. Over the week, you contemplate over and over again the possibility of handing your phone to Noya and telling him to break Asuka's heart, but it would be shitty, and as far as you're aware, Asuka hasn't even cheated on you yet.

So you make it to the weekend. You spend Sunday practice on edge, barely keeping your grip on water bottles, barely keeping your focus on the boys' practice. Unless you're mistaken, Noya isn't doing much better.

If only Asuka hadn't rescheduled this stupid date in front of Noya. If only he didn't know it was happening at all. As it stands, he's probably assuming your nerves are about the date—nervous, excited energy, instead of the pure dread thrumming through your veins.

This is it.

At the start of individual practice, you bid the others goodbye, let Noya steal a quick side hug before you rush to get changed. If you take too long, you'll lose your nerve, and as good as you seem to be at pretending to have a lot of that to spare, you really, really don't.

In the changing room, you linger, frozen.

You don't want to go see him. You don't want to have to have this confrontation. You don't want to go on some stupid date with some stupid baseball player while Noya pretends not to be stressed about the fact that you're on a stupid date with a stupid baseball player.

It takes a glance at a new Soba picture for strength—this one of Soba and Tsuyu play-fighting, paws in the air held like fists, no caption—to get you to pick up your bag and just go.

Asuka waits by the gate. At the sight of you, that boyish grin again. It's more insidious every time you see it. He's done nothing wrong to you, but still you can't take it.

You shut down. You put on your most charming smile and wave as you approach.

"Hey," he says. "Ready?"

Actually, we should talk.

You nod. "Yeah, let's go."

~

This fucking sucks.

Like, okay, let's be fair, here; the date's fine. It's no making out with a hot girl behind the arcade or anything, but he's sweet enough, takes you to a café and a movie. He didn't ask about what genres of movie you're into, and the one you watch isn't even close to what you'd call "interesting", but at least in a movie theater, you can get away with the way your brain seems to have fully detached from the situation.

Like this, you probably wouldn't be able to pay attention to the movie anyway.

You don't remember much of the movie. Asuka doesn't really do anything wrong. An arm on your shoulder in the movie theater—normal date fare, you believe, and it's not like you said anything about the way it makes your skin crawl, so he can't be expected to know.

"You seem a little tense," he whispers at one point. "Not good with violence or something?"

You're not right. I need to go home.

"Fine, sorry." The movie isn't even good, you don't think. Something fighty that won't rate well, but you're barely able to make yourself pay attention even if it was good.

So his arm doesn't move from your shoulder and the movie keeps playing and you keep thinking about Noya and about how to say I never should have said yes to this in the first place without being unnecessarily cruel. You consider blocking his number and never speaking to him again after this. If only he didn't know where your classroom was, if only you didn't have to spend the next two years in the same school building as him.

When the movie's over and he begins to walk you home, he chatters about the movie, shadow-boxing the air.

"If you keep tucking your thumb when you make a fist," you say idly, eyes lingering on his hands, "you're gonna break it when you get in a real fight."

He snorts. "What, how would you know something like that? Have you ever been in a fight?"

You have. Plenty enough to know how to make a fist. But to elucidate that would bring up interest, would make him really focus on you, would force you to be real, to be here, to re-enter your brain. So you shrug and keep walking with him.

You've promised you don't know how many times now that you'd do right by Noya. You need to do right by Noya.

At the bus stop, you plant your feet. Now or never.

"[surname]-chan? You okay?"

"I—" I'm breaking up with you. "I actually have to stop by the store," you blurt. "My mom, uh, I gotta pick up some stuff for her. I almost forgot."

Fuck. Shit. Goddammit.

"I've gotta split here. But I had a really great time tonight, thank you."

"Well, here, I've got time. Let me walk you and then I can catch the bus back."

"Y-you shouldn't—"

He smiles, tilts his head. "You don't gotta be shy. It's the least I could do, right?"

So he walks you to the drugstore, lingers in front of it with you.

"Not the most traditional ending to a date, but I'll take it," he says, a hand resting on your arm, burning you. "Listen, I had fun today. Thanks for coming out with me. I'm really glad we got to do this."

He's leaning in.

You hardly even remember the day.

You don't pull away.

I never should have dated you in the first place.

His hand cups your cheek.

In your head, you're screaming at yourself, begging yourself to pull away, to tell him no, to leave.

His lips press against yours.

Someone else is driving your body.

You let him.

When he leaves, your feet carry you inside. You hear yourself asking the clerk if you can use their restroom, promising that you are a paying customer and you'll buy something once you're done. The response must have been affirmative, because your next fragment of a memory is you in the bathroom, the first wave of panic finally washing over you.

Something is fucking wrong with you.

~

[name] to Noya at 18:14

[name]: soba

Noya: what's your level?

[name]: soab

~

Noya calls you.

You are crying in the bathroom of a random drugstore closer to society than your own home and Noya calls you. You dry heaved into the toilet bowl, hoping to rid yourself of the popcorn, of the hot chocolate, of the soda, of the taste of his lips on yours, objectively fine but wrong wrong wrong, and nothing came up but you still feel like you can't breathe, like you need to keep trying, like you need to get something out of you, and Noya calls you.

You shouldn't answer. You promised you wouldn't tell him anything about Asuka unless he asked. He's probably going to ask. He can't know you let him kiss you. He can't know that this is because he kissed you, that you're having a panic attack over something so small, so pointless, so completely stupid as a kiss you didn't say no to or pull away from.

You let it ring out. You scrub cold water on your face until your cheeks tinge red and your fingers start to prune. You count yourself through the grounding exercise—mirror sink phone counter bag and smooth countertop soft jacket scratched phone case dry skin and buzzy air conditioning water running phone ringing and in the silence when you're trying to remember what your fourth sense even is your phone starts ringing a third time.

You reach for it to deny the call.

Perhaps because your hands are shaking, your finger lands on answer.

Everything else today is just happening to you, so this might as well just happen too. You bring the phone to your ear, apology already on your lips even as his voice comes through in a growl.

"What happened?"

You snatch up your bag, walk out of the bathroom. Dip your head in a little half-bow to the clerk, smile apologetically. It takes all your energy to come across as okay, to measure your voice. "I'm okay, Noya. I just wanted to see Soba."

"Bullshit. You've been crying, I can hear it. What did he do?"

"Nothing," you repeat, less firm. "I just—I missed her. Am I allowed to miss your cat? I have visitation rights for Tsuyu. Can I use those digitally?"

You turn down an aisle, stop when you catch sight of a pack of cheap headphones. Grab them, just so you can say you bought something, and head towards the register with your father's card in hand. It's an emergency. He'll understand.

"Of course you're allowed to, just—you're not gonna tell me what happened?"

"Hold on, I'm checking out." You lower the phone, pay for the earbuds. The clerk offers you a sympathetic smile. Surely she can see your reddened eyes, the way you're holding back on sniffles. Probably heard you dry-heaving in the bathroom, too. She checks you out with ease and efficiency, sends you on your way with the standard customer service smile. You unwrap the headphones in the parking lot, shove the receipt and the discarded packaging into your bag. When you plug them in, you speak again. "Sorry. Needed to buy headphones. Gotta take the bus."

"Alone? What, did he leave you in the city to take the bus by yourself?"

"I told him I had to buy some stuff for Okaa-san."

A disbelieving laugh. At least someone else remembers that your mom is dead. "I see."

"Can you just—stay on the phone with me?" you manage. "Until I get home? If you're not busy, I mean."

"Sure. Not going anywhere. I'm here if you decide you wanna talk about it, alright?"

"Thank you."

So he stays. You listen to him talk, listen to him update you on something Mei told him. At one point, he mutes, tells you it's just for two minutes so he can run to the bathroom, but otherwise, he stays with you until the bus comes, and for the entire bus ride. Your spirits are almost lifting a little—you pass the time listening to him, not sure where his background noise ends and yours begins, paging through your Soba albums for comfort. (You're gonna have to update the name—Tsuyu has started cementing his presence among them, sometimes on his own, a Soba-less Soba photo.)

By the time you get off the bus to find Noya waiting for you, you almost forget you were crying.

Almost.

"Hey," he says softly—in your earbuds, in your background noise. He ends the call, raises his opposite hand to gently shake some familiar plastic bags at you. "I made Kaede run to Yoshinoya for me."

Nothing could have prepared you for this second wave of tears.

You let him walk you back home—to his place, with the promise of petting at least one cat—with his arm around your waist, with his body pressed into yours so fully that it's a bit awkward to walk this way. The hand resting against your waist refuses to stop moving—a thumb rubbing circles into you, just underneath the hem of your shirt. Silent, insistent: I'm here, I got you, you can breathe now.

"You didn't have to pick me up from the bus stop," you mumble back at his place, when your tears have subsided to sniffles all over again, when you've gotten situated by pressing yourself fully into his side on the couch. He has your karaage balanced on his lap, somehow managing to keep two cats from stealing it while refusing to take his arm off you.

"No," he replies, somehow endlessly patient, "but you were crying. I wasn't gonna let you go home alone like that."

"I couldn't break up with him."

He jolts a little—just slightly, just enough. "Huh?"

"I kept trying. I tried to before we even got on the bus, but I—I couldn't get the stupid fucking words to come out. I spent the whole date trying to tell him I was breaking up with him and I couldn't do it."

"But you tried to."

You nod. Sniffle. "I know I'm being stupid. Everyone keeps sayin' I have to do it in person. Which I know, but—it's like my brain left my body. Barely even remember most of th' date."

He feeds you a bite of karaage, pauses to nuzzle the top of your head. "Maybe you should just do it over text. We could workshop it together. I can be the one to hit send so that your brain can't shut down on you."

"Maybe. Can we just—can we do solutions tomorrow? Just need this right now."

You're sure if you told him about the kiss, he'd be livid. So angry it scared him, maybe. He'd definitely confront Asuka at school, definitely end up suspended right before the spring tournament.

So you don't tell him. You steer him away from it, let him feed you. The arm settled around you feels so much different from Asuka's in the movie theater. Kissing him would feel different, too, you're sure.

"Can I stay tonight?"

"Of course. Do you need anything from your place? I can go grab it for you while you get cat therapy."

"Toothbrush. Also my lunch."

"Alright. I'll go get them for you in a little bit."

~

When he leaves, he leaves you under the care of the two available sisters. Mei gets you water, Kaede sits down to distract you with her sketchbook. You hold the water in both hands, rock gently in your seat.

"If I—if I tell you guys what happened, will you promise not to tell Senpai?" you ask quietly. "I kinda wanna talk about it but I don't want him to know."

Kaede glances at Mei. Shrugs. Nods. "Sure. We won't tell him, alright?"

"It's stupid. It's really stupid."

"If it upset you this much, it's not stupid," Mei replies gently.

You sigh. Shuffle back to sink into the couch. "I let Asuka kiss me. I spent the whole stupid date trying to get myself to tell him we were breaking up, and instead of doing that, I let him kiss me."

Mei is the one to reach out. "Oh, [name]-chan. That's not stupid."

"Having a panic attack in some random drugstore bathroom because my literal boyfriend kissed me at the end of a date is kinda the stupidest thing possible. It's not like I tried to stop him. It's not like he forced me. I wanted to stop him. I could have, easily. It wasn't even my first kiss or anything."

"But it didn't feel right, did it?"

"No," you whisper. "It didn't."

"You gotta let yourself feel things. If it doesn't feel right, listen to that. If kissing him makes you cry, that's not a bad thing. If anything, it's a good sign that you need to stick to that plan of breaking up with him, no matter how hard it is. Maybe it's a sign that you need to not worry about doing it the right way or whatever, if it just gets done."

"I think I'm fundamentally a really stupid person and maybe my emotions, specifically, are dumb and need to shut up."

Kaede snorts. "Emotions happen, kid."

"They gotta stop happening to me."

"If you figure out how to make that happen, let me know. In the meantime, let's get you broken up with the wrong dude so you can start dating the right dude."

A huff. "Are you about to imply that the right dude is your brother?"

She grins. "You're the one who said it."

The retort on your lips is aborted when Mei speaks up. "I have a suggestion."

"What?"

"We could do a party about it? Like a girls' night thing?"

"…about me allegedly being right for your brother?"

She laughs. "No! Nee-san instated breakup parties once Satsuki started dating. We'll kick Yuu out for the day and watch movies and do, like, slumber party stuff. If you haven't already broken up with the guy at the time of the party, we can be moral support while you get it done."

"You kick Senpai out for breakup parties?" You stifle a laugh. "He doesn't get to be one of the girls for girls' night? Damn, being the only boy must suck."

"Noo," Kaede says. "We normally let him join. But, uh, normally he's not in love with anyone involved in the breakup parties. You know, by virtue of being our brother."

Yeah, that's a fair point. You feel a little bad kicking him out for it, but…

Eh, fuck it. "I've never really done a girls' night. It sounds fun."

Kaede lets out an exaggerated gasp. "Never? Oh gosh, we have girls' nights all the time. You're coming to our next hair night, too. Do you have a dedicated hairdresser? I'm taking her job."

"Huh? I wouldn't want to—"

"Don't even finish that sentence, sweetheart. I do every Nishinoya's hair. Of course you're welcome. Yuu's present at all of 'em, usually, we're just making an exception for the breakup party since it's kind of a weird situation. He doesn't mind being one of the girls."

…oh.

You always wanted to have sisters.

Whatever expression you're making causes Mei to smile. "I'll let Satsuki know. How's tomorrow, if we can get Yuu out in time?"

"Tomorrow's fine, but, uh—"

"Practice, right? Just stay the night." Kaede grins. "It's not like you aren't used to sleeping in Yuu's bed, right?"

Your face burns. When he's there, maybe.

"…fine."

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @kazunish

[jaemified]

SNOWED IN ! [ep.iii] | forced proximity

“literally hate you jeon wonwoo”

a barista xu minghao x receptionist reader smau

‘welcome to first class resort’

previous | MASTERLIST | next

updates ; every saturday-monday (new schedule bc work is kicking my ass</33)

synopsis ; after a long first week of their first quarter at work, y/n and her department just want to go out for burgers before being snowed in the hotel thanks to an unexpected snowstorm.

🏷️ ; @minhui896 @snowcake666 @kissesfrmwonwoo @wonqr

couldnt tag ; @/heelarious @/minghaossv

note - if u see those blank pages below this then the tweets ur phones not glitching its just to fix the format:)

read below the cut !

before any of the staff realized, their first week of the new quarter had flown by, and it was time to go home for the weekend (or, just saturday since they had to come back sunday).

the first concierge/receptionist unit (aka miyeon, y/n, minnie, chan, soonyoung, sakura, and mingyu) finished cleaning up their stations, before miyeon and y/n went to explain the night shift to the manager of the second unit from the other department.

“finally, just barely 20 minutes overtime. its only 10:20 but does anyone want to go for a late dinner with the other staff from our department?” miyeon suggested to her team of 6.

“yeah sure, ill need to find seungkwan first? he’s my ride home.” chan said as he started to walk down the hall as soonyoung called out, “make sure he brings down all of his staff too!”

“alright is that a yes from everyone else?”

“except for me, my auntie is visiting from japan and i need to be the one to pick her up from the airport.” sakura said while waving at everyone as she walked towards the exit.

the unit began to converse amongst themselves as they waited for the other staff in their department before they felt the ground shake the walls harshly, the winds howl as their speeds increased and the front doors be pushed open.

“earthquake! everyone get under the desk!” miyeon yelled out, her staff being her priority as manager.

they all took cover underneath the receptionists desk before hearing a loud thud after a few minutes, leaving the glass on some of the doors shattered.

everyone got up to see what the noise was, only for their faces to freeze in shock.

“s-snow?!” minnie exclaimed. “there wasnt any snow in the forecast this week at all! and its barely the first few weeks of winter..”

“im sure you’re just as shocked as any of us are. i hope sakuras safe, im just glad she got out. uh- y/n! call sakura while i try to reach seungkwan and josh? and someone go to check out the side and back doors! don’t go alone! the powers iffy right now.” miyeon safely instructed off the top of her head, trying to remain calm in front of her staff.

you pull out your phone, dialing sakuras number as you tap your foot repeatedly against the floor in impatience and worry.

she picked up after the first few rings, “hello?”

“sakura! where are you? are you okay?”

“no, yeah im fine. im just off the side of that bridge a few miles away from the hotel. but the real question is, are you guys okay?”

“you felt it? we’re fine. splitting up duties to ensure safety. and why are you off to the side off the bridge? i assumed you wouldve been at the airport already.”

“everyone in seoul felt it. but i think it hit you guys the hardest since it came closest from that direction. you know, some cars were flipping over as i was about to pull out the parking lot!”

“just glad youre safe, but if you see the hotel, how bad does it look like we’re snowed in?”

“pretty bad.. looks snowed in on all sides and that wall of snow is so tall it goes beyond the 9th floor. that’s at least 7 meters thick going outwards.”

“shit. alright. i gotta go, but get home safely okay? bye!”

after getting off the phone with sakura, y/n goes back as she sees some of her coworkers returning from opposite directions after looking at the exits.

“theyre all blocked. completely. the garage tunnel is entirely blocked through the stairs, elevator, and side door too.” mingyu and soonyoung reported with minnie following not far behind despite being told not to go alone.

“should we call the police?”

“ill try, i just got off the phone.” you said, but just as you swiped emergency call, you immediately had no bars. “what? anyone else have service?”

everyone pulled out their phones and held it in the middle so you could see, “guess the signal just dropped.” you muttered as you dialed 119 anyway.

‘we’re sorry, the person you are trying to reach is-’

“has anyone noticed chan hasnt come back yet? its been like, well over 20 minutes.” mingyu questioned while looking around the darkly (and eerily) illuminated halls.

as mingyu walked closer, he let out a loud scream as he saw a big snd ominous silhouette coming towards him before he realized it was the rest of the staff from their department.

miyeon walked passed mingyu, playfully slapping his back before meeting up with the other managers seungkwan and josh.

“hi wonwoo.” you smiled, wrapping your arms around him brightly as you were now reassured your childhood best friend was safe now that he was in your arms.

“hi y/n. you’re not hurt or anything right?” he asked while looking around your body as he kept his hands on your shoulders.

“no im completely fine. what took you guys so long to come out though?”

“we still had a lot to clean up, but then chan went to kwans restaurant then jun just HAD to make a quick meal for him before coming to us and it always takes long if the cafe is the last stop.”

after everyone discussing what had to be discussed, such as agreeing to try calling for help in the morning, etc, etc, wonwoo announced to everyone they’ll have to check out rooms for each other and that they had to be paired up into twos.

so of course, he made you and minghao be ‘roommates’ for the time being.

“are you serious??” minghao whisper shouted as he pulled wonwoo into a corner, watching as everyone walked towards the stairwell.

“you were the only two left.” wonwoo shrugged, playing it off even though he was aware minghao clearly knew about his schemes.

after climbing 29 flights of stairs (seeing as the elevator broke), you were all beyond exhausted.

so, you took your room key from miyeon before following minghao to your shared room.

you opened the door and sigh in relief as you saw the two beds separated by a nightstand, taking off your shoes before lying down.

minghao ran a hand through his hair as he walked out from the bathroom to get himself ready for bed.

he went under the white sheets and muttered a grumpy, “dont even try talking to me.” before turning out the light, leaving you with your thoughts in the darkness.

[spaceprincessem]

seven sentence sunday

thank you my darling @spotsandsocks for the tag! my writing is sporadic, but ive been working on the missing presumed fic a little so have a bit from that ❤️

Eddie bites back the tremble in his lip, letting the shiver radiate down his spine for just a moment before he inhales a deep breath. He knows that the turnouts aren’t very useful when they need to move fast (despite his best time to get through a burning building nearing the record — Buck has him by three seconds damn his long legs) and the red is like a glowing beacon to every on board that they’re here to help. But fuck it’s cold. The Pacific waters are a little more unforgiving and wading knee deep for the better part of a half hour in the middle of the night isn’t exactly helping. Adrenaline and professionalism usually keeps things like personal discomfort at bay or at the very least in the back of his mind, but the absolute chaos on the ship paired with resurging trauma from about a few dozen different near death experiences have heightened his senses immensely. He knows he isn’t the only one. Buck started slightly limping ten minutes ago. There’s a crackle over their radio, Hen’s voice giving them some sort of update, but Eddie is closer to a broken window and the combination of hurricane wind and rain impairs his ability to hear what she’s saying. He watches Buck’s face instead, his brow furrowing and his lips tightening in a line that means it can’t be good news.

tagging @eddiebabygirldiaz @devirnis @wildlife4life @sibylsleaves @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @buddierights @hoodie-buck @hippolotamus @bigfootsmom @rogerzsteven @thekristen999 @loserdiaz

[strugglinggranola]

Seven Sentence Sunday/Monday

I was tagged by @jenn2d2 who has this weird/uncanny ability to know when I've just started to write again. Like this is the second time she's tagged me WHILE I'm typing.

Gonna tag @the-font-bandit and @hedwigoprah!!! And anyone else who sees this!!

Anyway- this is taken from my Emmrich gut wrenching POV fic - Carved in Bone, Branded in Flesh which I just updated, so...yeah.

The door closed behind him with a soft click and Emmrich rubbed his hand down his face, the metal of his rings pressing into his flesh, hard and grounding, and let out a soft sigh. It wasn’t that he regretted sleeping with her, no…it was something fainter than that.

Regret was harsh, bile clawing up the throat, making one feel like they’ve done something wrong, and feeling—no knowing that it could have been stopped, should have stopped.

So no, this was not regret, he mused as he went back to his room.

It was something that was softer, gnawing in the pit of his stomach, and wrapping up every vertebrae, infusing with each intervertebral disk in his spine, all twenty three of them.

He didn’t know what it was, just that he craved more of it, and he knew it would harm him, harm both of them. He slipped a ring of his finger and into a small green dish on his desk.

Just writing this chapter was really hard. I know what it's like to be in a loveless or at least a feeling-less relationship, not quite friends-with-benefits because you aren't really friends, you're just...you just are. So I really wanted to dig into that just a bit. Kinda a way to cope with some old feelings that I had about a decade ago. Also, I'm now in a wonderful relationship, and got some therapy so if you're in a situationship or anything and need to talk or want advice or someone to just listen, my messages are always open.

[nights-flying-fox]

Hopelessly Surviving

Chapter 1 (AKA Prologue): Ghosty Leo and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Resurrection

They saved Leo, but it was too late. As the family was still not accepting what happened, hours later Draxum shows up, and somehow he has the help they need. Now Leo is back to life, but something is different. Something is wrong and Leo has to figure out what is true and what is not to win this battle (with the help of his family). ☾ Updates every Sunday. ☾

Word Count: 1614 ☆ Fandom: rottmnt ☆ Warnings: temporary character death, if there is anything else i should tag please tell me ☆ AO3 Link: Here!! ☆ Next Chapter: here

Welcome to the Prologue everyone <33 Hope you like it!! Shoutout to @little-banjo-frog for helping me with this chapter (and the titles)!!!! You are the amazing my dude!!!

 ...

 ..

 Gasp.

 Leo shot up as he took a strong breath and wheezed, feeling the pain strong all over his body. His legs were hurting, his shell was thumping, he still could feel the hold on his throat... but the worst of them was the one he felt on his plastron. The one that was so sudden and painful, and he was sure Krang Prime had taken out his heart or something. He was sure he had died.

 But now he was alive.

 And the world- no, Prison Dimension- was blurry and he barely could hear anything (not that there was much except Krang's growls). 

 And yet, he almost could hear more over the sound of his fast beating heart. The coldness of the floor wasn't the rocks he felt every time he was thrown on, but something different. Familiar. Something was off here.

 He blinked, trying to calm down. Trying to ignore the memories that belonged to the moment right before he blacked out. The red light and the sound of the metal suit.

 Something touched him, and he immediately tried to get away. He tried to get on his feet, at least make enough force to be able to leap back or float away. Instead he felt gravity pull him down and he was met with the floor again, this time rougher and colder. …What?

 He blinked again, trying to focus. Whatever he was against, he couldn't escape if he was acting without the knowledge of his surroundings.

 The voices kept calling. There was something- no, someone in front of him. Then he noticed the green and red. 

 Leo froze. He knew those colors. Comforting, safe... It couldn't be. There was no way. But... what if... Leo swallowed, "Raph?" 

 His vision hadn't cleared fully, but he still could see the wide smile on his face. He said something (and Leo knew it was his name even though all he heard was muffled nonsense), and then pulled him into a tight hug. 

 Less than in seconds, he was surrounded by many. Everyone hugged him, holding him. And he knew all of them. He recognized all of these colors and knew the warmth and... and...

 "Am I hallucinating?" He asked quietly. A muffled murmur answered. Leo didn't know what they said. He decided to ask another question, half joking, "Or am I in heaven?"

 As things got less and less blurry, Leo now could see the way they looked at him once he asked it. Their voices had gone quiet too. Just when they were becoming clear, all the muffled left itself to a faint ringing.

 Then he was met with Donnie, his hands holding Leo's face. "You're fucking alive, that's what you are." He said, and Leo saw the tears on his face. 

 "You're home, Leo." Raph added. Leo noticed his hand was on his shoulder, holding him with care.

 He stared at them for a few seconds, trying to progress the words he just heard. Alive and home? Sounded too good to be true, but also... There was no gravity in the Prison Dimension. He wouldn't be able to imagine this warmness even if he wished to.

 He looked at them again. It was them, and they looked at him with the most hopeful, strong and yet vulnerable eyes. Just like how Raph had when he almost fell down from that building. Huh, that felt like irony. He had once again ended up falling and yet was saved by his loved ones.

 And they were here. They were okay, and with him. They held him. Safe.

 This was real. Leo looked at all of them- everyone in his family- one by one. His brothers, April, dad... Of course. Of course they had saved him. He believed they would after all, didn't he?

 Finally he responded, "Holy shit." 

 "Holy shit?" Raph repeated with a laugh. "You got through all this and just say 'Holy shit'?"

 "Hey, I got caught unprepared and unconscious, you can't blame a guy for taking time to process he was saved while he was out of it!" Leo said back, and even though it sounded like he was complaining he was grinning and he could feel the tears forming. He was safe, he was with them!

 Suddenly there was quiet. A quiet that he didn't like. Something was wrong.

 "What, it wasn't you who saved me?" He took a guess. He didn't want to think of the possibility of anything worse happening.

 "Uh, Leo..." Raph began, but he failed to continue his sentence.

 "What?" Leo asked. He was getting impatient, and the grip of anxiety since he woke up wasn't helping.

 "You weren't... ya know... unconscious." Raph struggled, but managed to find the words.

 But Leo didn't understand. "What do you mean?" He questioned, getting more nervous. It didn't make any sense. “What was I then?”

 There was a moment of quiet, and Leo was about to ask again when Donnie spoke : “Dead.”

 “Donnie!”

 Everyone turned to him with various faces of glares and a 'Donnie, what the heck?'. But Leo didn't care about them. "Dead?" He repeated. "Didn't you just say I was alive? Are we really sure this is real?" He laughed nervously, because it started to feel like a fever dream.

 April sighed, "What he means is when we found you you were, well, dead. But Draxum found a way to bring you back." She explained. Then cringed, "Saying it out loud really doesn't make it any better."

 "Draxum?" Leo repeated, and he was doing this a lot lately, didn't he? But he couldn't help it when nothing made sense. "Bring me back? I'm sorry, I'm not following what you're saying." The grip tightened and he felt sick. 

 "Maybe we should've taken this slower." Mikey interrupted. 

 "And give him some space guys." April added turning around him. Leo was glad, because as much as he liked getting a hug from his family, right now everything started feeling a bit too much. 

 “Leo, it's okay.” She talked to him in her gentlest tone he had ever heard. “Do you need some time and space?”

 He didn't answer, instead he asked again. "I... I died?" He was feeling stupid for asking what he has been told many times now but he still couldn't understand. He didn't understand anything. "Guys- what- this doesn't make any sense."

 And then there was the quiet again. He hated the quiet.

 Luckily, none other than his dad knew that better. "Blue, my son. We can explain everything in detail. Well, maybe Draxum could do that better than us," He glanced towards the yokai on the side of the room. Leo hadn't noticed he was watching them the whole time. Heck, he was just now noticing Casey Jr. was in the room (they were in his room!) and was avoiding eye contact. Splinter held his hand gently. "But this can happen later. Now you need to calm down and rest." 

 Leo looked at him, his concerned eyes looking back at him. Then to the others. Okay. Okay he could figure out this later. As long as he wasn't in Prison Dimension it was okay. As long as he had his family with him it was okay. As long as they were okay, it was okay. He didn't have to worry himself with this, nor should worry anyone else. He nodded, "Yeah..." He said, then forced a smile. "Who cares as long as I'm back here anyways. Now tell me how in the name of the Pizza Supreme in the Sky you got me out of there, because what the heck!" 

 "Now that's the spirit baby!" Mikey cheered. 

 Leo opened his arms again, and his family once again were hugging him tightly. Leo looked at Casey Jr, who still was avoiding looking at him. "You too, Casey." Leo called. “Come on!”

 Casey blinked in surprise, then smiled genuinely and joined them. Leo shared that genuine smile as well as he let himself surrounded by the hugs of his family. 

 “How does your bed not break?” Casey Jr. asked after a beat, clear that his curiosity won.

 “Genius Built.” Donnie answered proudly.

 “Oh no, here we go again.” Leo rolled his eyes. “I get out of Prison Dimension and immediately have to hear Donnie infodump.”

 “You cannot hide your amusement from your face, you little liar.” Donnie replied with a smirk. “Weak.”

 “Says the one who's been crying the whole time.” Leo retorded with his own smirk.

 “Cut it you two,” Raph huffed. Then he smiled albeit a bit evilly, “Everyone knows both of you are idiots.”

 “Gasp!” 

 “Betrayal by my very own brother!”

 “Ah, there is the family I know.” April sighed happily.

 “You all are so weird.” Draxum commented, his frown not changing a bit. “But I guess it is good to see you being like yourselves again.”

 “Aww I knew you loved us!” Mikey exclaimed.

 “Tolerate would be the proper word.” He corrected.

 “He definitely loves us.” Mikey hummed.

 “Sure, Angelo.” Leo said sarcastically. But a part of him believed him, or at least the possibility of the yokai warming up to them. All of them. If what everyone told him was true and all… But who cared about any of that now.

 Yeah. It was fine as long as he was with them. As long as he was safe. 

 “Oh, and by the way, since you wanted to know,” Mikey leaned towards Leo's face. As he pushed down Donnie with hands, he took all of Leo's viewpoint with his face right in front of him. “I opened a portal to the Prison Dimension.”  

 “Huh?” 

 He raised his hands, “With theseeee!”

 “You did what?!”

[bellofthemeadow]

Summer of '03 | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlists, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: You finally arrive in Texas, a world so different from your home in New York. You find that living next door is a man who confuses you. You can't figure out if he's just a stereotipically angry Redneck or the man of your dreams. Ah well, you've got the summer to figure the puzzle that is Joel Miller.

Notes: Hello everyone, welcome to my new story :D This one is going to be quite different from my last story as I am delving into the realm of enemies to lovers! I am so excited as I don't think that any other PedroBoys fits the bill las well as Joel Miller!!! LMK what you think of it, I always love to read what you think of my work and I would also be really stoke to speak with all of you.

I am also working on a taglist at present, so I should make a post probably tomorrow, so if you want to be added to the tagged post, let me know and I'll be happy to add you!

Hope you all enjoy :D

Welcome to Texas

Apparently, your entire life fits neatly into an 8x6 cardboard box, which is somewhat embarrassing. When you made the spontaneous decision to uproot your life and leave New York, little did you know that packing would only take 25 minutes and leave you with so little. However, every item inside that box was a testament to your independence. You had purchased each item with your hard-earned money, not relying on your parents or receiving them as gifts from an ex-boyfriend. Every single thing inside that box was truly yours.

As you set down the box in front of the small suburban house, you squint your eyes taking in your new home for the foreseeable future. You had to admit, it had a certain charm that you found refreshing. The tiny house was a stark contrast to the high-rise condo your family had in New York or the overly opulent summer home in the Hamptons where you’d spend your summer. This place felt nice and quaint, exuding a sense of simplicity that you were craving. The row of houses boasted a similar style, either one or two floors tall, constructed with reddish-coloured brick. The driveways were impressively large, accommodating even bigger trucks. It really does seem like 'everything is bigger in Texas'.

Everything about this neighbourhood screamed quiet suburbia. Since it was still early afternoon on a Sunday, you spied some kids zooming down the street on their bikes like a wild bunch of Tasmanian devils, while a cluster of older ladies powerwalked on the sidewalk and seemed deeply engrossed in their gossip. The sight made you chuckle, they kind of looked like a swarm of salmon with their pink velour tracksuit. You were kind of impressed. In this heat, the only thing you wanted to do was lie down on the cold floor for at least two hours or stick your head in the freezer for a minute—the jury was still out. But that was probably because of your New Yorker sensibilities. Most of the people you spotted going about their day seemed completely unfazed by what you would categorize as temperature from at least the 4th circle of hell.

You sighed and put your arms high above your head, interlacing your fingers and giving your back a much-needed stretch. As depressing as the sight of the lone cardboard box holding your entire life was, you were glad that you didn't have a lot of stuff to take with you from New York. The drive had been almost unbearable. As a New Yorker, you didn't have many opportunities to drive that often, and this trip had actually been the first time you had driven your brand-new Alfa Romeo GT. It was a Christmas gift from your grandma, chosen for both sentimental and practical reasons, and you decided to take it with you as you up hauled your life to literally the other end of the country.

No one in your family had understood why you wanted, no, needed to leave, except for Granny Mabel. While your parents scolded you as if you were still a pigtailed little girl, timidly requesting seconds at dinner, Granny Mabel simply glanced at you, winking beneath her oversized Givenchy glasses, as she took a generous sip of her red wine. In that fleeting moment, you knew that no matter what unfolded, you would have the approval of the lionesses of New York’s Upper East Side.

But after what felt like three days of almost non-stop driving, you were ready to declare that you didn't even want to look at your car for at least a week. You felt like you had your share of driving to last you a lifetime. Although you knew that wouldn’t really be possible. After all, Texas was not known for the same kind of public transportation as New York. Ah well, when in Rome—or in this case, Texas.

As a few neighbours started to cast curious glances your way, you became aware of the possibility that loitering around an empty porch on an early Sunday afternoon might raise suspicions. You opened your handbag and rummaged through it, moving aside packages of half-eaten candy bars, a couple of lipsticks, emergency wet wipes, and tampons before you finally found the paper your friend Robbie had given you before you left three days ago.

Scrawled in your friend's messy chicken scratch, were an address and a name: "Joel Miller." Beneath it, a hasty note explained, "Joel was Great Aunt Ruth's neighbour. He was helping her with the property ever since he and his daughter moved in next door. We asked him to hold onto the keys until someone could come to take care of the house after Aunt Ruth passed away. Joel knows you're coming. Take care, my dear, and I'll miss you. New York won't be the same without your judgy ass!"

A smile spread across your face as you read the words. Robbie had been the most important part of your life in New York. You both met during your first year of college. You were studying pre-med, while he pursued performing arts at NYU, dreaming of a future on Broadway. Instantly, you connected with each other. Despite your family's legacy of surgeons, you had always yearned to be on the stage. So, in your first year, you took a theatre elective and met Robbie. The two of you became inseparable. His apartment in Brooklyn provided a refuge from the suffocation you felt at home, and you ended up spending most nights there. By the fourth month of your friendship, you even started contributing to some of the utilities, although Robbie insisted you didn't have to. But you didn't mind. Your parents had money, and you used a lot of hot water, so it was the least you could do.

And now, here you were, on the other side of the country, ready to take a break and maybe have some fun! You silently prayed to any gods out there, hoping they would listen and guide you toward figuring out what you truly wanted in your life. Happiness seemed to be slipping away with each passing day, and you hoped this summer would bring some clarity. You looked back down at the piece of paper, making a mental note to call Robbie once you got inside the house to thank him and reassure him that you were alive after that long trip.

For now, you needed to escape the scorching heat before you melted away. Your hair was beyond recognizable because of the frizz humidity brought out, and sweat patches were forming under your armpits. You cringed at the situation but tried to reassure your growing anxiety: "Who cares what Joel Miller thinks? You thought. You've been through more embarrassing moments than being sweaty in front of a middle-aged dad." Memories of laugh-snorting vodka cranberry all over your crush Colin Robertson's shirt at a post-finals party two years ago came rushing back. You were convinced you had permanently stained his favourite white Lacoste polo with cranberry, judging by the disdainful looks he had given you ever since. So, dealing with a middle-aged redneck should be a breeze in comparison.

You hurriedly made your way to the neighbouring house, desperately hoping that Joel Miller would be there. The thought of being stuck outside indefinitely made you want to cry. You tugged at your jean shorts, which clung uncomfortably to your sweaty thighs, and adjusted your oversized "1991 - Walt Disney" t-shirt, a hand-me-down from your older brother. You tied it in a knot at the front, revealing a sliver of midriff. It dawned on you that you needed to buy more weather-appropriate clothes—an item added to your ever-growing to-do list.

As you stood in front of Joel Miller's house, you hesitated. What if Robbie had forgotten to inform him about your visit? Would Joel think you were some kind of psychopath? He’d definitely think you were a little crazy. Taking a deep breath, you firmly knocked on the wooden front door. When, after a solid minute, there was no response, a sinking feeling of disappointment washed over you, suggesting that Joel Miller might not be home after all. You decided to try ringing the doorbell—once, twice. As you debated whether to attempt a third ring or call Robbie, you heard noises from behind the door, followed by a loud exclamation, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, give me a minute!"

You felt yourself turning pale, and you began fidgeting with your rings, mentally preparing yourself for whatever was about to happen next. The door was ripped open, and your temperature skyrocketed as you faced the man in front of you. Joel Miller was... not what you expected. He loomed before you, tall and imposing, with a mess of dishevelled brown hair crowning his head. What you first noticed was the broadness of his shoulders, it made your mouth go dry as you started to imagine what it would feel like to hold these shoulders in the throws of passion. You could almost picture yourself under him, naked and sweaty, holding unto him and leaving kitten scratches on his powerful back. Your eyes started to take the man in front of you, he was clad in low-hanging sweatpants, his powerful thighs and defined waistline were accentuated. Your gaze was transfixed on him, unable to look away. You were certain you spotted what had to be an impressive bulge in the front of his thin pants and you wanted nothing more than the check if he was as well endowed as he seemed to be. Joel Miller was a man unlike any you had encountered before, emanating a potent blend of masculine confidence and ruggedly handsome charm. You felt insignificant and childlike in your own outfit. What would he think of your sweat-soaked Disney shirt, your perspiring face, and your overall dishevelled appearance? You wished you could rewind time and change into one of your nice little baby-doll dresses, the one that deliciously played on innocence and sinful seduction, you always felt your most confident in them. At least, you wished you had freshened up before meeting this man. Your mother had always emphasized the importance of first impressions, and now, as you observed the fury in his warm brown eyes, it seemed like you had utterly shattered any chance of making a favourable first impression.

The deep baritone of his voice snapped you out of your reverie, as he demanded, "Who the hell are you?" You stammered, "Ehh, I am so sorry to bother you..."

"You better not tell me you some kinda salesman? 'Cause if ya woke me up from the only full sleep I’ve had in two weeks to sell me some bullshit air conditioning, Imma get real fuckin' mad!” You gulp and squirm under his angry stare. "I reckon the appropriate term is salespeople, to be inclusive, you know." Your voice squeaks in an embarrassing sound. What the hell was wrong with you? You weren't some kind of shrinking violet, but at this moment, under Joel Miller's hard stare, you felt like dying. Or at least digging a hole and hiding inside.

"I am really sorry to bother you, Mr. Miller," you try to muster a modicum of confidence, "I am a friend of Robbie Levitt." When Joel's face remained impassive, you felt like it was his permission to keep going. "He is… was Ruth Kaplan's nephew… ehh, the lady who lived…"

"I know who Mrs. Kaplan is," Joel Miller cuts you off and stares at you, squinting his eyes. "You that rich kid from New York?" You feel yourself groan inside, fucking Robbie babbling about your business to everyone. As much as you loved the guy, he was a complete gossip. You simply nod your head, feeling quite unable to say anything, completely tongue-tied.

"You’re late," Joel Miller's words are biting and sharp, and they are cutting into you, making you feel small and childish. "Late for... what? I'm not sure I follow," you say softly.

Joel Miller sighs loudly and shakes his head. "That Levitt kid told me you'd be here yesterday evening, waited late for you to come around, princess." You feel yourself grow even hotter, either from the embarrassment of seeming flaky or from the nickname; you aren't sure yet.

"Oh," you softly say. "I am sorry, I didn't realize. Robbie just said to be here over the weekend. I didn't realize you'd wait for me."

"So , what? You thought that because you some kind of rich important lady from the city you could waste my time? ‘Cause I’m just some redneck contractor from Texas, right? Who cares if you waste everyone’s time, imma right?” His stare is hard and you don’t know what to do or say without making him even more mad. “It’s not like that, I never thought… I am really sorry.” You settle for, thinking it’s your best bet so as to not antagonize him further.

A low growl, “It's fine," he responds curtly and abruptly. It doesn’t sound fine; you think as he looks like he is 5 seconds away from slamming the door in your face. But my god, everything about this man is hard, his words, his face… his body. You don't know if you should love it or hate it, but as your eyes fall to his hard pectorals you feel yourself falling into the former category. "Wait here." He disappears inside his house before returning with a set of keys he promptly drops into your hands. "Here you go."

"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Miller. And I am really sorry again about last night… And for waking you up and everything" You cringe as a dismissive twitch of the head serves as his feeble reply. As you pivot away, trudging along in a pitiful display of humiliation toward Ruth's house, the air fills with Joel Miller’s deep voice once again “Here's a life tip, sweetheart. When someone doesn't answer the door, maybe ya need to take a hint. Not all of us can afford endless days off or live in a rent-free house. Some of us have real jobs, princess, and those of us that do appreciate every bit of peace we can get.”

You feel like crying, tears gathering up in your eyes, but you won't let them fall. You won't give Joel Miller the satisfaction of knowing that he made you cry. So, you settle, "Sure... I apologize for everything. I didn't mean to be a bother." No answer, so you take it as your cue to leave, feeling dismissed like a child at school.

You turn around and try to muster your best fake smile, the same one you used for your mother and father and give a little wave. "Hope you can get back to sleep soon. I'll make sure to not be in your way again." And you scurry away as fast as your legs can.

Summer of fun and discovery is off to a great start, you think sarcastically, as you rip Aunty Ruth’s door open and let the tears fall. Goddamn it, why did you have to antagonize the most handsome man you'd ever seen in your entire life? Joel Miller, you think. You should despise him. He was unnecessarily mean and condescending. Sure, you had been in the way, but how were you to know he would be sleeping at 1 pm on a Sunday? You groan, at this point anyway, he probably loathed you. Yet, strangely enough, you had never encountered a man who could twist your insides as intensely as he did. In the 5 minutes conversion you had with him, you felt your inside growing hot and your belly erupting in a million of butterflies. You wonder what his eyes would be like if they weren’t hard and angry. They were brown and warm, so you imagined how they would feel raking over your skin with longing or desire. Yeah, that’s not going to happen, you think as your mind cringes back to the awful words he said.  

Joel Miller. Even the mere sound of his name left a strong, lingering flavour in your mouth. You squirm, feeling conflicted, not knowing whether to yearn for his strong domineering presence or simply try your best to avoid him like the plague this summer. You shake your head, you'll sort out your feelings, or whatever hormones this man triggered, later. Right now, you just need to find the damn freezer and try to cool down. However, after meeting Joel Miller, you're well aware that the fire inside you will continue to burn hard for some time.

Next Chapter

[palmviewfm]

hi,  friends  !  we  just  wanted  to  inform  all  of  our  members  and  let  everyone  know  about  some  changes  that  we  have  been  making  to  the  group  at  the  current  moment.  we  have  also  updated  our  rules  page  to  reflect  the  changes  !  if  anyone  has  any  questions  or  concerns,  then  you're  welcome  to  send  us a message  !

our activity checks will now be done every sunday! we ask that you make at least 3 ic posts to 3 different muns. if you don't meet the activity requirements, you'll have 48 hours to do so or you will be unfollowed. and as always, if you need more time, then please get in contact with us!

max limit time for hiatuses will be two weeks. once you come back from your hiatus period, you'll have 48 hours to post afterwards. if you need an extension of your hiatus, then we ask you also come to us about that!

while we do have a spot for open starters to be posted within our ooc discord server, we now also have a starter blog for you to tag your starters with and we'll be sure to reblog the posts for you once we see it! you can now find the blog at @palmviewstarters.

acceptances will now be done on a rolling basis until we reach our mun cap! then the apps will be added onto our app count until a slot has opened up!

members will still be allowed to have up to five characters within the group. however, you may now apply for two characters at once. after that, you must show consistent activity for two weeks before picking up additional characters. ( this doesn't apply to those who already have multiple characters before this rule was set in place! )