#sometimes it works and sometimes i just want to go home and cry in peace lol
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Melissa hated her feelings.
She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings.
“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name,
‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list:
1.) Don’t cry.
2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate
3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you
She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking,
‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.
‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion.
‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,
“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”
Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry.
9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow.
It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.
Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong.
When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that.
When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.
When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again.
She carried that.
Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:
‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her.
‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’
She cried.
She escalated.
She took it personal.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music.
‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose.
The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too.
Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow.
So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks.
Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified.
And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power.
Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her.
And she finally loved them back.
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Run, Run Far Angel
Note || I am obligated as a fanfic author to write this, sue me. I got attached to DogDay, and he deserved better in Chapter 3.
WC || 2,070
<(You are here)><(sequel part)>
Sypnosis || An unlikely shortcoming of a friendly entity, or, You get a new friend in spite of this hellish factory.
The noise that had buzzed in the far reaches in the depths of your ears had annoyed you to no end, insistent to remain with you. So many times over had your guilt marred your sense of peace, your sense of futility. Whatever control you felt you had in your life was completely gone the moment you had come back to the accursed place known as Playtime Co. Toy Factory. So many unruly things had gone here, things done and said that left you chuckling–few that had left you with regrets.
Regrets that had stayed with you for well over ten years, since your co-workers had disappeared. You always had a sinking feeling you knew well what had happened to the last of them, your friends and those that you had come to consider family.
Then you fell into Playcare, a place once filled with laughter and joy, something of which was indescribable. To know the children here and being able to hear such joyful playing and sometimes the odd cry, it was fulfilling, now the whole Factory–every floor there was to know–was devoid of the very same life you’ve come to know and love all those years ago.
Now the only thing that had tormented your mind, as it always had been since you first arrived, was your fight or flight. Instinctive you were, but you hated every minute of having to run and hide away from the monster that had presided reign over their domain, on of which the very one you had to be stuck with was-
“Catnap?” You muttered, thumbing the scarred fur that was blotched with ashy spots, as if it were burned by fire.
The small recreational stuffed animal looked so adorable for the most part, yet it disturbed you greatly, guilt was predominant in mind and body. In all of your years you had remembered working at the Factory you don't ever recall the name of Catnap, the creepy elongated mouth had stood out to you the most.
He was hunting you, toying with you for sport. You couldn’t really understand why he hadn’t just gunned you for killing you at a moment's notice, though you felt a breath of relief that you could buy yourself time.
Supposedly some of this relief is partial to the fact that this Ollie kid was guiding you on where to go, with how dark this place was is absurd to you–so the guidance was appreciated. A voice had finally snapped you out of your ever consuming thoughts, it was terribly the truth.
“Hey are you alright? Just press that button and you’ll be through in no time! The small critters cant seem to get you from up there so you should be alright.” Ollie, yes Ollie that is the kids name. Who is this strange person anyway?
Unfortunately you weren’t in a position to worry about that right now, you simply pressed the button with the help of your grabpack. Trying to remember all the hands you had now with you was troublesome, but you manage.
‘I suppose.’ You wonder if there is anyone in this place that won’t actively be out for your head, truth be told.
Maybe that was a miracle in mind, as you walked through the desolate rubble the air seemed to desaturate, a mist once permeated with dread and the iron taste of blood seemed to float away as you came across a surprising display. Gruesome but something nobody should have to see or experience.
It seemed to be DogDay, you could've sworn coming across a cardboard cutout of the very same character earlier.
He seemed to be so.. Sad.
“You…you’re Poppy’s angel. Come to save us. Nothing left to save, not here…You’re in CatNap’s home, angel. Their home.” His voice was broken, forlorn, vocal cords riddled with experience he never wanted to relive again. You felt saddened on his behalf, no doubt the pain he is feeling right now is tremendous. For a moment, silence had filled the comfortable atmosphere rendering you with a small pit of anxiety balling within your gut.
Still you feel as if you had to speak, but you allow Dogday to have his part, that much you could try to do for him.
DogDay’s head lolled about as if he were a ragdoll, the effort to make movement was extraneous. “A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry. They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit - fill what feels empty inside themselves.” Those words sparked an ire of curiosity inside your trodden heart, you wanted to help him now.
You needed help, especially answers too. He was in pain, and you wanted to help him, so to ease your guilty conscience a little; hopefully in the process of gaining a friend at the same time. “Catnap.. Just, I don’t understand him.” DogDay raised his head, looking at you wistfully as if he had expected the aforementioned cat to be brought up.
DogDay winced as he moved, each little rattle sending painful vibrations throughout his body–the phantom legs hadn’t brought any peace to him whatsoever.
“That thing…CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” His words carried an aura of ominous spiels, as if you were to heed this warning. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate- and in return, they are fed.”
In their place, you would take measures to avoid such a fate too if you would. To a point, you could sympathize with the small toys, not being able to do anything and the teetering possibility of being killed always hanging over your head. Knowing that alone is unfathomably terrifying.
“Would explain why they were hunting me previously..” You murmur, now tucking that thought to the depths of your mind. Still you wanted to hear out DogDay, for he knew better of what had gone on here then you did. His head had shagged, fur ruffled and dangling about as he had squirmed slightly.
“We tried to fight it, the Prototype’s control. I’m…the last of the Smiling Critters.” His tune was mournful, his friends really had been killed right before his very eyes. Catnap’s gas, you remember it well enough.
You had to take a moment – articulate your words. You were completely filled to the brim with anxiety and alert, you remind yourself to not let down your guard in spite of being with someone who has no intention of wanting to kill you. “You had tried to escape, and he… knocked you out with his gas?”
DogDay’s brows creased, confirming your answer. You felt so terrible for him, causing you to be firmly set on a decision.
You were helping him get out of here, in no way shape or form did you feel he should be left behind in shambles like this. “This is probably going to sound, insane. But I’m gonna help you get outta here.” Dogday perked up at this, nodding his head no.
He certainly didn’t want you to die, especially not on his account.
“Angel that is not wise! I will slow you down.” He persists, “Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live. You and Poppy can fix this, end this madness, the torment–” You didn’t want him to change your mind, so as immediate as you were, You desperately grabbed at his arms.
Quickly and surely enough the small critter toys had began crawling toward DogDay, you certainly would not put up with that. You fired a flare gun at the small critters, as much as you could so you could buy time to get DogDay out of his chains.
It seemed Dogday had sensed your determination to want to help him in spite of his warings, even with how much he had tried to convince you to leave. “You are doing well Angel, keep them away from me.. I will do my best to free myself of these.” His voice felt strained, cut off with a cough as he wriggled free–even if every brittle bone in his body had begged him to just lay there and rest.
You thanked him silently, continuing to work away at the critters who were highly determined in their goal to possess DogDay and resume their chase to kill you. “I am free! Quickly now Angel, quickly.” He ushered you forward to run right away, you picked him up as soon as he had done so and heaved him over your shoulders with a heavy breath as a display of your efforts. To say he was surprised at your willful strength was an understatement, he silently applauded you for your strength to keep moving.
Though, it hadn’t removed any of his worry for you as you continued to run forward, your muscles straining to keep up with your mind. From what he can understand of humans anyway, you were exhausted, though he felt it wasn’t right to speak out on it anyway–safety first before talking.
“Almost there, Angel.. You just need to get to that elevator over there!” He jabbed his finger in the direction you needed to go, and you went on instinct with his direction. Your muscles ached and burned, but you could rest as soon as you reached the elevator, you couldn’t risk DogDay being left behind helpless with the small critters.
Speaking of which, they were still chasing you and your new companion. You wished they stopped, but you had considered an aforementioned thought, they only do this to ensure their fate wasn’t like his. Since then this has wildly changed.
You were close to the edge.
Then, you leaped, everything seemed to slow down. DogDay held on tightly, hands wrapped around your neck secured tight, to you it seemed comforting in the depths of your sudden despair.
You dropped right onto the metal plate, which luckily had railing. The door shut right behind you as DogDay had quickly made action to press the button to start up the elevator nor long after you had succeeded in jumping to the elevator. He slumped with a sigh, something you could very much agree with, sitting down with a thump following in your wake.
Truth be told, you weren’t sure of how much more you could take much more of this nightmare. You may just as well be in a very long dream, and you were just actually sleeping at home, but no way however as the exhaustion had finally settled into your bones.
Weary bones creaked about as DogDay made an effort to check over your slumped body, wanting to ensure you were not injured anywhere before he spoke, “Whatever questions you have..” He paused for a moment as if he were considering his words, something of which seemed to happen to a lot of people and toys alike in this Factory. “I will answer, rest for now first.”
DogDay was being his typical self, always so worried over someone else before considering his own health. His own legs being severed must be a great deal of pain, you wanted to ask him to rest too. Yet, you were too tired to respond, only nodding curtly as sleep had stolen you away from your awakened consciousness.
A genuine smile seems to relax DogDay’s expression, you sorely needed rest. He would help you get that rest, things to talk about and things to face would come later. “You have done impossible things, you have run far. Thank you.” He quietly spoke, curling up to cuddle you.
His head laid to rest on the crown of your head, hands and arms elongating ever so slightly to surround you in his warmth. DogDay was a leader, a friend, but he was also a good napping buddy. That much was certainly no lie to be told.
Silence seemed to fill his ears now, sleep was creeping up to DogDay as well. Ah, he cannot sleep right now. You were in his care and vulnerable, especially considering you had gone through the trouble of freeing him.
To those tormented, the madness had enraged man and toy, you were their saving graces. Someone they could get behind, without the utmost support where would you be now?
“Night has fallen, but for you I will do my absolute best to help you, Angel.”
#poppy playtime#dogday#dogday poppy playtime#x reader#purely platonic#I like how he calls the player angel#it’s cute :D
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{peace - atsumu}
would it be enough if I could never give you peace?
putting this down as fem!reader, only because there are some specific nicknames I wanted to use (pretty girl, sweet girl, etc) no physical descriptions though!!
very soft fluff, like disgustingly soft. this is loosely based on one of my absolute favourite songs <3
“I feel so safe with you…” you mumble one night while resting against his chest.
it’s been a busy evening- going to one of his games and then to your work party immediately after. needless to say, the both of you are very tired. so tired that when you got home an hour ago, just past midnight. he had to help you get your pyjamas on and drag you to the bathroom before you flopped into bed and cuddled close to one another. you’ve been recharging with each other and focusing on some quality time you missed out on during the day.
atsumu feels his heart squeeze at the sound of your sleepy voice, soft and quiet and matching the persona you often take on when you’re exhausted.
he sighs in content and strokes the cheek not pressed against his chest with his thumb. slow and gentle. “yeah, pretty girl?”
you nod a little, nuzzling further into his skin. “you’re so peaceful.”
he freezes a little out of pure shock.
atsumu has never considered himself a peaceful person.
he’s seen his fans online lovingly describe him as chaotic, heard his teammates refer to him as energetic and sometimes hard to keep up with. he’s gotten abrasive, overexcited, intense… and what’s more, the lifestyle that comes with being a pro athlete is anything less than peaceful to begin with.
he still doesn’t see those as inherently bad qualities, even now that he’s older and doesn’t let his ego run the show anymore.
however he’s got it stuck in his mind that he could never give you peace. would it be enough for you? would you stay with him ten years down the line, even with all the flaws that he believes he is? he’s not easy to love, he knows it, but is he enough to make you stay?
and then sometimes you say things like that, making him question everything, things that change his own perception of himself.
“peaceful, huh? weren’t ya running your mouth this morning calling me a freak for putting my milk in before my cereal?” he tries to joke.
you giggle a little and he holds you tighter out of adoration. “well you still are, but you’re also very peaceful.”
he’s silent for a moment but he can’t help but ask, “how do ya figure?”
you do your best to word it properly. he loves the way your face scrunches up as you think of what to say. “I always feel so calm around you. more calm than I’ve ever felt around anyone else. and so extremely safe. I can be myself with you and I don’t have to worry about anything when you’re around because I know you’ll be there to help me if something does happen.”
he doesn’t know what to say, but you solve that issue for the both of you with what you say next.
“you offer me a special type of peace I didn’t think was possible, ‘tsum. you’re my angel.”
you make it seem so simple, like there’s nothing in the world that could ever dispute it.
he can’t stop his eyes from welling with tears. he’s always been an emotional person- he knows, he’s been berated for it since childhood, both teased and defended against others by osamu for it. he wears his heart on his sleeve and it wasn’t until meeting you that he considered it an admirable quality. he feels things deeply, and this hits him deeper than anything else ever has.
but you’re just as emotional as he is, so when you look up and notice him trying not to cry, you immediately tear up too. “don’t cry,” you sniffle, trying to wipe his tears while a few run down your own face. “I love you so much, atsumu.”
he sniffles as well, voice thick and full of love. “I love you, too, baby. how’d I end up with such a sweet girl, huh?”
you shake your head. “I’m not, I’m just telling the truth.”
he laughs through his tears. “and being sweet while doin’ it.”
he presses kisses to your forehead, mumbling small thank you’s against your skin. “for the record, I feel the exact same about you. my angel.”
you crawl up a bit so you could be face to face with him. you kiss him properly and taste the saltiness of your mixed tears.
“I didn’t think I could ever offer that to anyone. I’m not used to hearing it, so I stopped believin’ it.”
your heart breaks a little but you’re quick to reassure him. “well believe me. you offer me more than I deserve.”
“that’s not true,” he’s always so quick to defend you. “you deserve way more than I could ever give you.”
you smile a little bashfully and then pull a face he recognizes as the one you make when you’re trying not to yawn. “alright, sweetheart, we should get some sleep.”
he strokes your cheek and gently rolls you off of him so your head rests against your pillow. he chuckles when you immediately choose to rest it against his chest again instead. he loosely wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the top of your head.
you listen to his heartbeat and drift off. your breathing evens out almost immediately and atsumu thinks back to a time when you used to struggle to sleep around him.
he smiles to himself, wiping the last of his tears and whispers something you just barely manage to catch before sleep fully pulls you under.
“sweet dreams, baby. I love you.”
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peace is one of my favourite songs ever, I very much relate to it. and I think atsumu would too. I wrote this at like 1 am so if there’s mistakes, or if it seems very all over the place, blame it on sleep deprivation and devastating brain rot for the boy </3
hope you enjoyed :)
some tags :3
@emmyrosee @dira333 @luvring
#atsumu x reader#atsumu x reader fluff#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu miya x reader#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#atsumu fluff#haikyuu x reader fluff
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Mama's Boy | Part 4
Pair: Jake x neytiri x human reader (trio couple) x sully children's
Warning: Kinda sad, cozy moments, conflict, family problems
Note: This part may be a bit long, but I hope you still enjoy it. I think only one part is left, but we'll see. Do you like the reading to be this long or shorter?. btwI recently opened a KO-Fi…. if you want to leave any tips or support I would appreciate it (it would help me to buy real coffee xD).
AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6(final)
7 years ago…
You were quite calm decorating and cleaning your home, neytiri was out for a walk with kiri and baby tuk. While jake had gone out to practice with lo'ak and neteyam. Leaving you alone, and peaceful. But all that quiet was interrupted, when you heard a lo'ak crying. He came rushing in, straight towards you. He was wiping away the tears that were falling on his cheeks. "MAMA" lo'ak whimpers, coming towards you. Throwing himself into your arms, not caring what you were doing. The boy wrapped his arms around your neck, burying his face in your neck. Lo'ak was 7 years old, and already about your height. But that didn't stop his mother from comforting him, and right now he needed it. "Honey…what's wrong? You're hurt" you push him away a little, taking a quick look. You see that he doesn't have any injuries, so what was wrong with him. You hug him again, caress his back. And you cuddle him from side to side. Trying to calm the child down. After a couple of minutes, you feel lo'ak move away a little. You wipe his face a little. "Are you more calm?" you smile at him a little trying to comfort him.
"Yes…it's just that…" lo'ak tries to speak, but stops when he feels his tears coming again. "Calm down love…what's wrong" you speak, you were worrying about whatever had happened, it was really mortifying him. "I was with daddy…practicing my shots with my bow. It was my turn and " lo'ak takes a deep breath. You already knew what the boy was going to say, you gently caress his cheek. "I didn't get it right…and I would try again many times. But dad told me that neteyam was better at archery than me. And that's not true!!!" Lo'ak begins to cry. "Love…daddy only said that for your own good, to make you better" you know it's not right what jake said. You hated it when jake compared lo'ak to neteyam. "No…he said neteyam was much better than me in everything…that I should be like him. And I don't want to be like neteyam, neteyam is ugly" lo'ak yells a little.
"Hey, first neteyam is not to blame for anything…and second, I will talk to your father. But love…don't make a big deal out of those comments. Your father sometimes doesn't think about what he's going to say, okay?" you try to reassure the boy. "Why don't you go and find spider, and you two can play. Yeah?" you say, watching as the boy perks up.
That same night, you and Jake have a big argument. Even neytiri had to step in. She was never on either side. It was so bad, that you even took lo'ak and left the house to sleep with mo'at. Behind you were kiri and neteyam. "You can't take the children with you," shouts Jake in anger. "Of course I can, I'm not going to leave them here with an immature person" you shout back, neytiri was trying to rationalize with you. But she ends up following you, giving Jake a disapproving look.
Present day…
"mom…can you help me with this?" asks neteyam, approaching you. He was holding a pretty feather ornament. "Sure come here sweetie" you speak, inviting him to sit down in front of you. You get up from the floor, to now work on his hair. The whole family had gotten up early to finish packing, almost everything was ready. But there were more things to pack, now that they had spent time in the metkayina clan. As you worked on neteyam's hair, you noticed how the scar from his wound had healed, but it was still there. "Honey…I'm glad to see you are healing" you speak, listening as neteyam laughs but then goes silent. "mom for a moment i thought i was going to die and never see you again" neteyam says. Lo'ak was sitting on your left side, he heard what his brother said. He quickly tapped him on the shoulder. "Bro…don't say that" lo'ak didn't like to talk about it. You on the other hand felt sorry, you almost lost one of your babies and you weren't there. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and give him a hug. The tightest hug you can. "I would have found a way to see you, you know that right?" you speak, watching as the boy turns to look at you. "I know mom…that's why I stopped worrying" neteyam laughs a little. Settling down so you can continue to work on his hair.
Meanwhile tonowari was on his way to the sully's marui, that same morning he woke up early and discussed his decision with ronal, the woman strongly disagreed. She did not like the idea of having a human in her clan. But she had to support her partner's decision. Tonowari quietly approached the entrance of the marui and stood in silence. To his surprise, he had the scene that lo'ak was trying to explain to him the night before. Neteyam was sitting, while you were combing his hair. Lo'ak sat next to you eating a piece of fruit, while laughing with kiri. The children looked so happy around you, they felt safe. He walked in a little, causing his presence to be noticed by jake. The whole family looked at him. "tonowari…is something wrong?" asks jake, finding the man's presence in their home strange.
"I came here because I want to talk…to the whole family" says tonowari, looking at you quickly. I had to admit, your presence was strange. "Come in," says Jake. Everyone turns their attention to the man who had now sat down. "Your son…lo'ak" tonowari points to lo'ak quickly. Jake looks at him with concern, what lo'ak must have done now. Swallowing hard, praying it's nothing bad. "The boy talked to me and I must say he was mature enough to stand up for his mother" tonowari says.
"I'm sorry if he said something he shouldn't I" jake started to apologize, but tonowari raises his hand to pause him. "He didn't do anything wrong…in fact he convinced me. I accept that human stays between us" tonowari says, lo'ak looks at you and smiles wide. Holding your hand tightly. "Are you serious?" jake couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Yes…I can imagine how bad it must be for the family not to have a member in it." Tonowari can see how everyone in the family gets excited. "But I have one condition," Tonowari says, staring at you. "Yes tell me…whatever" you speak, tonowari is surprised. For the first time he was talking to you face to face, he must admit you were very beautiful. And he could notice some features you shared with your son, lo'ak.
"I will give you a testing time. You will have to live as a metkayina, swim, fish, work as a metkayina. You will not be anyone's burden, and you will earn your own place here in the clan, that's for sure," says Tonowari. He was serious, you only had one chance. If you did something wrong, or made a mistake it was all over. "Don't worry, I will do my best. I assure you I won't cause any trouble," you say. "They're going to love her," says Kiri excitedly, getting up from the floor to hug you. This news makes the whole family happy. Tonowari says goodbye and leaves. The whole family is silent for a moment, analyzing what had happened. This was a lot of information, for such a short time. "Mom…you are staying here!!!" says lo'ak, the boy is so excited. He was about to cry. The only family member who hadn't said anything was jake, he was still sitting in the same position.
"Lo'ak…why did you go talk to tonowari and not say anything to me" jake sounded upset, in fact he looked upset. "Jake" neytiri starts talking, she already knew what jake was going to come out with. "Dad it's just that you had argued with him and I wanted to fix things" lo'ak tries to explain his point of view. "You know this could have ended worse" jake says, you pick yourself up off the floor. Making a noise like 'ha'. Jake looks at you in surprise. "I can't believe it, your son has done something wonderful. And instead of congratulating him…you're scolding him? You are unbelievable jake" you speak, while crossing your arms. Neytiri could see your position, and if there was one thing she knew, it was that you were not an easy woman. You might be small, but your character and the power you had over Jake was gigantic. "Okay, everybody calm down. Lo'ak you did a great job" neytiri reaches up to stroke the boy's face. "And jake…Y/N is right, no need to complain" neytiri speaks, hoping everything will calm down.
Jake takes a deep breath, stretching his arms in the air. Shaking his body a little, stretching out one of his hands to signal for you to come closer. He had a goofy grin on his face, when he felt you approach his arm. Skillfully grabbing your waist, with a quick movement pulling you into his body . Cuddling you into his arms, filling your cheeks with kisses as your laughter could be heard throughout the marui. This was supposed to be a moment of happiness for the family, they were finally going to be together after a long time apart. That same morning, everyone helped to unpack all the belongings. Neytiri was thankful that the heaviest things had not been packed, because they did have a lot of things. Also that night, the family celebrated like in the old days, of course…inside the marui and in silence. Preparing a good meal, dancing and laughing about the old days. It felt so nostalgic, it had been a long time since they had had such a good time.
Everyone got ready to rest. The boys settled into their hammocks, ready to sleep. As in the old days, you went one by one to say good night to them. Giving them a kiss on the forehead. First it was tuk, then kiri, then neteyam and for the last it was lo'ak. "Goodnight my precious baby" you speak, giving him a kiss on the forehead. Watching as lo'ak giggles tenderly, he looked so adorable like that. "Mama can you sleep with me?" lo'ak asks you, causing a smile from you. "Love…" you didn't know what to say to him, lo'ak was too old for you to sleep with him. But you felt sorry for your boy, he had missed you so much. But if you were going to be fair, all the children in the family had asked to sleep with you. Just before you could give an answer, Jake came up behind you. "ahh no, your mom is going to sleep with us…and that's it" says jake, seeing how lo'ak's face is one of sadness. "I promise you that later mom will sleep with you, ok?" you speak, saying goodbye again to lo'ak.
Jake and you walked away. Jake looked back, to see lo'ak giving him a dirty look. This surprised Jake, chuckling to himself. As he walked you over to the hammock you shared. "Ney" you hum, as you climb into the hammock. Snuggling into neytiri's chest, she snuggles you into her arms. Feeling jake settle in behind you. "Your son hates me," jake says, burying his head in the back of your neck. "Which one?" you speak, as neytiri lets out a laugh. "Hey" jake slaps you on your ass. You and neytiri continue to laugh. "I'm talking about lo'ak, you would have seen the way he looks at me" jake was still shocked, lo'ak had never looked at him like that. "You asked for it…you're taking his mom" says neytiri. "Yeah but his mom…she's ours too, isn't she?" says jake, leaving a few wet kisses on your neck. Neytiri hugs you tighter on her chest, you felt so good. You had missed them too much.
2 months later…
You had gotten used to life in the new clan pretty fast. You had started taking some lessons with ronal on fishing, since you couldn't ride an ilu. You had to do everything the traditional way, according to the na'vis. But for you it was normal, humans had to do things traditionally all the time. So fishing with a net, collecting the things you had to use, even though it was more difficult, you had managed it. Ronal was still not very sure about you, whenever you were with her there was always your bodyguard, Neytiri. Your partner did not leave you alone with Ronal at any time. According to Neytiri Ronal could tempt you with your life. You thought she was overreacting, but you didn't argue with neytiri about such things, she had always been that way with you.
On the other hand, tonowari could tell that everything jake and lo'ak had told her about you was true. You were the most peaceful person he had ever met. He had barely listened to you, well… he hadn't talked to you much. But whenever he saw you, you were always with your children, or helping a clan member. Tonowari would approach the na'vis and ask them what they thought of you. They would always respond with a 'she is very nice''I like her, she is a very good person'. This would relieve it a little, but you were still on probation.
On the other hand, your relationship with your family was in a good state, better than ever. Everything seemed to be running smoothly. Or so you thought. It was morning around 10:00 am as far as you could calculate. Kiri had insisted the night before that you accompany her to look for shells on the beach where she liked to go. You accepted without a problem, you had nothing to do and wanted to spend time with one of your girls. Lo'ak was invited to the expedition, of course he didn't have to ask…he was always with you. If he wasn't with his friends, it was behind you. "Hey…watch out, the sun looks like it's going to be very hot" says neytiri. If the sun was bad for the na'vi, it was worse for you. You joke a little, watching as neytiri approaches you to put some kind of cream on you to protect you from the sun. You and Jake joked that this was a sunblock bomb, because the smell was so strong. "Ahh I hate that smell!!!" you complain, but neytiri nips you a little to stop you from moving. "Yeah…but you're going to thank me when you don't get burned like a tapirus" neytiri sounds angry, seeing that you don't take her concern seriously.
You say goodbye and leave with kiri and lo'ak towards the beach. They arrived quickly, the place was very close. Kiri was lying in the water, sinking her face from time to time. While you were sitting next to her, you had your head back and your eyes closed. Enjoying the warmth, it had rained a lot the previous days. The weather felt great. While lo'ak was playing eywa knows where. You could just hear the water splashing in the distance. Out of nowhere, you feel someone approach and make a spray of water fall on your face. "Lo'ak…watch out!!!" you scold, seeing the boy laughing in front of you. He looked like a puppy about to make a mischief. "Mom, I want you to meet someone?" says lo'ak. This gets your attention, settling in straight to look at him. "Is it a girl? Tsireya?" you ask, lo'ak gets nervous and moves his face in a 'no' expression. "It's something better…it's my other brother" lo'ak says, you look at him curiously. Lo'ak had gone crazy, as far as you knew the only brother he had was neteyam. "You mean teyam?" you say.
Lo'ak lets out a laugh, as he sits closer to you. "Mama no, he is ahhh he is a tulkun. I want you to meet him" lo'ak was excited, he wanted you to meet payakan. You think about it for a while, but you accept. You couldn't say no to that adorable little face. You tap kiri's shoulder. The little girl lifts her face. "What happened, Mom?" speaks Kiri, and you brush a few strands of hair out of her face. "Honey I'm going for a walk with lo'ak do you want to go?" you ask her. "Nooo mama just you and me" lo'ak complains, crossing his arms. "You don't have to yell…mom don't worry I'll be here a while longer and then I'll go home" kiri says.
"Ok….but be very careful. I trust you" you speak, watching as Kiri smiles at you and goes back to playing with the little fish in the area. You get up from the water, accompanying lo'ak. He was already jumping up and down with excitement. Telling you all about his friend, how he met him and where he came from. All while walking towards his ilu. The trip was quite fast, lo'ak arrived getting up a little from his ilu. Calling out his friend's name. "Mama he will be here soon" lo'ak looks around, seeing if he saw his friend. "Don't worry if he doesn't come" you speak up, but remain silent when you see as a shadow below you. "Here he is!!!" lo'ak says, excited. Payakan comes out of the water, making a noise of greeting. "Payakan look…this is my mom. Remember I told you about her?" says lo'ak moving to the side, to take your hand. So that you would come closer to him. Lo'ak sometimes forgot that your legs were shorter and you were smaller. But you manage to stand now on the creature's flipper. While lo'ak's ilu begins to swim around.
"Mama he is payakan my brother…and payakan she is my mama" lo'ak speaks, petting the creature. Tulkun makes another noise, and you startle a little. You had to admit that this was very new to you. You still didn't understand the language of signs very well, let alone this creature. "mama he says you are very pretty" says lo'ak. You could see the look of pride on his face, this was very important to him. "Thank you" you look at payakan, and he gets excited. Making a stream of water come out of his back. "Mama likes you very much" lo'ak says. You giggle a little, reaching over to pet the creature. It was very amazing and majestic. You and lo'ak spent the whole afternoon playing and hanging out together. For a moment, you just sit in lo'ak's ilu, watching the boy swim and play with his friend. You loved seeing him like that, so happy and carefree.
After a while, for some reason you started to feel sick. You had felt dizzy that morning, but you didn't think it was important. But now you were feeling worse, the dizziness was getting stronger and your vision was getting quite blurry. And not to mention the headache and stomach pain you were getting. "L-lo'ak" you yell under your breath. You were already writhing in pain, you lean forward. Trying to get your balance. The ilu of lo'ak noticed something was going on, and began to make a lot of noise. Catching lo'ak's attention, the boy stops swimming and takes a look at your location. He can tell how you were moving oddly, and his ilu looked a little uneasy.
He swims as fast as he can, coming towards you. "MAMA, MAMA!!!" lo'ak approaches and tries to get your attention. Lifting your shoulder, but he sees how you don't respond. You had fainted, your body was resting in the ilu. "Mom get up, what's wrong with you!!!" lo'ak is getting very desperate, what had happened to you, you were fine minutes ago. Maybe the sun was too strong, or you were sick. Lo'ak climbs into his ilu, carrying you in his arms. Leaving for the clan, he made his ilu swim as fast as possible, but he could not hold back his tears. You were still not getting up and he was getting desperate. "mama please…get up" shouts lo'ak shaking you a little. The trip back was a long one for lo'ak, arriving at the coast. Shouting his father's name for him to arrive. "Dad!!!dad!!!help!!!" shouts lo'ak.
Jake had arrived at the marui, he was accompanied by neytiri. Kiri had told them that you and lo'ak had gone for a walk. But she didn't tell them where you were going, this made Jake a little nervous. Jake was very careful with you, and even more so since you were on probation. You couldn't cause trouble or else they would have to leave. Jake hears the shouts of lo'ak, who were approaching the marui. "What's going on?" neytiri gets up from the ground, running to the entrance accompanied by jake. Watching as lo'ak enters with his mother in his arms. You had woken up on the road, but a you were still very dizzy. "Y/N!!!" neytiri takes you in her arms, and quickly places you on the ground. "Lo'ak what happened…what happened?" shouts jake, sitting down next to neytiri. Watching as the woman tried to stabilize y/n. "Honey, come on open your eyes" says jake, tapping you on the cheek. While neytiri placed a wet cloth on her forehead, jake tried to get your oxygen machine to pump out more oxygen (here I'm talking about the mask the reader is wearing).
After a while, neytiri managed to get you up. "Take some water" neytiri speaks, stroking your hair. You were sitting up, feeling tired and even a little dizzy. Lo'ak was standing all this time, watching as his parents tried to help you. "Don't worry…it was just a dizzy feeling" you laugh a little. "A simple dizziness…ma y/n you were unconscious" neytiri speaks annoyed. Meanwhile jake was walking from one side of the marui to the other. "Lo'ak what the hell happened? What did you do?" jake looks at lo'ak intensely. "I…mom and I were at the sea. We were visiting payakan" lo'ak says timidly. The poor boy looks at you quickly, trying to seek your help. "J-jake" you speak softly. But you watch as your partner ignores you, and moves closer to lo'ak. "Why are you so ignorant…you know that's a dangerous place for your mother" jake yells.
"But daddy" lo'ak tries to defend himself. "Dad nothing… why are you like this? You're fucking irresponsible" jake yells again. But the words were like a knife to lo'ak, jake was acting as if the boy had caused this on purpose. "JAKE" you yell, getting up from the ground. Neytiri tries to stop you, but you walk towards jake. "What the hell is wrong with you?" you look at Jake in shock. "I'm telling him the truth, why can't he behave like neteyam" says jake.
"Because he's not neteyam!!!!" you yell as loud as you can. Lo'ak wipes away some tears and runs out of the marui. "Lo'ak come over here!!!" jake was going to stop lo'ak, but you stop him. "What do you want him to stay for?" you were annoyed, jake was always going overboard with lo'ak. He didn't half like how he talked to his son. "Why do you keep comparing lo'ak to neteyam? They are completely different people. Besides this whole situation is not his fault" you speak.
"But he knows he shouldn't take you to that place," Jake speaks.
"Jake, I'm a grown woman…I do what I want. And I'm getting sick and tired of this attitude you have with our kids. I'm reaching my limit" you were so upset, you were turning red with anger. "Y/N listen to me" jake tries to speak.
"I don't want to listen to you…this isn't something that's happening now. This has been going on for years. Have you ever wondered why your children look at you with fear, because yes, they are afraid of you? Have you ever asked them how they feel or what they want to do, no. You just give orders and think that everyone is doing what they want to do. You just give orders and think everyone here is going to follow them." You yell, pacing a bit all over the marui. Neytiri was sitting on the floor watching and listening to all the discussion. She wasn't saying anything, because she knows you were right.
"I think I'm tired of this…I love you Jake, I love you with all my soul, but I think it's best if we go back to our home… "You lower your head, you felt bad and this whole situation was exhausting you more. You didn't want it to escalate to this level. "Let's go home?" jake gets a little confused, glancing quickly at neytiri. She lifts her shoulders, she didn't know what you were talking about. "I will go with lo'ak to our home, live with mo'at. If any of the children want to leave with me I will take them. But I will not leave them here…getting this treatment. Because they deserve to have a normal childhood" you had tears in your eyes. Leaving Jake there silent and stunned, as you walked towards the Marui's balcony. Neytiri gets up quickly chasing after you.
"Y/N!!!" neytiri holds your hand, you didn't want to look at her. You were too overwhelmed. "Tell me what you are saying is not true. You love us, you love me and Jake. We can work this out." neytiri makes you look at her. She knew you were right, but she couldn't let you go. Let one of her children go away. "I can't stand jake" you yell a little. Neytiri stands there in silence, she knew you weren't really saying it, you loved Jake. Something was happening to you. "You are not serious" neytiri sounded sad. "Ney…let's go away, the two of us, let's go back home. I need to be home" you start crying, the more you talk. Neytiri pulls you to her chest, wrapping you in a very tight hug. "Ma y/n…be calm. I miss our home too" says neytiri. Sitting there, with you in her arms.she sensed something was happening to you, something in you was changing, you weren't like that. Meanwhile, Jake was not far from you. He felt so bad…this was his fault.
"Do you think mom will leave us?" tuk looks at neteyam and kiri. The group of kids had been spying on their parents, when they saw lo'ak come out of the marui. The boy was sitting next to neteyam. He was still teary-eyed. "Well I'm going to my mama's," said lo'ak, he was upset. "I…I don't know. But I don't want mom to leave" neteyam looks back inside the marui. This is the first time he has seen his parents argue like this.
P.s I promise I will upload the next part soon. But I would like to know what you guys think so far. And what do you think is going to happen?
Tag: @baybaybear1@hoodiepandaninja16@teyyyteyyy@anika-rose-walker@victoria2054 @raviolisblog @jessi-dan@neteyams-wh0re@jimfiqs@bitchykittenconnoisseur@chershire23@holynightnacho@danilezilla @thepotatoislost
#avatar the way of water#avatar x y/n#avatar x reader#avatar x you#avatar 2022#female y/n#human reader#human y/n#neteyam imagine#neteyam#lo'ak imagine#lo'ak sully#lo'ak x reader#kiri sully#neytiri#neytiri x human reader#neytiri x y/n#neytiri x reader#neytiri x jake#neytiri x you#jake x reader#jake x neytiri#jake x y/n#jake sully x you#jake sully x neytiri#jake sully x reader#jake sully x y/n#jake x neytiri x reader#jake x neytiri x human reader#sully family
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Babysitting
Zećira Mušović x Hardersson!Reader
Johanna Rytting Kaneryd x Hardersson!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: Your mothers go out and your babysitters get stressed
Wrapped up in Morsa's blanket and Momma's old jumper, you look especially cute and snuggly.
If Zećira and Johanna ignore your red-rimmed eyes and the anxious little pitter-patter of your feet as you sit with your knees up to your chest, you would almost look peaceful.
Magda and Pernille have gone out for the night, some awards show that was just the same as all the others. But, with both of them up for an award, they couldn't use you as an excuse to get out of it.
So, that left you with your temporary babysitters.
There was a list of instructions pinned to the fridge but neither were quite sure how to look after you in the comfort of your own home.
You'd gotten whiny when your mothers left, bursting into tears and crying for a long while before you calmed yourself by wrapping Morsa's blanket around you like a cape and forcing Momma's old jumper over your head.
You're sitting on the floor now, back pressed up against the sofa with a clear view of the front door just in case it opens. You've got lego bricks surrounding you and Zećira sits opposite, helping you choose which pieces to click into place.
You're a little antsy and anxious but Johanna and Zećira keep walking on eggshells around you. Johanna in particular, walks laps around the kitchen, trying to work out what was suitable to feed a little kid.
You finish your first little flower and get up off the floor. Zećira makes an aborted movement to grab you for reasons unknown and you give her a weird look.
She looks back at you.
You blink.
She blinks.
You go to Johanna in the kitchen and tug on her trousers. "Juice, please," You say.
She looks down at you in shock, for some reason. Like she wasn't in the house where you lived.
Both she and Zećira are being weird today.
"Juice, please," You say again.
"Right! Right, yeah." She nods several times before swinging open the fridge. She grabs the carton of orange juice and goes to pour some into a glass.
You make a face.
"What?" She asks.
"That's not my juice," You say," That's Momma and Morsa's juice."
Technically, it's the family juice but you don't drink it, so you don't want to really claim it as the family juice.
"Oh! Silly me!"
She grabs the apple juice and you sigh.
"That's not my juice either," You say," I don't drink apple." That's a complete lie. You do drink apple juice but you don't really want any right now. "I drink the summer fruits."
Her throat bobs as she pours your drink. You reach for the glass but she keeps holding onto it.
"My drink," You whine.
"I'll hold it," She says nervously," Just in case you drop it. Broken glass can be dangerous, you know."
You give her a strange look. You know that. Of course, you know that. But you also know how to carry glass. You're always super safe and careful and drink from Momma and Morsa's glasses all the time.
You let her hold it though because she's got that look on her face that Momma has when you wander off. If letting Johanna hold your drink helps her to not cry then you'll let her hold it.
You sip at your drink before you return to Zećira.
"Hey, kiddo," She says as you pull Morsa's blanket tighter around your shoulders and sniff at the collar of Momma's jumper. "What do you think about dinner?"
It's a weird question but Zećira's weird sometimes so you answer.
"Dinner's cool. I prefer lunch though."
"No...No, I mean...What do you want for dinner?"
You hum for a moment, clicking a green brick on top of a brown brick. "Want Morsa's dinner." You glance at the door. "When Morsa and Momma comin' back?"
"Later," Zećira says, though she doesn't have a heart to tell you that 'later' really means 'after you're in bed'. "What do you want to eat?"
You think as you grab another brown brick. "Goldfish crackers," You answer," They're my favourite."
Zećira looks ready to start screaming or maybe crying.
"For dinner," Johanna says as she approaches," What do you want to eat for dinner?"
The word 'dinner' makes rapid connections in your head again before you give both of your babysitters a dopey smile. "Morsa makes dinner. She's the cooking boss! If Momma's good, sometimes, she gets to make the brocoli!"
"Well, they're not here right now," Zećira says," So what do you want to eat instead?"
At the reminder, you promptly burst into tears.
"Good going, idiot!" Johanna shrieks, flapping her arms about in horror as you sob and kick your little legs against the floor. "Look at her!"
"What do we do?"
You cry and shriek and pull Morsa's blanket over your head to hide. You feel better in your self-made tent, hidden away from Zećira and Johanna. It's better in here and you breathe in and out deeply like Momma does sometimes when she wants to calm down.
It takes a while but eventually you peak your head out, like a little tortoise.
"Hey," Johanna says softly," Sorry Zećira made you upset. Um...I heard that you like McDonald's? How about we just order in? We don't have to cook."
Your Momma and Morsa never let you have McDonald's. Never ever. You should really tell Johanna this.
"McDonald's! Yay!"
●～●～●～●～
There's no more accidents or crying for the rest of the night. You're content wrapped up tightly in your Morsa's blanket, wearing your Momma's jumper, sitting on the floor with your lego bricks and your McDonald's.
You munch on your fries, your fingers all greasy. Zećira is still sitting opposite you and Johanna is on the sofa, her legs bracketing your body.
You know that you're tired because your legos are no longer interesting and the room is feeling a little too-warm to be awake in. You yawn wide, rubbing at your eyes before blinking to get the sleep out of them.
"Are you tired?" Zećira asks and you shake your head.
You glance at the door. You know what adults are like. If you tell Zećira you're tired then she and Johanna will make you go to bed and you don't want to go to bed without seeing Momma and Morsa.
"I think you are."
You give her your best-Morsa glare. "No! I'm not!"
Johanna laughs. "Alright," She says," You're not tired but I'm going to need a cuddle buddy as we watch a movie. Do you think you're up for that?"
You think about it as Zećira clears away the food and puts your legos back in their special container. The lights in the room are pretty dim and it's still too-warm to be awake. Momma sometimes makes the room like this when she wants you to sleep but you don't really think Zećira and Johanna are smart enough to do that.
So, you nod and clamber up into Johanna's lap.
It starts off easy enough, just sitting on her. But then, she's turning you slightly in her arms, cradling you like Morsa does sometimes. You wiggle a little bit, trying to get comfortable because Johanna's grip isn't quite as sure as Morsa's.
Zećira returns from a phone call she took a few minutes ago. She flicks the light fully off until the only way you can see them is the flickering of the tv screen.
Your eyes droop a little bit as the movie plays. It's animated and in Swedish instead of English so usually you'd happily watch it but you let your eyes slide shut.
As long as you focus on listening, then you're sure that you'd be awake for when Momma and Morsa get home.
●～●～●～●～
Pernille opens the door slowly, trying not to make much noise.
Magda's holding her head, smiling wide as they step into the house.
The lights are off but Pernille isn't worried. She already kind of knew that she would find Johanna and Zećira asleep on the sofa. It was fine so long as they woke up if you had a nightmare or got out of bed. It wasn't like Pernille and Magda were up at all hours watching you as you slept.
Magda flicks the light off. "Alright you two-" Her voice is loud and she stops talking immediately when she spies what's going on.
Zećira has her neck leaned back uncomfortably on the back of the sofa, snoring softly with her mouth open. Johanna is asleep too though in a much more comfortable looking position.
You're cradled on her chest, wrapped up snugly in Magda's blanket with Pernille's jumper just peeking out from underneath.
"They were meant to put her to bed," Pernille says with a hint of amusement in her tone.
"We both knew they were never actually going to get her to bed," Magda replies," That's our job."
Pernille smiles and lifts you out of Johanna's arms without waking her. It wakes you though and your sleepy eyes crack open. You smile dopily at her.
"Hi, Momma," You slur," Hi, Morsa."
"Hi, princesse," Momma says, shifting you in her arms so you can rest your head on her shoulder.
"You look so snuggly," Morsa says, stroking your hair," Did you have a good time with Zećira and Johanna?"
You hum in affirmation. "We did lego," You say as Momma walks you up into your room," And we ate dinner and..." You yawn. "We watched a film."
"Oh, yeah?"
Momma tucks you into bed and presses a kiss to your nose.
"Was fun," You say, still heavy with sleep and both of your mothers know that you won't even remember this interaction in the morning.
"I'm glad," Morsa says. She gives you a kiss on the nose like Momma does.
"Night-night, Momma and Morsa," You say, grabbing at your duvet and turning on your side.
"Good night, princesse."
#woso x reader#zecira musovic x reader#zecira musovic#johanna rytting kaneryd x reader#johanna rytting kaneryd#woso community#woso#woso fanfics#woso imagine#hardersson x reader#The Big Adventures Universe
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in the dark.
pairing: minho x reader
genre/warnings: friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, crying, mention of blood, mention of animal abuse, not very edited lol
word count: 0.6k
note: oh i've had the idea for a scene like this for a whiiiile now and i was hella motivated to finally write it after watching skzflix 😂 (twas supposed to be used for a jk fic but oh well, sorry jungoo)
as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡
navigation › masterlist › ko-fi
"It was stupid of you."
"Okay."
"And reckless."
"Okay."
"And dangerous."
"Okay."
"And stupid. Did I already mention that? Because it was fucking stupid."
"Oka-"
"Fuck!" you snap. "Why do you keep saying that? Is it the only word in your vocabulary?"
Minho shrugs defeatedly, like none of this matters to him, but his guilty eyes tell you otherwise. He purses his lips for a second, before he tells you, "What else am I supposed to say?"
"Say you're sorry? Say you'll stop doing it? Say you won't put me through this again?"
He stays quiet, and to be honest, you expected him to. He's too stubborn for his own good and he's too good for his own sake. He's got the kindest heart you know, and you will always love him for it, but...
It's hard to make peace with it when he shows up at your doorstep every few weeks with bruises all over, like an abandoned dog asking you to take him in and put him back together.
It's hard to keep track of all the reasons he tells you to justify his borderline foolhardy actions. The last time it happened, it was because he ran into some psycho abusing the stray cats near his neighborhood. Tonight, it was because he saw someone get mugged on the street.
It's even harder to be okay with the fact that he's infinitely selfless and kind because you love your friend.
You love your friend.
You heave a sigh, going back to the task at hand because you know there's no convincing Minho otherwise. Sometimes, you wish he'd think of himself, that he'd put himself over others. Sometimes, you wish he'd think about you.
You asked him about it once, why he kept showing up to yours instead of going to a hospital. Instead of going home.
He only replied, simple and earnest, "I just want to be here with you."
You soak a cotton swab in rubbing alcohol before you press it gently against the cut on his cheek, wincing when he does. Then you move to the cut on the bridge of his nose, the one on his jawline, the one on the corner of his mouth...
You don't meet his eyes, but you feel his steady gaze on you the entire time you tend to his wounds. You're aware of how your hands are shaking, the way every breath you exhale is trembling, and that there are tears ready to overflow any second now.
The first one spills as you work on cleaning the blood off the corner of his mouth.
Then, suddenly, the cotton swab is no longer in your hand. Minho carelessly flings it elsewhere, and before you can scold him for interrupting you, his palms are on your face, delicate fingers cradling your jaw.
You blink. Just a split second, and his lips are on yours.
He's soft, and warm, and sweet, despite the bitterness that's been on your tongue the entire night. You love him. You do.
And he kisses you like he loves you too, tenderly and wholeheartedly.
You want to keep him with you forever, to never let him go, to not have to see him get hurt ever again. You don't think it's possible for you to endure it anymore, now that you know how it feels to have him like this.
When he pulls away, you're dazed. Rightfully so.
Minho doesn't stray from you for too long. He lets you catch your breath before he's leaning in once more.
Another kiss. Three seconds.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles against your lips, his tone so painfully sincere.
Another kiss. Four seconds.
"I'll stop doing it."
Then another one. Five seconds.
"I won't put you through this again."
all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 03.11.2023]
#stray kids fic#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#skz fic#skz imagines#skz x reader#skz x you#lee know fluff#lee know angst#lee know scenarios#lee know x reader#lee know imagines#lee know x you#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#stray kids#skz#lee know#lee minho
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Something fluff about Kylian having a newborn baby 🥺
in which kylian experiences life as a father to a newborn baby.
+
the front door slammed shut and you winced at how loud it was, eyes darting to the crib to see if your daughter had woke up.
kylian creeped into the room and your finger touched your lips, silently asking him to be quiet. “she’s just gone down about five minutes ago.”
he looked down at his daughter and smiled. she looked so peaceful just lay there, her tiny hands clutching the air. “i brought us dinner.”
even though you knew you looked like a mess, kylian didn’t mind and he pulled you out of bed, dragging you towards the dining room.
there were baby monitors in every room of the house, something kylian had made sure you had to make sure the baby was okay wherever he went.
as kylian plated dinner up, you picked at your nails with a disgusted look. how could you let them get this bad?
kylian noticed the way you had been looking at yourself lately and because he had the day off work tomorrow, he wanted to do something for you.
“why don’t you go out tomorrow and relax? i’ll stay with the baby and you can ask your sister to go.”
it was stupid really how relieved you were. you’d took five months off work to care for your daughter, but you’d somehow forgotten about yourself during the process.
“will you be okay on your own?”
“y/n, i’m a grown man. i’ve got to learn too, you know?”
+
“there’s some baby milk in the fridge and she might need a bath. are you sure you’ll be fine?”
he rolled his eyes, not out of annoyance but because he wanted you to go and have a nice time. “stop worrying. i’ll ring if anything happens. now go, have fun!”
you kissed him on the lips, kissing your daughter on the head as well before leaving the house, meeting your sister outside.
“looks like it’s just us, bug,” kylian said, his daughter staring back up at him with her big bambi eyes. sometimes he’d lay there at night and think about what life would be like when she could talk.
he’d find himself wondering if she’d be a scientist or a doctor, how many kids she would have, what her favourite movie would be.
she looked peaceful in his arms and he started feeling bad for how much he was away from home. what if he missed her first words or first steps?
“you have to promise me that when you start talking, you’ll wait for me to be here, okay?” kylian said, his finger booping her nose.
most of the day was spent watching cartoons with kylian secretly liked, but he’d never admit it. feeding was pretty easy but when it came time for her to sleep, well it wasn’t going well.
“please, mon chéri. you have to go to sleep.”
her wails could probably be heard from down the street and kylian was trying his hardest to calm her down. he thought about ringing you but that would make you think he couldn’t do it alone.
kylian flicked the cartoons back on but still, she stayed crying. he remembered the only thing that calmed him down as a kid was his mother’s lullaby, so he started singing it softly.
she stopped and stared at him, her small fingers wrapped around his thumb. it was like she was exploring, learning everything about her dad by feeling his fingers and looking into his eyes.
after three minutes of the same lullaby over and over, she finally began to shut her eyes and kylian let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in.
kylian didn’t want to move her back to her crib in case she woke up again, so he moved over, resting his head against the headboard and letting sleep find him.
#kylian mbappe x reader#kylian mbappe imagines#kylian x reader#kylian fanfic#kylian mbappe#kylian imagines#kylian mbappe imagine#football x reader#football imagine#football#elisewrites
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Mars in 4th House Synastry (Romantic) 18+
✨️Definitely protective vibes between the Mars and 4th House. Mars will let people know what is up if they have to. This cardinal, water house is jealous and p r o t e c t i v e. They will not want other people getting in between them and their partner.
✨️There will be a bit of shyness at times between the parties. Mars will help the 4th House person come out of their shell and be vulnerable with them. Or vice versa.
✨️Homebodies. 🥺🩷 That is all I can say. But they will love it and be comfortable with just having date nights at home. They are just so comfortable in each other's presence.
✨️While one partner is away at work, the other partner may be at home cooking and really establishing their home together. It is in the sweetest way, though, because they just want to help make their partner as comfortable and as safe as possible. 🥺
✨️I don't care what anyone else says, this placement can mess you up with wanting kids! Even if you have never wanted them before! You will want to make babies together with this person 💅
✨️Mars person might get turned on by how "family oriented" the 4th House person is or vice versa 🥵 You know how sometimes, you can see a girl/guy watching their younger siblings/relatives and it makes you realize how good of a parent they would be? This is what this placement does. It can give you baby fever with your partner.
✨️Mars person will want to impregnate or become pregnant by the 4th House person.
✨️Mars person is going to have a drive to start a family with the 4th House OR Mars person is going to ignite the 4th House's desire to start a family with them. 💯
✨️Same with buying a house or cohabitating. One person will ignite the other's desire to settle down and live together. You may have never thought about that before, but the moment you have this placement with somebody, you will be thinking that maybe they are the one for you to settle down with.
✨️Serious "mommy/daddy" vibes. Think soft dom who wants to just provide and protect in the gentlest way
✨️Emotional s-x.... Be prepared for tears and crying and tons of emotional overflow during s-x. Wetness all around. Somebody may be saying "I love you." 👀 It can happen. If you are more reserved, then there will be emotional displays that you are not usually used to, but it will be okay because you just feel safe with each other. Even if you don't say anything, you will FEEL the emotional connection between you both. 🫠🥵
✨️Beware of emotional fights between you and your partner. Sometimes, Mars in the 4th can bring disruption to a peaceful home. It can get emotionally manipulative and toxic if not kept in check.
These are just my thoughts in the moment. Please feel free to add your input! Love you guys! Stay safe 🙏
#mars synastry#mars synastry overlay#4th house synastry#mars in 4th house#fourth house#mars in fourth house#mars#cancer#astrology observations#astro observations#water house astrology#astrology notes#astro notes#astro community#zodiac signs#zodiac#zodiac side of tumblr#intuitive readings#mars in the houses#synastry reading#synastry overlay#18+ content#18+ tarot#18+ account#18+ blog
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— ☆ zb1 reacting to you being a shy and quiet person
gn!reader x zb1 (ot9)
genre: fluff, drabble // warnings: cursing, a hint of social anxiety, everyone is so nervous and blushy
author’s note: as a power I(NFP) i was very thankful to receive this request just to spend hours daydreaming about considerate jebewon i cry </3
(★ω★)/ [requested♡]
ੈ✩‧₊˚ jiwoong
works a lot with body language. you guys can communicate with your eyes without having to say anything. even when you first met, jiwoong would start the talking until he suddenly stops, scared that he might be talking about himself too much. you encourage him to keep going, stating that you like listening to people since you're not a big talker. he finds your shyness endearing and he would look at you with already so much love in his eyes. when you guys start dating, he would always stay considerate and attentive, like when you two first met. when you and jiwoong go to a party and you already feel the need to go home, you would slightly fumble with his fingers and he would immediately get the hint. "we're leaving first guys, thanks for the invitation." jiwoong states, leaving the boys confused and you panicked. "babe we arrived 25 minutes ago, we can't just leave now!" you whisper-shout and yelp as he throws you over his shoulder, walking to his car.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ zhang hao
as one of the only introverts, you guys would definitely get each other a lot. though he doesn't act like one sometimes, he will need to get some quietness and calm after a long social interaction. matthew, your best friend, had introduced you to the rest of the friend group and hao and you immediately clicked. whenever you came over to their dorm, hao and you would immediately go to his room to have "some peace and quiet" (the others keep complaining about how you two laugh way too loud). you would be sprawled out on hao’s bed, legs tangled together and your head comfortably resting on his shoulder, having one of your weekly movie marathon. "just date already" matthew chuckles as he leaves the room, leaving a blushing hao and you behind him.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ hanbin
hanbin will naturally take the leading role when he notices you're on the shy and quiet side. will always reassure you that you don't have to change anything for him and that he can be the one speaking and you can be listening. even though hanbin is very outgoing and extroverted, he will never get enough of your calming presence whenever he comes home from hanging out with a lot of people. if you have trouble ordering a drink or food, he would always make sure to do it for you. and if you tell him you've done something out of your comfort zone he would literally shower you with compliments. "i have to do a presentation for my next class, i hate speaking in front of people." you mumble, laying on your stomach with your head buried in your pillow. your boyfriend hanbin, lying next to you, rolls over and throws an arm around you, settling his face on your shoulder. "you're going to do great, i'll help you revise" he whispers in your ear reassuringly and plants a small kiss on the crown of your head.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ matthew
it was your best friend’s birthday party and they had invited a few friends from high school over. you were sipping on your drink, quietly watching a small group play some board games while some others are loudly doing a karaoke on the tv. matthew, who was sitting in front of you, notices your quietness and comes sit next to you. "do you perhaps want to go grab a drink in the kitchen with me?" he suggests shyly, hoping that you don't find him too pushy or weird. you nod with a smile and follow him to the kitchen, when you start having a casual conversation. matthew asks if you’re enjoying yourself in a careful manner, unsure if you would take it the wrong way since it was the first time you two met. you calmly explain that you’re just a bit introverted and reserved but you thank him for noticing your presence. embarrassed, his ears turn red. he thinks he might like you.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ taerae
you and taerae make the perfect balance. feisty gremlin and cinnamon roll. the members are always so thankful when you come over because you're basically the only one who can manage him and his anger issues. and taerae is secretly very thankful too, you're like his little bubble of fresh air. he'll feel bad if he's talking with his friends (or most of the time just yelling at them) or singing loudly and he notices that you're sitting by yourself quietly. even when you repeat that you're just a little shy and quiet and that you like watching him have fun from a distance, he will be stuck to your arm. he will definitely try to find a way to spend some calmer moments with you, like having you tell him about your day while he plays guitar and hums softly. "and OBVIOUSLY when we started to talk shit about him, he arrived" taerae gasps as he immediately stops strumming his guitar. "wait so did he hear you? love, you never get the timing right" he laughs loudly, taking both of your hands in his, worriedly.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ ricky
finds your quietness attractive. when he first saw you, he thought you were trying to be mysterious (your social battery was just too low for you to speak to anyone) and he was immediately drawn in by your aura. whenever you guys are in any social setting, he would flirt with you, whispering in your ear how expensive and classy you look in that moment and you're like i just want to go home, ricky... thinks you look so cute getting shy when someone asks you a question and he notices how you start playing with his rings. you haven't spoken since you sat down until you hear something that sparks your interest and you just have to speak up "that reminds me of the time when ricky..." he wouldn't be able to hide his burning cheeks and ears when he realized that every little conversation you would have were always about him.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ gyuvin
gyuvin as the outgoing funny loser who had to sit next to you, the shy and quiet student. he found you very cute and wanted to quickly get to know about you. he would probably say some really clumsy stuff at first like "are you always quiet like that? is it not hard to not talk at all? i can't imagine having to keep quiet for even 5 minutes that would make me lose my mind..." and to that you respond "well! why don't you try shutting up for once?" he is shocked by your bold comment, then he quickly starts giggling as a pinkish color paints his cheeks. later during the lesson, you feel something poke your forearm. you put your pencil down and turn your head to see a small piece of paper folded between gyuvin's fingers. he looks down at you with round eyes, a small grin on his face. you give up listening to the teacher because passing notes with your seatmate is much less boring. the excitement that comes before slowly unfolding the papers make both of your hearts flutter.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ gunwook
i am once again a firm believer of cold-looking but actually softie and very considerate gunwook... bonus point because he's only a softie for you. "actually y/n thinks... y/n would love that... y/n will take..." doesn't matter if you're with him or not, gunwook will always talk for you or about you. he wants you to feel included and he wants you to want him. he enjoys spending some moments with just the two of you. he will feel very special if he notices you start talking more when you're with him only because that means you feel safe around him and omg his heart can't take it!! it doesn't always happen though, sometimes you just like to just stay in silence with him but it's always a very comfortable quietness. in those moments, it would feel best to just play a random movie to watch while cuddling. your head rests on his shoulder, almost buried in the crook of his neck while his thumb slowly strokes the back of your hand and you just feel so at ease and sleepy...zzz
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yujin
number #1 of the introverts. yujin would love being in your company because you just get him you know? he would get so annoyed when he announces that he needs some quietness just to have gyuvin follow him and ask him to play computer games with him. yujin's favorite moment of the day is when he gets to walk home with you, sharing earbuds while walking with your pinkies interlocked. the only times you would feel the need to speak is to say that you like the song playing. you could easily count how many words you've said during the entire evening if you wanted to, considering how quiet you two like to be, even when you're together. you would frequently scare the boys when you come out of yujin's room because they didn't even know you were at their house and you had to explain them you two were just taking you third nap of the day.
#starvity.text#zerobaseone#zb1#zerobaseone imagines#zerobaseone fluff#zerobaseone drabbles#zerobaseone scenarios#zerobaseone reactions#zb1 imagines#zb1 drabbles#zb1 scenarios#zb1 reactions#zb1 x reader#kpop imagines#kpop fluff#kpop scenarios#kpop drabbles#kpop reactions
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megumi and prompt 9.. 😵💫😵💫
y e s
emoji event : 💞💜 AMAB READER!!! x 21+ megumi
18+ just megumi being possessive xx m x m oral "pretty boy"
Feeling utterly bored at some stupid college house party, Megumi tries to catch up with his social butterfly boyfriend. He pulls you aside, giving you a soft kiss and a whisper, "Baby..." he doesn't have to say anything. You know he's done. He wanted to go home as soon as you arrived.
But you're not ready to leave yet, so you put your foot down for once.
Megumi is pleasantly surprised. You usually give in to his demands quite easily, but he's happy to work a little harder.
He nibbles at your ear lobe, completely distracting you from your conversation now.
You stammer and apologise, feeling your boyfriend pull you away from your friends.
"Megumi..." you groan, feeling him start to suck on your neck. You know he's not great with pda... he must be quite desperate for your attention.
"Megumi, I'm not going home yet."
He stops and stands up straight again, resuming his position above you, looking down into your eyes. You're trying so hard to hold your ground against the stoic man. You forget how intimidating he can be sometimes.
"Okay," his eyes soften as he leans into your ear again, "if you won't come home, just let me have you to myself for a while."
His deep voice has got your stomach in a frenzy... and before you realise what's happening he's dragging you upstairs into a spare bedroom, pushing you up against the closed door.
He starts with his lips over yours, then works his way down to your chest, unbuttoning your shirt with haste. He presses you harder against the wood and dips lower, kissing your stomach, then tugging at your belt.
"Megumi..." you didn't realise this is quite what he wanted.
He looks up at you from his position, kneeling on the carpet.
"You wanna do it at home instead?"
You see the mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes.
He's going to get what he wants. He always does.
You shake your head, your boyfriend taking that as a sign for him to continue.
He tugs your cock free, smirking that you're already semi hard. And it only takes a lick of his tongue and a few pumps till you're full and nudging at his lips.
He pins you against the door and works you with his hands first, loving the way you're squirming and fucking his fist already. And when he can't resist the drop of precum forming on your tip any longer, he closes his lips over you and you swear... he's going to finish you in seconds.
"Mmh- M-Megumi... s-slow down-" you cry, holding onto the door frame for support.
"Hm," he chuckles and pulls away, "I'll go as fast as I want, pretty boy."
He gets you weak in the knees, just how he wants you, sucking you so eagerly while your fingers thread through his black locks.
He's got you close, and you're starting to lose yourself, moaning and grabbing him harder, until there's a sudden tap tap tap on the door.
"Hey are you guys in there??" A voice calls from outside. It's your friend, wondering where you've gone.
Megumi just continues deepthroating you like nothing is happening.
"W-wait-" you reply in a shaky voice.
"Can we please have him back now?" Your friends continue, starting to hammer on the door in their drunken stupor.
"Yeah, Gumiii give him back!!! We're booored"
Megumi groans and digs his fingers into your hips, pulling you closer and swallowing you up.
"M- m coming!!"
You moan, informing your boyfriend he's about to get your cum down his throat while incidentally replying to your friends.
"Ahh hahh oh- my god-" you breathe in a hushed whisper, with your friends right outside telling you to hurry up.
"They're starting... to piss me off y/n..."
Your dark haired boyfriend mutters, sucking and cleaning you up. You take a breather, collapsing on the bed with a dramatic sigh while Megumi opens the door.
You watch him step outside.
Shit. What's he gonna say this time.
"Can a man not suck his boyfriend's dick in peace?"
He earns a round of giggles.
"You guys are fucking insufferable," he snaps, stepping back inside and slamming the door.
If they're going to be like that, he's just going to have to keep you to himself all night...
megumi | m.list
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#18+ content#megumi fushiguro#megumi x reader#megumi x male reader#male reader x male character#male sub#amab reader#male reader#megumi smut#mxm#mxm smut#emoji event#500 followers event#magic.events⋆⁺#💞💜
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i need some wriothesley pregnancy drabbles there's seriously not enough of those yet...
-> pregnancy
synopsis -> a rundown of your pregnancy with wriothesleys baby, and how supportive he is.
warnings -> pregnancy, mentions of crying and screaming, mentions of labor
w/c -> 968
wriothesley didn’t really remember the day you constantly started asking for hugs and cuddles. and the day he realized that cuddling you in the ways easiest to him are no longer an option. and, the day he knew that you wouldn’t be able to handle yourself without his help.
yes, you’re pregnant, but sometimes he wonders if you even understand that he’s the one working here! and because he’s working, he can’t give you what you want 24/7. you do understand that though, but you just can’t help it! your hormones have changed so much over the past few months that now you feel like a needy wreck who constantly needs her husband to be touching her in some way.
and on the other end, you feel like wriothesley doesn’t understand why you’re so needy. obviously, you can tell him why, but he won’t be able to relate. he’s a man, he can’t carry a child. and sometimes, you get mad at him for that, and so on.
but on the frequent occasions that he puts his work down for even just a few minutes to focus his attention onto you, you’re content. and he’s happy if you are.
whether it’s a long hug, snuggling into his side and resting your eyes on the couch, or cuddling him in bed, he’ll be up for it if he’s not necessarily doing anything. he doesn’t mind putting his work down for you, but it’s not possible to leave rather important matters alone just so he can satisfy his pregnant wife.
he knows you’re no longer able to get good sleep at night- he’s up with you through the majority of it. so, he just tries to cuddle you to at least make you feel a little better, considering he knows how much you want to just lay down, forget about the world around you, and breathe in his refreshing scent. it’s one of the only smells you can stand at this point.
and, he mostly welcomes you when you come over to his side of the desk, and try your hardest to sit yourself on the edge of it. to say you normally get whatever you want whenever you want it is an understatement.
when it was earlier on in your pregnancy, your clinginess seemed a lot easier to manage, he thinks. he’d just sit you down on his lap and rub your back. but later on, he can’t do that, making your neediness a little more challenging to relieve. he knows he’s going to have to take that work leave soon.
but, don’t fret, he’s fantastic at massages. whether it’s in the bathtub, before bed, or even in the middle of the night, where you wake him up with a pool of tears in your eyes. his back and neck massages are great, but his calf and foot massages are to die for.
once, you woke him up at around 2 in the morning. at that point, you could be considered heavily pregnant, nearing that 40 week mark, and in obvious discomfort on the daily. you woke up with a charley horse, and had no way of ridding the pain by yourself.
he’s used to you waking him up like this, so without opening his eyes, he rolled over and started massaging the soreness out of your leg. it felt absolutely heavenly, and lulled you into a shallow sleep. for now, at least, until you need to get up and use the restroom for the 80th time that night.
poor guy will be so nervous when he comes home from work and finds you bent over the counter, breathing in and out while swaying your hips back and forth. he knew it was labor, he knew he’d have to bring you to sigewinne so she can either send you up to the overworld or deliver your baby herself, and he knew that you two were going to be parents in the next few days.
he prays your labor is the most peaceful it can be, but he soon found that there is no such thing as an epidural in the medicinal part of the fortress. it was the closest place he could take you, and relatively one of the nicest. the whole medical wing besides the simple cots sigewinne has in her room was likely the nicest part of the fortress (besides your living quarters), with a nice, clean look and the pearly white floors and walls, and could be compared to a regular hospital.
and get this, the maternity wing was the nicest wing of the whole entire building. most people didn’t know about this secret hospital in the deepest parts of the fortress, where its mainly used for prisoners who came in pregnant and their sentence will end after their due date and surgical procedures by nurses hired on by sigewinne with the approval of wriothesley.
you were so glad that you two were immediately given the nicest room and the best nurses, who helped you as best as possible while you went through unmedicated labor. it was a grueling process, tears leaving even wriothesleys eyes every single time you screeched in pain while a particularly bad contraction hit your body like a semi truck. and considering how long it went on, your husband thought he’d pass out.
after a horrifying 34 hour labor, you were with your baby at last. at this point your legs were numb and you felt exhausted, taking a nice nap while your wriothesley held your newborn.
that day was one of the only times you’ve seen him cry in your whole life, and you wonder if he’s ready for your upcoming pregnancy announcement, nearly 3 years after the last one.
#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley#cw pregnancy
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Can you perhaps write an Adam x reader where the reader is extremely insecure about their looks and thinks they'll never be truly attractive and he comforts them after catching them in the middle of a breakdown ....... Thank you so much I love your work ♥️♥️
Divine
Summary: when your insecurities get the best of you Adam is there
F!Reader
Masterlist
Warnings: depression, depressive thoughts, making love, panic attack
Taglist: @fandomsbookclub @adamsfavoritesinner @leathesimp @mmichelleszn @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @sirenetheblogger @jawline-of-steel
You always were one to never feel confident in your own body. Even when you were alive. You were beyond surprised when the first man told you he wanted you, and even more surprised when you started dating.
You were a relatively high ranking angel, most people respected you. You were kind, compassionate, caring, and most of all, you were down to earth, or well heaven.
However even in your after life those thoughts followed you. Making you question everything about yourself.
The questions started small.
Were you too tall? Were you too short? Should you have long or short hair?
Then they began to form into something more.
Were you eat too much? Too less? Were your boobs big enough? Was your ass too big? What made you deserve Adam? Why are you even here?
You never told anyone about said thoughts. Heaven wasn’t a place of insecurity. Everyone was “hot” as saint peter like to put it, so no one really talked about their problems.
You tired hard to appear perfect. Always going the extra mile for something, for someone.
—
You walked around your home, glass of wine in your hand. You made a sudden stop however as you caught a glimpse of your reflection in one of the mirrors in your home.
You took another sip to try and stop the incoming thoughts, however it did no good.
Do you really think Adam wants you? It’s all a joke to him. You don’t deserve him, look at you.
Tears started to form in your eyes, tears of sadness filling eyes of rage.
You screamed out in frustration and threw the wine glass to the mirror. The glass shattered and red stained your white walls.
The thoughts stopped, finally a moment of peace, but it did not last. The came back stronger than before.
You grabbed one of your fire pokers and started to hit your glass cabinets. Throwing every thing you could find against the walls.
You didn’t find clarity though.
You slid down the walls while the tears slid down your face. “Just leave me alone!” You cried out to the empty room.
Now you’re throwing a fit? Get over yourself, god you’re pathetic.
You didn’t hear the door open, you couldn’t get out of your head. You didn’t hear footsteps crunching on the glass around you, it was blocked out by your crying.
You only focused back when Adam placed his arms around you and slightly shook the two of you.
“What’s the matter baby?” His voice was unusually soft, and it was delicate.
“I want the mirrors gone.” You begged to him. He pulled your head away from his chest and made you look up at him. “Then how would you see your beautiful face?”
You scoff out, “what a funny joke.” Your voice was bitter, and your throat was raw. The tears had finally stopped, but they still stained your face and your lashes were soaking.
“Funny of you to think I’m joking. Talk to me baby.” He noticed your insecurities to an extent. Adam wasn’t one to be too aware of mental struggles — even if he has some of his own — but he noticed things about you.
He would notice how you would always try and hide your stomach. How you would sometimes get lost in though while grabbing your thighs. He would notice how you never wanted him to go down on you even though you would blow him off. He would notice your long looks in the mirror and the distance face you had.
He would try and help. Telling how how hot he found you every time he saw you. He would always praise you. It wasn’t enough, he knew that but he wanted you to come to him about this first.
He didn’t want to upset you more with confrontation.
“I’m so ugly! I don’t know why you’re still with me! I’m an embarrassment for you. You’re too good for me.”
Adam brushed away your tears with his lips. Silently listening. This was your moment to get everything off your chest.
“I’m not smart, I’m not even that pretty.” You scoffed and looked away from Adam, “Lute would be a better partner than me.”
Adam pulled your face back to him. “You have no idea just how wrong you are. You are heaven itself. This place was hell until you.”
“You’re not an embarrassment, I’m so proud to have you on my arm. You’re so intelligent that you make god look stupid. Don’t even get me started on your beauty.”
“I love every part of you. I love every inch of skin you have. You’re so pretty baby and I love you so much it hurts that I can’t express how much I truly do. And I cannot wait until the day that I see you walking down that isle in white.”
You smiled at Adam, it would take time to fully believe him, but right now he made you happy. It had been a long time since the thoughts were gone and it was just the two of you.
“Thank you, Adam.”
Adam placed a kiss your lips and reluctantly backed away. “Don’t thank me baby. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go out have a spa day, go shopping, get all dolled up and when you get back I’ll have a surprise for you.”
You nodded your head and Adam kissed you all over your face leaving giggles to flea from your mouth. God you drive him crazy, in the best way.
—
You got your nails done, even gotten your hair styled, and you went to the mall to get new jewelry and a dress.
By the time you got home and walked brought the door all the glass and everything was cleaned up.
Another thing you noticed was the rose petals making a path to your room while music played out. The closer your got to the room the louder you heard the song.
You opened the door and there Adam stood. In a suit, maskless, while holding up a rose to you.
Adam could feel his heart stop. He looked you up and down and he knew that he would love you for the rest of his immortal life.
“You look…” and felt like he couldn’t breathe, you were simply, “divine.”
Red rushed to your cheeks as you walked closer to him, taking the rose. You wrapped your arms around his neck and looked around.
Candles were lit all over the room and you noticed he put a table in here that had your favorite food and wine. You looked to the left and noticed the bed was filled with rose petals just like the table.
The candles reflected against your skin and Adam knew that this was the moment, he couldn’t wait a second longer.
“Marry me.”
You snapped your head up to him, “what?”
Adam dropped your arms to his hands and he started to get onto hid knee. “I’ve lived in Heaven longer than I can remember, but it wasn’t Heaven until you. I have had two wives and yet it was you who taught me how to love.”
Adam pulled out a ring box from his jacket and opened revealing your dream ring. It was breathtaking.
“I was trapped in a marriage twice, and I don’t want you to think of this as a trap. When I ask you to marry me I’m asking for you to let me worship you. Let me wake up beside you every single day. Let me try and show just how deep my love for you goes, even though it’s impossible because I simply have too much of it to show. So I ask you. Will you marry me?”
A smile broke on your face and you dropped to you knees bringing him to a kiss. You put your hand to his cheek while he wrapped his arms around you.
You kissed all over his face saying yes a million times. Adam face was full of love and happiness as he placed the ring onto your finger.
You looked at him and placed your forehead against his, “never let me go.” You whispered.
“Never.” He promised.
He picked you up and carried you to the bed, kissing you along the way.
When he dropped you to the edge of the bed you immediately went to his belt but he pushed your hands away.
He dropped to his knees and pushed your back to the bed. “This night is all about you, honey.”
You were nervous yet excited.
He undid your heels, slightly rubbing your sore feet before his hands trailed up your thighs. “Lift your hips baby.”
You flushed pink, Adam said Vulgar things all the time but that would play a repeat in your head for days, hell eternity to come.
You did as he said and he pushed your dress up while pulling down your panties, stuffing them in his pockets.
He brought his lips to your own, and gave your heat a little kiss. Your little moan let him knew just how eager you truly are, along with the slickness along your folds.
He grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulder, slightly angling your hips upwards.
He gave you a long lick, loving the taste of you. He wanted more, no needed more, he needed to taste you more.
He gave you more licks and suck before rubbing your clit while putting his tongue to use but pushing it past your folds and into your walls.
You could feel pressure in your stomach begging to be release, you were quite familiar of this feeling.
“Adam, I’m oh god, I’m going to cum.”
Adam paced quicken, desperate to have you gush on his tongue and gush you did. You poured onto him, crying out in pleasure. Adam didn’t let a single drop past him.
When you finally were finished riding out your high Adam climbed over you. A sight it was.
He ran a hand down his hair, his tie loose, your fluids over his face and a hungry look in his eyes. You made sure to engrave that memory in your head. You pushed off his suit jacket while he worked on his belt and shoes.
Adam ripped open your dress causing you to whine, “that was expensive!”
Adam started to kiss up your neck and to your ear, his low raspy voice right over it. “I’ll buy you ten more.” His breath blew over the curvature of your ear making your yearn for him.
You ripped open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as you gave him begging eyes with a sweet voice to accompany it. “Please my love.”
“How can I refuse someone as pretty as you.”
You believe him, you felt pretty, you felt loved, you felt worshipped, you felt enough.
Adam pushed down his pants and lined himself up to your entrance. He slowly started to push into your slick walls, leaning down over you breathing heavy, matching yours.
When he finally bottomed out he had to take a moment to stop. You were so tight and you were squeezing him so nice.
In the very low of your stomach you could feel a tiny bulge.
He took you hand hand placed it over your lower stomach. “You feel me baby? You feel what you do to me? Only you could make me like this.”
“I love you Adam.” He placed a soft kiss on your soft lips, “not as much as I love you.”
Before you could deny it he thrusted up into you. Suddenly your ‘impossible’ turned into “don’t stop.”
“I won’t baby.”
He kept his word. He kept it slow and you didn’t ask for him to go faster. His thrust was hard and it his the exactly spot that he knew would make you tick.
He started to rub your clit, whispering praises in your ear and then suddenly you could feel yourself pulsing around him.
With you tightening Adam’s own release pushed deep into. Painting your walls white.
When you both came down from your highs he pulled out and made you two a bath.
While the two of you soak and nipped your ear and joke, “looks like I skipped dinner and went straight to dessert.” You giggled and splashed him.
The two of you went silent for a moment, just admiring the other. “I love you.” You both said.
Adam was truly happy.
You were truly happy.
Any problems that would happen you two would face them, together.
AHHHHH
Okay so let’s talk!
I’m so happy I wrote this! You have no idea, while writing this it felt like a piece of me healing.
If anyone is struggling I want you to know you’re not alone! There are others out there and I don’t mean that as a way to down play you, I mean that in a way they people understand and people will listen.
Don’t struggle alone there is always a door open and each and every person alive is beautiful and truly amazing and there is always someone something that loves you!
#hazbin hotel#masterlist#hazbin#x reader#adam hazbin hotel#adam is actually hilarious#adam x reader#mdni#tw depressing thoughts
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by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg
(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)
✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader
✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door.
✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff
✤ RATING explicit. minors dni.
✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will.
✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame.
✤ WORDCOUNT 20k
✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist."
✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡
✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much.
✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.
so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions /
or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.
There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.
Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.
What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.
It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.
You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.
Him, if you were a betting man.
You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.
Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.
You already know which one Yoongi is.
From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.
Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.
You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.
instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling /
they don't tell you what you know you should want.
Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.
You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.
“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.
Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.
Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”
You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.
“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.
“Okay. How were the holidays?”
It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.
“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”
“And why is that?”
Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”
“Can you expand on that?”
You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”
“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”
The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.
Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.
He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.
“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.
Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”
this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't /
you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.
“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”
This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.
“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”
Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.
There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—
So when you ask, "Is something wrong?"
I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”
—because that’s how it is, how it goes.
“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”
There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”
And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.
Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—
“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”
“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.
He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.
“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.
“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”
You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.
“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“
“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”
“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.
“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”
“Oh, that’s rich.”
Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”
“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”
Yoongi slams the door behind him.
For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.
i am waiting for that sense of relief /
i am waiting for you to flee the scene /
as if you held in your hand the smoking gun /
and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.
You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.
It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.
Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.
He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.
“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”
You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”
“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”
He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”
There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.
Does Yoongi still consider you his home?
“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
“Can we talk about it now?”
Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.
“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”
Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”
His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”
Is that why… “The song?”
Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”
“Okay.”
“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”
“Can you now?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”
“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”
That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”
“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”
“But you are.”
Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”
“Relationship euthanasia.”
“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”
“What would that even look like?”
You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”
Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”
“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”
“Yoongi...”
“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”
You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”
You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”
“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”
“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.
Still standing, even after a hurricane.
i need you so much closer,
so come on.
Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.
Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.
“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.
“S’the afternoon, baby.”
Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”
Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.
You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”
“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”
He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”
You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”
He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”
“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”
He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.
You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.
Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.
“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.
“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.
Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.
So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.
Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”
“The one in Oakhurst?”
Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”
“How long?”
A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”
You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”
You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”
He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”
“Me too.”
“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”
After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.
He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.
“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”
Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”
You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.
“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”
You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.
(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)
But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”
The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”
“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”
Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”
The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.
“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”
It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.
If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.
“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.
“Your mouth.”
He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.
He’s not so gentle after that.
Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.
You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.
As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.
“Fuck, fuck—”
Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”
(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)
You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.
And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?
You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.
You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.
“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”
It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.
Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?
Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.
“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.
You think, Another dying star.
“Did I hurt you?”
You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.
“Baby, talk to me, please—”
You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?
“I’m sorry—”
You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.
Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.
Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”
Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.
“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”
He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”
He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.
He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.
Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.
and when i see you, i really see you upside down /
but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.
There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.
A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.
It’d gone like—
(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”
“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.
It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.
So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”
“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”
“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”
“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”
“But—”
“Put it in the bowl.”
A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)
—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.
You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.
But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.
First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.
“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.
Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.
So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.
“And why is that?”
“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”
Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”
You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yeah?”
You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”
“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”
If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”
“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.
“You’re able to take the time off?”
Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.
Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.
What’s good for him is good for you, after all.
“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”
Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”
“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”
From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”
He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”
Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.
i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in /
the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.
“Hi.”
Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”
“Are you all packed?”
You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”
Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”
“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”
“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”
“With what?”
“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”
“How much are you bringing?”
“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”
You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.
The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.
It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.
“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.
“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”
There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.
So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.
—
“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.
You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”
He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”
“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”
That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”
You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”
“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.
You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”
“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”
“Says who?”
“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”
You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.
Which you give. Freely, without thought.
(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.
Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.
You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)
—
Oakhurst is small.
Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.
You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.
A place that makes you smile.
You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.
Yoongi laughs anyway.
There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.
He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.
When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.
You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.
the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door /
have been silenced forevermore.
and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row.
it seems farther than ever before.
There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.
“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.
It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.
So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.
Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.
—
Yosemite is hard to put into words.
You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.
So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.
The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.
“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.
Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.
All you have to do is water it.
—
The weather in the village is bitter cold.
Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.
Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.
Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.
Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.
So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.
“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”
“What do you mean?”
A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”
You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”
“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”
It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”
“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”
That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”
Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.
And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”
It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”
Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”
Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”
“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”
“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”
A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”
“That’s what you think?”
“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”
“Leave?”
He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”
You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.
“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”
Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.
(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)
and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air /
began to pass through every pane of weathered glass /
and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.
Yoongi’s birthday is soon.
Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.
You think thirty will look good on him.
The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.
So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.
“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.
You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”
“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”
“I went to the grocery store.”
“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”
That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”
“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”
“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”
He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.
“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.
“But I saw strawberries in there.”
“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”
Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”
As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.
—
Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.
You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.
He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.
You: He just left. Coast is clear.
Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours
You: No you haven’t
Seokjin: 499 hours*
When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.
“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”
It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.
So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.
Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”
“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”
He just sends you A Look.
—
You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.
“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”
“SURPRISE!”
Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—
“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”
Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”
Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.
“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.
“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”
“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”
“How did you—”
“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”
You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—
(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”
“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”
“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)
—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.
So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.
This one doesn’t hurt at all.
—
Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.
That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.
Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.
And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”
“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”
“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”
—
By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.
By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.
“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”
He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.
“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”
“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”
“Real answer, please.”
You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”
His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.
“Am not. Ask me why.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”
“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”
“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”
There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.
“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.
“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”
Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.
—
(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)
i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine /
i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late /
and i should have given you a reason to stay.
The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.
Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.
And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.
There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.
Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.
But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.
And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.
Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?
So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.
(Everything reads like an attack.)
“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”
How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.
So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”
Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.
“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”
He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”
(Something that’s true.)
it felt just like falling in love again.
and it felt just like falling in love again.
On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.
As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.
It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.
So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.
You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.
Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.
When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)
The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.
On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.
Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.
You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.
And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.
So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.
[interlude: monday morning]
(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.
This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)
looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try /
to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites
from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.
“Should we go home soon?”
It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.
Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.
But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”
It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”
Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.
Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”
“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”
“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”
You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”
“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”
“Just seventy-five percent?”
“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”
You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”
“Not this shit again—”
“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”
“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”
You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”
“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”
“Uh-huh.”
“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”
“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”
Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”
“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”
“That you extended with my money.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
—
Saying goodbye is hard.
As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.
Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.
On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.
But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”
“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.
He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I���ve had this stuck in my head for days.”
You nod. You listen.
“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”
You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.
there'd be no distance that could hold us back.
so this is the new year.
It’s the thirtieth of December.
Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.
Good riddance.
“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.
You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.
—
Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.
There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.
(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)
“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.
“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.
—
There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.
She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.
Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.
A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.
There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.
Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.
(Like each other.)
There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”
“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”
Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”
You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”
His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”
Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”
Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.
Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.
“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”
You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?
“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.
You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”
You are, and you do.
So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.
Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.
You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.
You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.
Another home.
—
(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.
Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.
You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)
if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.
i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.
i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡
#btshoneyhive#btswritersclub#kvanity#bangtantheatrenet#bts smut#yoongi smut#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#yoongi angst#yoongi fluff#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts x you#bts fanfiction#bts angst#yoongi imagine#bts imagines#bangtan#yoongi
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Hi! How are you? I hope you're doing well :D
So I have an idea I've thinking about
Since my dream job is to be a psychologist, I thought about how slashers would react to their s/o working as a psychologist / psychotherapist (for Michael, Brahms, Freddy and Jason please)
Thanks in advance
Have a good day / night!
Hope ur doing well too! :) sorry for the wait I’ve been a bit busy and uninspired, but things are starting to look up! Have a great day xoxo
Slashers with a Psychologist!Reader
Includes: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger and Brahms Heelshire
Michael Myers💖
Michael hated you at first. Well, it wasn’t much different now. He… now tolerated you…? At best? Anyway, he hated how you overanalysed every little thing he did. It was hard not to, seeing how beyond batshit he was
Like, how dare you try to make Michael feel better?! >:( That was the worst thing you could do to him! You reminded him of Loomis. Although, you were way more attractive… and cute… and sexy
Michael didn’t want to like you, but there was just something about you. He was always gonna be a bad guy, but you somehow bettered him. He was instantly more calm in your presence and even your home. Your furnishings and belongings were purposely placed to give the space a peaceful vibe
If you were lucky, Michael could really fall apart on you. He had his head in your lap, completely motionless. You were worried he was about to die or something, but no… you just made him feel
Jason Voorhees💖
Jason didn’t believe in your therapy. He dismissed and brushed off any words of comfort you gave him. There was nothing you could’ve said that would make him not feel the way he did. He kept you around though… maybe just because he liked the sound of your voice
Sometimes your wise words stuck with Jason when he was by himself. He was kicking himself for it, but maybe you were right? Perhaps your therapy made him feel better?
When Jason was angry, he used to break things. Now, he sat across from you and listened to you talk. You gently praised him for doing so, proud at how far he had come
Jason found himself craving your presence more and more. You made him feel okay. You may have thought he was becoming codependent, but he didn’t care. Your caring words and methods made him latch onto you
Freddy Krueger💖
No, no, no. Don’t try and overanalyse a bunch of bullshit about Freddy. That didn’t work on him. At least that was what he told himself. He acted like your wise words and kindness had no affect on him, but he grumbled about how sweet you were to himself later
Your dreams were Freddy’s favourite. Amazingly, they were no nightmares. It was just the two of you in the comfort of your office. He found the way you sat so straight in your chair, the way you focused hard on jotting down your notes… so cute
Freddy wasn’t too keen on telling you about his problems. He was much more interested in just looking at you. Sexy, smart you… he could’ve just eaten you up
It was pretty obvious, but Freddy tried to get you to hug or hold him often. He was a pretty bad actor, begging you for sympathy. You felt none, but still snuggled him anyway. You told him he was touch starved, and he hated that. Truth hurt
Brahms Heelshire💖
Brahms sat obediently across from you in the living room. He listened to every word you said, shyly nodding along when necessary. He had a long way to go, but you could really of made a difference on him
You wouldn’t give up on Brahms, and he loved you for that. You told him often that you were sticking with him, and that you would never leave. It was music to his ears. It was all he ever wanted
You could make him cry sometimes. Not on purpose, just when talking about touchy subjects. Brahms didn’t mind though, because you always cuddled up and gave him a hug. And as he cried on your shoulder, he realised that you were his whole world
Brahms had serious issues that you knew needed to be dealt with. It was just so hard to have the heart. He was clinging to you, tearfully begging you to stay and take care of him forever. How could you say no? How could you distance yourself? You never had a patient that tore you apart as much as this man
#rab.reads#slasher x reader#slashers x reader#slashers#dead by daylight x reader#dead by daylight#jason voorhees#jason voorhees x reader#friday the 13th#michael myers#michael myers x reader#halloween#freddy krueger#freddy krueger x reader#nightmare on elm street#brahms heelshire#brahms heelshire x reader#brahms#brahms x reader#the boy 2016
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hiii
you may not recognize me and thats because im (kinda) new hehe.. anyway, i've been kinda stalking you- but that's besides the point. i loveee your workss!! keep up the good work <3 idk if asks are open, but if they are, could you write a fluffy fem!reader x bf!niki where the reader comes home from a long day, and niki comforts her?? and if you cant, its totally ok <3
have a nice day!
a/n: this has been in the drafts for a year now💀 so sorry, I am trying to clear the drafts but my schedule is shit and we all know I suck at keeping up with my schedule😍
WELCOME HOME
it was past 8pm when you had treaded through the front door of your apartment. your body sore from leaning over the tables and wiping it. normally, the cafe you work at was peaceful and was decently packed but after a viral video that practically wowed the internet.
there had been more and more people stopping by everyday. the cafe was decently sized but it was short staffed so sometimes you had to man the cashier, do the dishes, clean the tables and make the drinks. for normal days (before the surge of people), there was about 2 people working per shift, not including the 2 bakers in the kitchen as they were the behind the scenes staff that were required to be there.
with not that many staff per shift, it was hard for you and whoever was working that day to manage the cafe. that also meant more demands from the customers who think they are entitled to make a mess of the space as 'customers are always right'. curse, whoever made that quote.
you were mentally and physically drained. you just needed a good long rest for the rest of the week. however, you couldn't do that. not when your off-days were already used up for visiting your family back in your hometown. if only you could just...take a breather.
"welcome home, baby!" ni-ki slides into the hallway just as you walked towards the living room. you gave him a tired smile.
"hi riki, why aren't you at the dorm?" ni-ki gives you a playful pout.
"already kicking me out? baby, you wound me. i came to see you and you're already pushing me away." he says as he throws his (long) arms around you. "you weren't answering my calls so i assumed it was a long day at work and you didn't charge your phone."
you took out your phone and tried to turn it on but it was indeed dead. "sorry, today was a hectic day. couldn't even get a proper lunch break. there was so many people coming over for the past week."
"yeah, i heard about it. jake hyung talked about wanting to come over and buy some desserts. they did look good but since you know us being celebrities...we could get mobbed."
you hummed, "that's fair. it's a good thing you didn't go. seriously, have never seen such a long queue outside of the cafe in my whole years of working there."
"there was a queue?" he says as he pulls back from the hug.
"yeah, i felt like i was working at some fancy restaurant. oh god, speaking of there are so many karens trying to scam me and gaslight me into thinking i did something wrong when i did nothing wrong." you groaned and buried your head against ni-ki's chest.
he pats your head. "were you the shift manager?"
"usually i am whenever i am working that day."
"mmm, then you could've kicked them out and taught them a lesson."
"trust me, i wanted to but i can't i'll lose my job so i just sucked it up and patiently worked with them and even gave them a free bagel."
"not the free bagels, baby. they'll just come back again for more." ni-ki huffs.
"i know but what am i supposed to do." you sniffled as the tears that unknowingly appeared falls. you were just mad and exhausted. ni-ki obviously heard it so he pulls you back and cups your face.
"hey hey, don't cry. everything will be fine. why don't i run you a bath and then order some of your favourite food, okay?" he wipes the tears that were falling down.
"will cuddles be included?"
"of course. cuddles will be included. now, just lay in bed and i'll get the bath running." he pecks your forehead and goes to move to bedroom. however, you grabbed his wrist.
"carry me to my bedroom?" you pout. ni-ki smiles and scoops you up in his arms. he princess carries you over to your bed and places you gently onto the mattress before going over to the bathroom and getting ready the bathtub.
you had shut your eyes for a bit since you were tired but the exhaustion took a toll on you and you fell asleep for a little. ni-ki shakes you a little. "baby? the bath is ready. go enjoy it, i already placed an order so the food should be on the way soon."
you hummed and went over to the bathroom to remove your clothing and step into the bathtub. you laid your back against the edge of the tub and shut your eyes again. the candle light making everything moody and warm. you were enjoying the comfortable warmth and silence, much better than the bustling sounds at the cafe. this felt nice.
you had spent in the bathroom for about 20 minutes or so before deciding to get out of the tub. you didn't want to your fingers or toes to look like dried prunes so you decided to just get out of the water. you had grabbed the towel and dried yourself off. you could hear a knock at the door.
"baby, i have pyjamas with me. i forgot to leave them inside the bathroom." you opened the door to ni-ki. he had one hand out to hold the pyjama set and the other hand covering his eyes. a very gentleman thing of him to always do if you came out of the shower in just your towel.
you had noticed he too was wearing a pyjama set and it was similar to yours. of course, he loved matching things with you. you grabbed the pyjamas. "mmm, i think you forgot to grab my undergarments."
his ears quickly turned red in embarrassment. "ah, i knew i forget something. i-i'll just leave the room so you could change." and so ni-ki bolts out of the room and shuts the door. you shook your head, laughing a little since he was so adorable.
you changed into the pyjamas after putting on your undergarments and then went out to the living room. there ni-ki was, turning on the tv and searching up your favourite anime to watch together and setting up the food onto the coffee table. you had come up behind him and back hugged him.
"i have the best boyfriend in the world." you say. ni-ki smiles.
"well, let's not forget your boyfriend is one of a kind. where can you get another nishimura riki, member of boy band enhypen, in the world." he boasts. you playfully rolled your eyes and released him.
"that's very humble of you, riki." you playfully say.
"oh, i know. i'm just that hot." ni-ki smirks. you laughed.
"yeah, you are. now, will my hunk of a boyfriend please just cuddle and eat with me?"
"of course, i'll eat with my beautiful and amazing girlfriend any time." he steals a small peck to your lips and settles down on the couch. you gave him a playful gaze and settled right next to him.
after some time, you found yourself tangled with ni-ki. your legs and his long ones were somehow crossed in between in each other as you cuddled like cats laying together.
"oh, it's over?" you say.
"no, it can't be." ni-ki gasps.
a flash to the tv showed 'season 2 coming soon'. it made both you and ni-ki groan. "that's lame. we have to wait for the next season? that's going to take 1-2 years." ni-ki whines.
"they're going to pull another 'Spy Family' thing where there isn't going to have episodes in the next season, i can feel it." you complained.
"boooo. let's watch something else." ni-ki grumbles.
"yeah, let's watch-"
"let's watch, you. you're really pretty." ni-ki says as he stares down at you. ah, this playful and teasing ni-ki is appearing now.
"that wasn't that smooth, riki."
"well, to me it was. besides, this is a signal for you to reward me and i don't know give me a kiss or at least a peck? i am an amazing boyfriend, right?"
you snort, "yes, riki. you are but you're not getting that peck."
"what? why." he pouts.
"because..." you got closer to him and watches you with adorable doe eyes. before you unexpectedly peck him and ran away. ni-ki sits there confused, trying to analyse the situation properly. until he finally digested it.
"hey! get back here!" he yells as he tries to chase after you.
you could've not felt any better.
and being with ni-ki helped it.
#clearing out my ask box#bc i need to do it#i still have more#clown behaviour#but i'm trying my best to clear it out!!#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen imagine#enhypen angst#enhypen fluff#enhypen x reader#enhypen x reader imagines#ni ki#ni ki imagines#ni ki imagine#ni ki angst#ni ki fluff#ni ki x reader#ni-ki#ni-ki imagines#ni-ki imagine#ni-ki angst#ni-ki fluff#nishimura riki#nishimura riki imagines#nishimura riki imagine#nishimura riki angst#nishimura riki fluff#nishimura riki x reader
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Pairing : Sim Jaeyun x F!Reader
TW : angsty ; little tiny argument ; mainly fluff though ;
Word Count : 1.1k
Request : Anonny : Hey hey can I request a Jake fic Where HES had a really bad day and he comes home from work and you don’t know what’s wrong so you keep walking on eggshells around him and then one minor inconvenience just makes him break down and you’re just there to comfort him
A/N : Haven't done an Enhypen fic in so long, omg. I hope everyone enjoys it though!!
Jake was the personification of a puppy, a labrador to be exact. He was the happiest person you knew, and everyone around you would agree. He had this ability to just make everything better, he made even your worst days better just by walking into the room and smiling in your direction. From the moment you met him, bad days didn’t exist anymore, he wouldn’t allow it. That’s why you thought yourself to be the luckiest person in the world, not because you were dating Jake the idol from Enhypen… No, it was because your boyfriend was Sim Jaeyun, your best friend, your favorite person in the whole universe.
Like clockwork, the front door unlocked and your head quickly turned to look at it, awaiting the appearance of your wonderful boyfriend. Every single day he’d come through the door with a smile and a little snack that he picked up on his way home. You’d run to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss as if it were the last time your lips would ever connect. He’d spin you around, peppering the top of your head with more kisses just to hear you giggle, and you always did.
Today shouldn’t have been any different, but when he came in, he was empty handed. That wasn’t a problem though, you knew that sometimes little things like that can slip people's minds. He wasn’t smiling either though, and the vibe that he gave off was completely different from what you were used to. He was usually so warm and inviting, but the coldness that you felt from him had goosebumps prickling along your entire body.
It was the first time since being together that you felt like you didn’t know how to approach him, or better yet, whether you should approach him at all. “Is… Is everything okay?” You practically squeaked out the question, and while he wasn’t a scary person, the look that he shot in your direction was nothing close to friendly.
“Does it look like everything is okay?” He snapped, and you weren’t used to him talking to you like that. You weren’t used to the way he was being right now at all. It was so unusual in fact, that it made you extremely uncomfortable, your mouth snapping shut immediately, not knowing what to say or what to do next. “I’m going to bed, I just want to be alone.” He mumbled, stalking right past you to go into the bedroom.
“But… You haven’t eaten yet… Do you want me to bring you-”
“Alone!” He repeated his last word more forcefully this time, not even letting you finish your sentence, and once again, your mouth was shut as you meekly nodded your head in agreement. The bedroom door slamming shut made you jump, but as soon as the initial shock from the sound wore off, all you could do was cry. You weren’t sure what had happened, you didn’t know what was going on… But you did know that the man that had walked into your house today surely wasn’t the boyfriend that you were used to.
///
You ended up dozing off on the couch, or, moreso, crying yourself to sleep on the couch, and after an amount of time that you weren’t even aware had passed, you were awoken by the sound of sniffling right beside your head. “Jake…?” You groggily questioned, your eyes barely opened when you rolled over, but you were met with a very blurry picture of his face only a couple inches from yours.
“I’m sorry…” He said weakly, his hand coming up slowly to cup your cheek. “I couldn’t sleep… Not until I apologized… But you were sleeping when I came out and… Usually you look so happy when you’re sleeping, you look so peaceful… But you looked so sad and felt even more awful… And I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…” He was getting choked up again, you could hear it in his voice, but before you even had the chance to try to tell him it was okay, he was talking once more. “Work was just really stressful today and… I couldn’t get the dances right… And they had to keep stopping practice because of me… And I felt like crap because of it and I was so mad at myself… And I came home… And I just messed up again with you and I made you cry… And I’m just failing at everything… I’m sorry…”
You didn’t want him to feel like a failure, not when it came to his career, and definitely not when it came to being your boyfriend. You sat up as fast as you could, the sudden movement making you momentarily dizzy, but you were in a hurry to comfort him, to make sure that he didn’t think that way any longer. “Babe, everyone has bad days. They happen. It’s normal. I have bad days all the time, that doesn’t make me a failure… Well, I hope it doesn’t. But you’re amazing, you’re a great dancer, and the only thing that you’re better at than being an idol, is being my wonderful, loving, cutie patootie of a boyfriend.” The corners of his lips twitched up for a split second before lowering back down to a pout. “Come… Come sit.” You patted the seat beside you, and he slowly moved up onto the couch, but once he was there you tugged his sleeve, pulling him down so that his head was resting in your lap. “Comfy?” You asked, and he nodded his head. “Good…” You brushed your fingers through his hair, doing everything you could to calm him, to comfort him. “You know… Whenever I have bad days, you’re always there for me to make me feel better… I want to do that same thing for you. I’m here for you, not just to love you and give you hugs and kisses… I’m here to support you too, to cheer you up when you’re sad, to calm you down when you’re angry… I’m your girlfriend, that’s what we do…”
“So… you’re not mad at me?” He whispered, looking up at you with the cutest puppy eyes, and how could you possibly stay mad at him when he looked at you like that? You shook your head no, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I’m really sorry though… I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I love you so much… I was scared that you’d leave me…”
“You’re gonna have to do a little more than that to get rid of me.” You joked, and you were happy to hear the small chuckle that vibrated through his whole body. “I’d never leave you because of something like that… I don’t want you to worry that some small little tiff is going to break us up. We’re stronger than that. I just want you to know that you can talk to me, no matter what it’s about… I’m always going to be here for you. Always.”
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