#it's just going to take a while to get there

[plaidcowboy]

clingy clark

( synopsis ) — after insecurely taking advice from jimmy and spending hours online, clark distances himself from you. scared he might’ve overwhelmed you with his clinginess. all for a crying clark to come back home to you.

( warnings ) — none! just an insecure, clingy clark.

( tags ) — @jordiemeow [to be added]

“Just leave them alone for a second, Clark!” Lois laughs, watching as Clark’s arms stay locked around your waist, his face practically buried in your shoulder like a big, needy golden retriever.

“Yeah, dude. Clinginess isn’t cute. I should know. I’m probably the best guy in the room when it comes to women,” Jimmy adds from beside Lois, nudging her playfully before he’s met with a sharp glare.

“Oh, shut up,” you say to Jimmy, leaning back into Clark’s hold. “Just give me a few minutes, baby. Lois and I are talking about the article.” You give his arm a quick pat before slipping out of his grip.

When you and Lois walk off toward the printing room, Clark stays behind. He frowns, glancing at Jimmy and leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed.

“Do you think that’s true?” he mutters. “Do you think they get annoyed when I’m too… affectionate?”

Jimmy barely looks up. “Most definitely,” he says flatly. “I mean, come on, man. You’re like a big dog. Always all over them.. hugging, touching, laying your head on them. If I were dating you, I’d lose my mind.”

And that conversation sticks in Clark’s head longer than it should. Later that night, he’s alone in his cold, quiet room. The only light in the room comes from his computer screen. He’s slouched in front of it, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stares at the headline on the screen:

“Are Clingy Boyfriends a Turn-Off?”

His eyes scan every word. Each line feels like a hit to the gut. And the comment section? Even worse.

voidsuites: “I dated someone like this once. It was suffocating. I couldn’t even stand next to them without their hands on me.”

jordiemeow: “Clingy partners are exhausting. So glad I got out of that relationship.”

hrtfilm: “Clingy usually means controlling. Red flag behavior, honestly. Be careful, guys.”

jclolz22: “It’s not bad at first.. but after a while, it gets annoying.”

Clark checks every box.

He was always touching you, his hands under your shirt, his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, even in public. He’d pull you into his lap in front of anyone. You were a constant source of peace for him. A calm he never wanted to be without. But maybe that wasn’t how it felt to you. So he thought. So he stopped.

Over the next few weeks, he pulled back. He stopped bugging you at your desk. Stopped waiting outside the bathroom for you. Stopped finding excuses to pass by your apartment after work. No more arms slipping around your waist. No more hands brushing against yours. No more sudden, warm weight of him behind you while you were reading.

And of course, you noticed.

Clark might’ve thought he was giving you space, but you felt the shift immediately. He was always the one who made you feel grounded just when you got too lost in your own head, he’d appear out of nowhere and wrap you up in that warmth like a big blanket. Now, it felt like something important had been quietly taken away.

But being you, you didn’t say anything right away. You just kept thinking. Replaying things over and over.

Did you do something? Say something? Had you pushed him away without realizing? Why didn’t he want to hold you anymore? When was the last time he stayed over? It was driving you crazy. So you decided to fix it.

On your walk home one night, you nodded to yourself, already planning it out. You’d invite him over. Cook for him. Make his favorite, rhubarb pie, using Ma Kent’s recipe (which you were absolutely going to call her for).

But while you were lost in your head, something strange happened. A shadow passed over you. The sun was still high, the sky clear. No tall buildings around you. No trees. No reason for a shadow. So you looked up.

And there he was. Clark, flying overhead in full Superman gear, clearly trying to look casual. A blur in the sky, pretending he wasn’t watching you from above like some lovesick satellite.

You just smiled. Because you couldn’t exactly call him out in public. Superman was supposed to be busy saving people, not floating above his partner on their walk home like a weird, adorable stalker.

But the next day? That was different.

You had the day off. You were in your apartment, music playing quietly from the radio. You leaned against the counter, sliding a tray into the oven. Ma’s rhubarb pie. You were trying your absolute best to get it right before inviting Clark over for dinner.

And as you stood back and wiped your hands on your apron, your eyes drifted to the window. There it was again. That familiar blur of red and blue just outside.

You sighed, walked over to the window, and pushed it open.

“Clark,” you said dryly. “Get inside.”

He tried to pretend he hadn’t heard you at first, looking away dramatically. But eventually, he floated in, landing softly on your floor. He didn’t say much, just sat down on the couch, eyes glossy, face tight with emotion.

You stepped between his legs, placing your hands on his shoulders as he instinctively held your hips, his touch cautious.

“What happened?” you asked, gently.

“What do you mean?” he tried.

You raised your brows. Really?

“I just…” he started, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Jimmy said I was being too clingy. And then I read this article online. And all these comments. And I thought… maybe I was making you uncomfortable. I thought giving you space was the right thing.”

You lowered yourself into his lap, taking his hand from his face and wiping his wet cheeks with your thumbs.

“And you listened to Jimmy Olsen?” you teased softly, trying not to smile too hard.

He sniffled, nodding. “He said girls hate guys like that. And everyone online agreed. I just wanted to do right by you, baby.”

Your hands moved to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones as he looked up at you, big eyes full of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, Clark,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed you back, slow and soft, holding onto you like he was afraid you’d disappear. When you pulled away, you stayed close, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, barely loud enough to hear.

“I told you it’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m not mad. I just wish you would’ve talked to me first before disappearing like that, alright?”

He nodded, still holding you close. Then suddenly, his eyes widened, nose scrunching.

“Wait… do you smell something burning?”

You blinked. “Shit. The pie.”

[buckysfaveplum]

krypto, take me home

summary: when Clark can’t make it to the fortress, Krypto brings him to you

pairing: clark kent x female reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: typical injury/kinda recovery warnings, blood, broken bones, etc. not much else. reader is mentioned have hair once. no other descriptions

a/n: sigh another fic the next day, that’s when you know i’m obsessed. here’s a lil idea i had as soon as i saw the opening scene. if you're new here cause i'm pretty much known for bucky barnes fics, I love angst so that's kinda my lil niche. hope that's okie!

oh and I loved @sharknutz idea of Clark calling the reader sunshine so yeaaa I had to try that out <3

masterlist | send requests

You were never a very light sleeper, per se. It wasn’t like you were waking up with each creak of the floorboards or gust of wind. But you never were one to sleep fully through the night without waking up just once. Clark had this little joke; he could always count on an extra cuddle sometime around 2 am. What could you say? You always slept better with him by your side.

Tonight, sleep proved to be a challenge. Clark had been gone for hours, off handling what you think you heard as some underground group of metahumans terrorizing the capital of Wales? After a while, you couldn’t find it in yourself to watch the news. Sue you, but the constant sight of your boyfriend smashing into concrete and brick buildings wasn’t how you wanted to spend the evening. It never was easy, knowing every time he left in that cape, there was the slightest chance he wouldn’t return. The habit of flicking on the television, just to become distraught and overwhelmed, and turning it off only to cave and flick it on again, consumed your evenings.

The bed was cold, feeling larger than normal without Clark’s large frame claiming more than half the bed and hogging the blankets. Your feet fluttered under the duvet, trying to shake the nerves and unease that engulfed your body. He should’ve been back by now, slipping through the door with a smirk and some half-funny quip about his injuries; it never was all that funny to you. You knew he needed to stop by the fortress first if he was hurt, recharge and heal, and maybe check on Krypto before flying back. Still, it was 4 am, and the news declared the situation to be handled by 1 am.

The thoughts swirling in your brain halted when a crash and the sound of shattering glass echoed through the living room. You jolted upright in bed, stumbling quietly out from the sheets and reaching for the steel pipe you had stashed under the bedframe. Clark always thought it was ridiculous, offering to get you a bat or something, but the pipe was found with your first apartment, and you’d had no issues in all your years since in Metropolis, maybe it was a good luck charm.

You slowly inched to the door as you heard grunts mixed with the sounds of stumbling feet and soft pounding. Any bit of drowsiness you had managed to build up while lying in bed was gone. If you needed to escape, the front door was in the kitchen, which was right next to the bedroom. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Unless they weren’t human.

Before you could continue to spiral and plan your first mode of attack, the familiar sound of a bark bounced up the other side of the door.

“Krypto?” you asked hesitantly as you lowered the pipe. The grading sound of that familiar yelp continued, confirming your suspicions.

You placed the pipe on the bed before slowly pulling the door open. You couldn’t even greet the superdog before he latched onto the hem of your shorts and tugged you out of the room.

“Hey, buddy, slow down,” you said as you stumbled behind him, trying not to fall. Something was wrong; the high-strung and chaotic pup you had come to know well was never this focused. He dragged you to the living room before letting go of your shorts with a bark. The white dog rushed over to the window- that’s when you saw.

The large bay window was shattered, exposing the crisp air of the early morning. Glass was strewn across the hardwoods. Lying face down in the middle was Clark. He looked wrecked, bruises covered the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and blood dripped from his lips and soaked parts of his hair. His arm twitched slightly, letting you know there was something damaged beneath the suit. He looked awful. The haunting rattling from his chest was the worst, filling the silent room and pounding in your ears.

“Clark!” you said, rushing to his side. As carefully as possible, you slipped to your knees, being sure to avoid the bits of glass that surrounded the scene. Your hands began to shake as you reached for him, scared to do any further damage. You rarely saw him like this, and if so, it tended to be through news footage. 

“Honey, hey,” gently, you tried to turn him off his face and onto his back. He cried out at the movement, but his voice quickly turned to a whimper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He didn’t respond, just fluttered his eyes open and glanced up at you. Through the blood on his lips, he still flashed you a smile. Your heart stuttered.

“Hi baby,” he said, through bloody teeth.

“Clark, honey, what are you doing here?” Your voice was frantic as your hands hovered over him, afraid to touch anywhere. 

“…needed to heal,” he said, trying to lean up into your touch, but the movement just brought more pain.

Delicately, your hands moved to cup his face, softly brushing a bit of glass from the sable curls that framed his face. As your fingers grazed the dark bruises by his eyes, you couldn’t help but notice how he relaxed under your hands. 

Krypto leapt up onto the couch beside you, crawling up to the front and watching as you tried to figure out what to do next.

“Why…why didn’t you go to the f-fortress?” You asked. He hated how he could hear the tremors in your voice, hated how visibly distressed you were. He hated that he was the one to cause it.

He tried once again to lean upright into a sitting position. This time, you grabbed him and quickly propped him against the couch. At this angle, it seemed the airflow in his lungs was strengthened.

“I…too far,” he said, his bright blue eyes fully opening and meeting yours. “I couldn’t…make it. I got as far as outside the city but...”

Your hands moved slowly down from his neck to his chest. Through the thick blue fabric, you could feel the cracked bones of his clavicle and sternum. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to relax.

“Then why …? Clark, why did Krypto bring you here? I can’t—I can’t fix this,” you said, your words spilled out in an almost incoherent ramble. Your panic stilled for just a moment as you felt Clark’s hand softly reach up for yours, guiding it to his chest where your palm felt the steady thumping of his heart.

“I told him to take me home,” he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

A soft sigh left your chest; you couldn’t place what it was, perhaps it was a mix of surprise or relief or even resignation. Those words were everything you wanted to hear. You wanted nothing more than to be his safety, his place to go and feel protected. If he wasn’t battered on your living room floor, those words would have driven you to kiss him silly.

Your hands came to rest on his neck, tenderly keeping his weary head up as you focused.

“Okay… okay, love,” you said, nodding to yourself as your thumbs brushed softly along the dips of his cheeks. Your eyes darted around the room, trying to remember where you placed the first aid kit. You began to rise from your spot beside him, hoping to find some hydrogen peroxide and gauze to clean out the gash by his hairline. A strong hand on your wrist held you back.

“Don’t… please stay,” he said, his brows curling up as he pleaded his case.

“Clark, I need to get stuff to clean you up…we need to fix you,” you said, brushing back some curls to get a look at the wound.

“The sun will be up soon… I’ll be fine,” he said. “Please, just stay, sunshine.” Your hands moved to cup his face once again, gently leaning in to place a soft kiss to his temple. 

“Please, I can’t see you like this. Just let me make you better?” you asked. 

Clark always knew his biggest weakness was kryptonite, but somewhere along the way, that changed. Somehow, it became you. He never could deny you, say no, or dare to not put your needs or wants before his own. It didn’t matter if it was inconvenient or difficult or even impossible; if it was for you, he’d make it happen. He could see the fear and devotion in your eyes; he knew the sight of himself was crushing you. You needed comfort, you needed to feel useful, as if somehow you could make it all okay for him. He knew he’d be fine with a few hours, but if you needed to patch him up, then so be it. Who was he to say no when you asked?

“Yeah… of course, baby,” he said, his hand gingerly squeezing yours before letting you go. With a relieved sigh, you rushed to the kitchen. You didn’t miss the needy sigh that left his lips at your absence. 

Krypto dashed from the couch, following you through the apartment as you checked your cabinets. You carded through the bathroom until you gathered everything you’d need. Rushing back to Clark’s side, you could feel the pounding of your heart begin to slow. Words ran through your mind, repeating like a mantra as you tried to compose yourself. He’s okay, he’s alive, he’s here. 

You spilled your medical stash along the rug as you returned to his side. You gently began to wash out the first cut you saw. You stretched over him as you worked, kneeling but no longer resting on your legs as you found the best angle to wash out the wound. Your hands worked quickly, stopping the bleeding before applying butterfly plasters to close it.

Somewhere lost in your mission, you noticed the weight of the superbeing below you melting into your chest. Clark’s head rested safely against your chest. His good arm wrapped around your thighs, keeping you as close as he could with the strength he had. The sound of his breathing still left you shaky, but his sighs of content helped. 

By the time you had finished, the sun began to creep its way over the sky-high buildings of Metropolis. Warm light filtered in through your apartment, casting deep shadows before banishing them with a brighter day. Your hands gently shook Clark.

“Love, sun’s up,” you said. His strength was returning, but he still had injuries only the yellow sun could fix. He slung his arm around you and helped you pull him up as you moved him over to the window. 

You did your best to hold him still and steady as the bright glow of the sun coated his body. You were never around when he took his time to heal; you never saw the way he thrashed and cried out at the pain. As much as it killed you to hear his whimpers, you held him firmly, using what little strength you had as a human to keep the god-like man in your arms upright.

With one last cry, Clark sagged back into your arms. You struggled to keep him rooted, but he soon caught himself. You watched as he drew in deep, long breaths, air finally filling his lungs without the eerie rattle you’d never get out of your head. His hands gripped your arm and hip. His arm was straightened out, firm and taut once again. With one last breath, he stretched back up.

“Are-are you okay?” you asked, your hands once again moving around in search of any surprise injuries you may have missed. With a soft laugh, Clark took your hands and pressed a kiss to your palms. He pulled you in closer, cupping the back of your head and slipping his fingers through your hair.

“I’m fine, sunshine. I said I would be,” he said, pulling you close and resting his forehead to yours. “You took care of me.”

You nodded at his words, falling into his chest as your arms wrapped tightly around him. Calloused hands stroked your hair and held you to him as he placed kisses on the top of your head. You peeked around Clark’s large frame to see Krypto stretched over the couch, his tail thumping at the faded leather as he watched you both.

“I’m glad Krypto brought you to me,” you said, resting your head back over Clark’s heart. The steady beat filled your ear and soothed any anxieties that settled in your bones. 

Clark rested his chin atop your head, sighing softly as he squeezed you gently, “He brought me home.”

---

I hope you liked it! kinda quick and eh but thx for reading <3

[mistbehavior]

‧₊˚ ₊  𐙚 Jason takes his baby to the manor for the first time. And everyone absolutely loves her.

Thirty-five days. Thirty-five nights.

Damian had been counting each one—quietly, from a distance—but he had.

While everyone else was constantly invading Jason’s house, desperate to see and hold the newest member of the family, Damian had only visited her once, even though he was always watching from afar.

It took thirty-five days for Jason to finally be convinced to bring his precious baby girl to the manor.

He agreed because he couldn’t take Tim showing up in the middle of the night anymore—though he did help take care of his niece and let Jason and his partner get at least one hour of sleep.

He also couldn’t deal with Stephanie constantly asking for baby pictures—when she wasn’t showing up in person and ruining every attempt he and his partner made to just nap together in peace.

Still, Jason didn’t want to bring her into the hyena pit that was his family. Was he sleep-deprived? Yes. Did he cry four times in the shower and twice in his partner’s arms? Yes. But he was fine.

“Oh my God, how can something so adorable even exist?!” Dick bit his fist. “I wanna squish her until she explodes.”

“Dick…” Bruce looked at him, partially horrified by the choice of words. His arms subtly tightened around the sleeping baby in his hold—he was afraid of holding her too tight and hurting her, or too loosely and dropping her. But with a “threat” like that, his concern shifted entirely.

“She smells like milk,” Damian said, sitting next to his father on the couch, his fingers twitching in his lap. He wanted to hold his niece—he really did—but he knew Tim and Jason would tease him to death if he did.

“It’s literally her only source of food,” Tim said, that sarcastic tone of his making it clear he’d heard something obvious.

The baby opened her eyes, blinking, scanning the room until she locked eyes with the youngest uncle. “She’s staring at me—” His eyes widened when Bruce turned toward him and gently handed over the tiny human. “No, take her back—”

He inhaled deeply, trying not to scream when Dick tried to sneak a picture and forgot to turn off the flash. Jason snatched the phone out of Grayson’s hand and smacked his arm. “You want to blind her!?”

Despite the chaos, Damian’s attention returned to the niece in his arms, just as she sneezed against his hoodie. “She got my clothes dirty.”

“It was just a sneeze,” Stephanie said, poking the baby’s chubby cheek with her finger.

“I’m burning this hoodie,” Damian muttered.

“Oh my God—give her to me!” Tim jumped at the opportunity to finally get his turn, but Damian shoved him away with his foot.

“No. I got attached,” he said as the others stared, watching him try to rock her—awkwardly, but just enough that she didn’t cry.

“You’re seventeen and have never held a baby before?” Duke raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think?”

“Okay, Dami. You’ve held her long enough. As the oldest, it’s my right—”

Before Dick could finish, Cassandra took the baby right out of Damian’s arms. She smiled. “She really looks a lot like you, Jason.”

“There’s still time to get her exorcised.”

Cassandra adjusted the baby in her arms, settling her comfortably. Her tiny hand clutched the button on Cassandra’s blouse like she refused to let go—even with all her uncles fighting over her.

“She bit my finger once,” Tim said, pushing Damian aside to take his spot on the couch. “She wasn’t even hungry. It was just for entertainment.”

“She doesn’t even have teeth yet—”

“She should’ve gone for the throat!” Damian complained.

“Seriously, when is it my turn to hold her!? You’re all gatekeeping my niece from me!” Grayson whined.

[littlemissforgetfulwrites]

perfect mom

summary; life as a f1 wag and a mom of four might seem wonderful to the world, but to reader raising four under six while her husband is busy traveling for races is such a hassle so when the opportunity comes along for her kids to bother her husband and the drivers during a race weekend she waste no time in taking it

pairing; dad!max verstappen x mom!reader

˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚˚·⋆✿˚

Silence. The worst sound for a parent. 

"Girls! Is everything okay?" Y/n shouts from the kitchen hoping it will reach her twin daughters in the living room. 

Again, silence. 

Throwing the kitchen towel over her shoulder, Y/n wanders into the mess that they call a living room. The TV was still on with some cartoon playing while her eight month old sat in the pack and played by himself and her toddler napped on the couch.

She walked past the foyer into the dining room where she began to hear giggling. 

"Grace? Marie?" 

And as if she was in a movie, Y/n let out a horrifying gasp as if she had just found a body. On the floor sat her twin girls with markers in their hands as they scribbled on the wall. 

"Girls! What do you think you're doing?" 

"Drawing," Marie smiled at her mother. 

"We're painting Daddy a picture," Grace said.

"But on the wall?" Y/n gasped, jaw dropped in disbelief.

The twins paused, slowly turning their heads around. Their faces painted with a guilty expression when they heard the words come out of their mother's mouth. 

"Oh," Grace titled her head to the side. 

"Sorry Mommy," Marie whispered.

"Just go to the kitchen, we'll talk about this later." Y/n sighed as she inspected the scribbles.

What am I going to do?

Y/n took out her phone and began to search for solutions. Soap, toothpaste, hairspray. So many moms had encountered the same problem that she was facing now. Just as she was about to get a tube of toothpaste from the guest bedroom she felt her phone buzz with an incoming call. 

"Hi," 

"Hi baby, how are you?" Max smiled. 

"Uh I'm okay, but your daughters just left me a beautiful mess for me to clean. They said it's a drawing for you." Y/n sighed again. 

She flipped her screen to show her husband the dining room wall. 

"Oh my God," Max let out a laugh at the sight of him on what seems like a pony mixed with a race car. 

"Yeah," Y/n turned her screen back to face her. "So, what's up?" 

"I have an idea for you. That might sound more appealing now after the girls have channeled that inner Van Gogh on our wall. Bring the kids to the race next weekend. It'll give you some time alone and connect to real life again." Max said.

Y/n thought about what her husband was saying for a minute. He wasn't wrong. Their kids were a handful and some time alone would be nice with the other girlfriends and wives. Even if it meant taking their four kids to a Grand Prix.

"You know what, sure. Let's do it." 

"Okay then," 

Putting his phone away in his pocket, Max was a little shocked as he thought about his wife's words. He looked around the paddock at the unsuspecting grid and mechanics, none of them aware of the wrath and power of the Verstappen children. Especially his twin girls.

-

This was a bad idea. 

Y/n sighed to herself, something that she realized she had been doing a lot since the twins were born. She hustled Marie and Grace towards the Red Bull garage while holding her toddler on her hip and pushing the stroller. 

"Where's Daddy?" The twins asked in unison. 

"We're going to see him right now," Y/n replied. "Just keep walking." 

"Are we gonna see Uncle Lando too?" 

"Yes, just keep walking to the garage, okay?"

The twins nodded happily, their little hands entwined together as they walked. Y/n smiled at the sight of her husband when they finally reached the garage. 

"Hey you," she smiled, immediately handing Max their toddler who had began to reach for his father. 

"Hi," Max smiled back, taking their son in his arms. " Hi girls." 

Marie and Grace waved from where they were with Yuki.

"Wow, they don't waste any time." Y/n laughs as she takes their youngest out of his stroller. 

A couple mechanics and engineers begin to crowd the two Verstappen boys who are shyly tucked away in their parents' arms. Their toddler offers cheeky smiles and waves while their baby hides his face on his mother's shoulder. However, the twins were definitely the opposite of their brothers. Marie was still talking and laughing with Yuki about something while Grace was busy with the strategists, listening in on their planning. 

"See, I told you. Our kids are very favored among people." Max smirked. 

Y/n nodded, distracted by her youngest. 

"I heard there were some special guests in the paddock today." 

The voice of Charles Leclerc fills the Red Bull garage. He walks in with Leo who immediately grabs the attention of Marie and Grace. 

"Hi Charles," Y/n says politely. 

"Y/n, how are you? Haven't seen you in awhile." Charles smiles. 

"Oh you know, raising the kids of Mad Max over here is tiring as ever." Y/n grins, shoving Max gently. 

"Haha, very funny." Max rolls his eyes. 

Charles laughs, his attention being taken away by the twins who were now bothering him with questions about Leo. 

"Where are they?" 

"How would I know?"

"Are you two stupid? The Red Bull garage, where else. Oh and look where we are." 

The annoyed and tired voice of Liam Lawson gets louder as he, Alex Albon, and Lando Norris enter the Red Bull garage. 

"So, where's my godson?" Lando grins.

Y/n laughs, handing off her youngest to the excited Brit. After six years of Lando begging to be a godfather to one of Y/n and Max's children, they finally gave in with their baby boy. 

"Uncle Lando!" The twins yelled as they sprinted over. 

"Hey, girls." Lando smiled at them. 

"Well, I guess I'm not popular anymore." Charles sighs. 

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Alex smirks as he grabs the toddler from Max's arms. 

Charles offers a dirty glare before inching closer to Lando, the twins, and the baby away from Alex, Liam and the toddler. 

"I told you," Max whispers, leaning in closer towards Y/n's ear. "Our children are very popular." 

"I can't tell if that's a good thing or not." 

"It means that they have good people looking out for them." Max said as he rested his hands on her hips.

"Yeah," 

Max turned Y/n around with his hands still on her hips, leaning forward to rest his chin on top of her head. His arms moved around her waist as she pressed her forehead into his chest. 

"I love you, you're such a good mom." 

"I love you too-"

"Mommy! Can we go with Uncle Lando to the McLaren garage, please?" The twins' shrill voices break Max and Y/n out of their trance. 

"Uh, sure. Just come back before the race starts." Y/n stutters as she waves at Lando who was already walking slightly ahead than the girls, cooing at the baby. 

Max and Y/n look at each other in silence for a moment before breaking out in laughter. Their plan had really worked and they finally had their time alone. 

"I guess I should listen to your insane ideas more often, huh?" 

"Yeah, you never know what might happen." Max said with a smirk and a wink. 

[iramthegreat]

A/N: tw, this shit is literally just thirsting. i love phainon guys, yall would need the help of the whole tarot club to get me off this man. pls be aware this is NSFW work. also idk how ro add those pretty ahh tumblr border so u gotta bear w me here okay. idk how tumblr fkin works. love yall, peace and love fr. 💗 ALSO THIS IS JUST SOME BUM ASS DRABBLE THAT I MADE UNDER 40 MINS WHILE WATCHING PHAINON EDITS, DONT JUDGE ME.

lowkey thinking about omegaverse au! phainon…

he'd be the best alpha ever. i don't think i even need to elaborate on this but i will.

let's get this straight, he's an alpha. no, i will not be taking any arguments on this.

he's clingy and…a sniffer. as funny as that sounds, it's the best way to describe him. phainon sleeps with his face safely tucked under your chin, as close as possible to your scent glands. he can't sleep properly without your scent enveloping him.

phainon would have the most homey scent ever. instead of it being musky and domineering like the usual alpha pheromones, it's just subtle and fresh. i fully believe he'd smell like fresh sheets and citrus.

this man is also a licker! you can call him a mutt all you want but that doesn't stop him from kissing and making out with your neck every time you're alone. it's hard to tell what he has in store for you, it's a phainon roulette (LMAO). sometimes he's cheeky and teasing, lifting you up and twirling you around. other times he's soft and clingy, whining and pouting whenever you try to break out from his infamous bear hugs. there's also the very rare occasions where he's a little more quiet than usual, resting his head on your thighs– please hold him tight during these moments, caress his cheeks and whisper love confessions like a corny eight-grader. he needs it.

everyone else is sick and tired of him and his PDA, it's not even the suggestive kind, he's just so clingy that it looks like he's trying to fuse himself with you through his hugs (is he secretly an octopus? a crystal gem…?). speaking of hugs, his favorite cuddle position is when you're on his lap and he's hugging you from the back, nuzzling his face on your neck.

phainon is a pathetic ass alpha. i kid you not, mydeimos looks at him like he's possessed whenever you're nearby ‘cause your man switched from ragebaiting asshole to your husband™️ in seconds. it's like seeing a misbehaving kid acting all angel-like after beating someone to a pulp.

“oh is mydei too chicken? hm? acting all high and mighty but cowering from a simple match.” phainon's annoying fuckass voice is literally the worst noise to hear when it's 90 celsius outside and the bugs are buzzing a little too loud for mydei's liking.

he's gonna bash the guy's head one day, mydei just knows it. matter of fact, the rock on the ground looks awfully enchanting today.

before he could become a potential killer of the chrysos heir, your voice called out to them.

“phai! mydei!”

phainon's shit eating grin disappeared from his face, facing you with open arms and a gummy smile that only a man so utterly gone for his mate could ever give. mydei had a look of genuine horror on his face as phainon pecks your lips and giggles when you pat his head.

“i was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me.” you smile, letting your overgrown samoyed use your body as a plushie, squeezing and holding you close without shame.

“great timing, i haven't eaten yet.” (yes he did, mydeimos would've quipped if he wasn't horrified) phainon hums, taking your hand in his, “let's go to our usual place! i heard they added something new to the menu. we can try it out together.”

“mydei, you should come too.” you turn to mydeimos who was silently watching the scene with a troubled expression.

as he was about to answer (it was a no), phainon chuckled from behind you. “he's very busy. our dear mydei here actually has plans of his own, being a prince and all.”

mydeimos huffs, “as he said. i'm afraid i won't be able to join you two.”

with a nod, phainon whisks you away. hands resting on your waist as he talks your ear off before you could even say a proper goodbye to mydeimos.

now, mydei might’ve smelled it wrong. but phainon's pheromones smelled a little burnt when you suggested he join your lunch date. he might have also seen your white-haired mate's eyes flicker into gold, smile twitching as he eyes mydei down like a threat.

or maybe he was just…seeing things. (he wasn't but mydei isn't ready to open that can of worms yet)

phainon's definitely that one kid in aedes elysiae that made all younger kids want to be an omega just so they could get with him (they're children, they think alphas should only be with omegas and vise versa) but he'd be clueless to it all.

most adults in the village were trying to set him up with their omega daughters. while those with alpha sons kept on comparing them to phainon, “look at khaslana, already so strong and tall. very respectful too! unlike my son who only waves his alpha status around, making other children run away.”

phainon was the resident big brother, always so polite and kind. ready to carry a grandmother's fruit basket, play with younger children, and help other alphas with labor ‘cause apparently, he wants to grow up big and strong just like the other alphas of his village (everyone crooned at the young boy's statement, a warm smile on his lips). another thing…his mom was the alpha btw, not gonna elaborate on that part. his dad is a beta.

honestly, if it weren't for his body, some may have mistaken him for an omega. he's so pretty that it hurts you (and me).

although phainon is your sweetheart who laughs and smiles like the sun, he's still very much a predator. he's much more territorial than one might think, phainon acts easy-going and laid-back but it's really just a facade for the scorching emotions that get amplified when it's about you. it's always you. you. you. and you. phainon can't help it when you're this loveable, it's like an obsession almost.

don't be surprised if your darling puppy becomes a starved wolf when it's his rut. you are not going anywhere, okay? stay right beside him where he can see you, hear you, and smell you.

of course, he's all about consent, phainon is well aware of his…more intense than normal carnal desires. if you don't want to handle it then you don't have to. phainon has spent years making do with his hands and fantasies about you, if he can kiss and cherish you as his then phainon doesn't mind making more depraved imaginary situations in his head as he mounts the poor pillow with frenzied thrusts. doesn't mind spilling load after load into cotton sheets while you're smiling happily and chatting with your friends somewhere in the city.

if you do decide to offer yourself, phainon the gentleman that he is would probably decline a few times. just keep reaching out, he'll break pretty soon. just…don't expect to leave his room for a couple of days. (you are soo lucky his personal residence is a good distance from any neighborhoods or else you would've gotten several noise complaints.)

on your heats (if you're an omega) and when he isn't lost in his head due to ruts, he'd be such a service dom. i just know it bro, trust me trust me. this man eats you out like he's dying of thirst. it's a little messy, and he's drooling as if he's the one getting off from it. he's so whiny during this too, always asking you to press your thighs a little tighter. oh great kephale, save this man. (or you can save him yourself by sitting on his face, he can cum just from that)

shiii, you know what– he's totally down to being messed up by you too. although he prefers making you gush all over him, if you beg prettily enough then maaaybee phainon would let you ride him until his eyes are hazy and his legs are shaking. if you're a guy, go on and ask him if you could dick him down too, phainon would probably feel a little hesitant but let's be honest here: if you told him to jump off a cliff, he would.

also yes, he's into breeding you. doesn't matter if you top or you don't want kids, just let him stuff you with cum, please. phainon gets really giddy whenever he hears you praise him during sex, you could moan about him being a good boy as he's quite literally jack hammering himself into your warmth and he'd still whine as he's thanking you.

sigh...i love my wife.

[velvet-milk]

• your weird heteroerotic friendship with dick grayson.

❤︎──── ❛❛you'd known dick since you two were just preteens and by the time you were twenty-something, the two of you had become inseparable in so many ways that made people around you very, very uncomfortable. your room was his room. your closet had his shirts and boxers. his dresser had your sleep shorts and panties. you'd see him naked constantly. scars and all. you'd stepped into his bathroom once while he was shaving, towel slung low on his hips. his abs were still slick from the hot shower. on the bathroom shelf, you noticed your sanitary pads, some of your favorite painkillers, and even products from the skincare routine you both shared.

you made a noise of disapproval and reached over to fix the way he was holding the razor.

"you're gonna nick yourself, pretty boy."

"then fix it, dove."

so you did. you reached up, cupped his jaw, and carefully guided the blade against his skin, the intimacy of it heavy in the steam-clouded mirror. he kept his eyes on you the entire time, those soft, pretty blues watching you with quiet trust.

"thanks. you always take care of me."

"of course i do," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his cheek. "you're fucking useless without me."

you said it with a teasing smile, like he hadn't been leading teams and saving lives since he was thirteen. he smiled anyway. but your closeness didn't stop at helping him shave. you'd eaten from the same fork, shared water bottles, gum, deodorant—even a toothbrush. you literally farted on him once when he tickled you too hard during a sparring session. you'd seen him throw up more times than you cared to.

and it gets weirder.

one time, during a particularly rough mission, you lost all your clothes. literally everything, including your underwear. so you borrowed his. every last piece. shirt, pants, even his boxers. you walked around the block wearing fabric that had been in direct contact with his dick and sweaty balls, and you didn't even blink. yikes, girl.

and when people asked what you were to each other, you'd both laugh. loud. like the question was fucking ridiculous. you were best friends. duh. but then he'd hand-feed you fries across the table while hanging out with your mutual friends. you'd adjust his waistband before going out and he wouldn't even flinch when your fingers brushed too low. he'd adjust the strap of your bra in public, and people would act like it was some kind of spectacle. for some reason.

one time, after a shower in the batcave locker room, you walked out drying your hair. dick was there too, getting dressed after some random training session. and he looked. really looked. right at your uncovered boobs. then, completely unfazed, he just went back to putting on his pants and belt.

"you know your left titty is bigger than the other, right?"

"it's not like your balls are very symmetrical either."

"touché."

[helioooss]

true love waits

synopsis: after a car crash leaves sophia with no memory of the past three years, y/n wakes to a wife who no longer remembers their life together. now, y/n must decide if she can live through falling in love with sophia again — this time, without knowing if she ever will.

warnings: major car accident scene, helios angst, swearing, violent scenes, read at your own risk ⚠️

w/c: 30k+

a/n: this FUCK ASS APP just lost my entire final edit for the second part when i tried to save it, so i need to know whether you folks like this or not to get motivation to re-finalise the whole thing. i actually hate it here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

if there was one thing you were certain of, it’d be this: your love was built out of ordinary sacrifices: quiet ones folded into the hours of waiting, the nights spent listening, and maybe, on a night like this, it looked like a beat-up car and a woman you’d follow anywhere.

it started out a cold winter night, it made you pull your sleeves over your hands and breathe out just to watch the cloud of it disappear. the sky had already turned dark and the city lights were just beginning to glow - scattered like someone had poked holes into the evening.

you spotted them standing huddled outside bestia before they saw you; five figures bundled up in heavy coats, their laughter misting into the air. and they looked like something out of a movie, framed under the warm golden light spilling from the restaurant’s windows.

your headlights swept across their faces, casting familiar shadows as you rolled up slowly in your battered camry, affectionately christened ‘jennilyn’ by sophia in the early days of your marriage; when everything between you was still new and exciting. the name had stuck, just like everything else that made no practical sense but felt like home.

the girls hollered immediately as soon as they spotted you, waving wildly — megan dramatically pretending to hitchhike while lara and daniela giggled at her antics. even from behind the windshield, you could see the way sophia’s eyes crinkled with affection watching them; it warmed something quiet in you.

"there she is!" yoonchae called out with a grin, stepping forward like she might open the door herself. "y/n finally decided to show up…five minutes early.”

“hey, i’m not rushing nobody,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “take your sweet time, i’ve got the patience of a saint for my wife.”

“six wives, actually,” manon corrected you, leaning toward the open window. "you skipped out on us. again."

“woah manz, my bad,” you gave a small shrug, keeping your smile easy. "and i’m under too much work. you know how it is."

it was easier to lie than explain that you had been running numbers in your head all afternoon, trying to figure out how to stretch your next paycheck across three weeks. between bills and materials for your next sculpture series, a dinner out just didn’t make the cut.

thankfully, none of them pushed you on it; they never did and you appreciated that more than you could say.

“alright, we’ll see you lovebirds on the weekend, right?” lara asked, your thoughts immediately trying to scramble what event was happening. then, with a sigh, like she knew what was going on: “y/n, it’s saturday wine night.”

“right, right…yes, we will be there. let’s go, my beautiful first wife,” you chuckled, stretching across the passenger seat to unlock the door for sophia.

“remember this weekend,” daniela eyed you firmly, opening the door wider for the filipina. “i’ll bring all the wine so don’t worry about getting one.”

you nodded, a sheepish smile plastered on your face. “yes ma’am, copy that.”

“see you lovelies, i love you all — please drive safe because the roads are slippery,” sophia blew them a kiss before hurrying in, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, rubbing her hands together vigorously as she sank into the worn seat. “baby, please tell me the heater’s working."

“uhhh, about that,” you mumbled in embarrassment, turning the fob again just to double-check, though you already knew. “it actually stopped working about halfway here. the fan’s giving up on us.”

she groaned theatrically, slumping further into the seat with exaggerated despair. "she is literally dying. we are one frostbite away from needing a new car. babe, i love jennilyn, but she’s on life support.”

“she just needs a little encouragement,” you said, patting the dashboard like it might actually help. “and maybe divine intervention.”

she laughed softly. "you sound exactly like me when i was trying to get through finals week in undergrad.”

you smiled at her, grateful for the warmth of her laughter in the cold cabin as you shifted the car into gear, the engine groaning a little as you started driving. the sound had become something familiar over the years; almost somewhat comforting.

"we’ll think about a new car after the exhibit," you continued; the wind had picked up outside and whistled faintly through the gaps in the door seals. "if even one of my sculptures sells, maybe we’ll finally send jennilyn to a well-earned retirement."

"not if," she glanced at you, her profile outlined by the dim streetlights. “it’ll sell. it’s you. people just don’t know how good you are yet.”

her words meant more than she probably realised. she had always believed in you. sometimes, it felt like she was the only one who did.

you returned her smile, though a part of you ached silently — the persistent voice at the back of your mind whispering about all the things you couldn’t give her.

two years ago, sophia had traded a life of luxury and expectation for this: a worn-out camry, sporadic sales and late-night budget debates on your small kitchen table where the legs were slightly uneven. sometimes, when she was asleep on the couch beside you, a hand still curled around her phone, you wondered if she missed her old life, the one that ran like clockwork and you had inadvertently pulled her away from.

she chose clay-stained aprons and uneven floorboards instead — you still weren’t sure what you had done in this life to deserve it.

you cleared your throat, nudging the melancholy away. “so, how was dinner?”

she immediately perked up, twisting toward you with a familiar brightness in her eyes. “megan and lara are literally unhinged,” she began, shaking her head fondly. “lara kept making the waiter rate all our outfits out of ten. i won, of course, and manon tried to reason with her but that only made it worse. yoonchae started recording halfway through — she says she’s going to make it a tiktok series. daniela got there late but she promised to pay for dessert, so no one yelled. it was chaotic; you should’ve come.”

you chuckled, eyes focused ahead on the quiet stretch of road illuminated only by weak lampposts and the distant glow of city lights. “nah, you deserve some time alone with your friends. gotta give you space to complain about me sometimes, right?”

she laughed, smacking your arm playfully, the warmth of her palm lingering even after she pulled away. “baby! shut up, as if i’d have anything bad to say about you.”

you glanced sideways, catching the gentle sincerity in her eyes; your heart began to tighten in affection and the corners of your mouth turned upwards. “you never know.”

“i always know,” she tilted her head slightly as you waited at a red light. "so what did you do while i was gone?"

"honestly?" you asked, eyes still on the road. "bed rotted, missed you the whole time."

she smiled, her hand reaching over to rest lightly on your knee. "aww baby, i missed you too — oh, and they roasted your mug collection. again."

"it’s not a collection," you groaned, putting a hand up. "it’s a lifestyle."

"it’s weird," she laughed. "specially that mushroom one…the vibes are cursed."

"you bought it!”

“which was a mistake,” she was smiling out the window now. you could see her reflection faintly in the glass, and for a second, you thought of how beautiful she looked like this: unguarded, mid-laugh and fully herself as you watched the way the passing lights painted gold across her cheekbones, the way she relaxed into the seat like she belonged there — like this was still her favourite part of the night.

it was quiet for a while after that, but you remembered other times like this: when she would ride beside you after her shifts at the recording studio, her feet on the dashboard, eyes closed, humming to whatever played softly through the broken speakers.

these moments lived with you, exactly like old furniture - scratched up in the corners, but steady.

she straightened up, her voice speaking so low that you could almost hear the hesitancy in it. “so…my dad messaged me tonight.”

the words sat between you, weightless and unbearable. you nodded once, careful not to speak too quickly. the silence stretched and you knew she was watching you from the passenger seat, trying to read your face.

you didn’t give her much.

of all the ghosts sophia had, her father was the one you feared the most. a presence you learned to treat like broken glass; something sharp and far too close.

it still surprised you, sometimes, how soft she could sound when she talked about him.

even after —

you stopped the thought before it finished, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter. “yeah?”

"he wants to talk."

your hands stayed steady on the wheel. “are you ready for that?”

she shrugged, her fingers tugging at the sleeve of her coat. "i don’t know…i thought i’d feel less hurt by now, but it still makes me mad. it still feels new and i don’t think i could ever forgive him for that.”

in your chest, something twisted. not with anger — no, it hadn’t been anger for a long time. it was the same, deep ache that came whenever you remembered how much someone could hate you without knowing you at all.

how much they could take from you…just because they could.

you nodded slowly. “maybe they’re just checking if you regret marrying me.”

her head snapped towards you. “hey, don’t do that.”

you shrugged. “just saying.”

she touched your forearm lightly, a thumb dragging over the sleeve of your hoodie. “babe, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. you know that, right?”

you glanced at her briefly, her eyes were serious; they always got like that when she was drinking, just a little more honest than she meant to be.

“i know,” you sighed. and you did most days. “but you also loved them once, they’re your family. and i hate that i’ve driven you away from them.”

“and you’re my wife. whatever happened was unfair.”

"it was unfair," you said gently, closing your eyes at the sudden flashback. "but you don’t have to decide anything tonight. or tomorrow. just know that i’ll always be here for whatever choice you make.”

her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her coat, you knew her well enough to recognise that as nerves. she looked like she was about to say something else — like she might even cry a little, simply just from the ache of wanting two things at once — but the world shattered before the words could come out: headlights blazed across your windshield, bright and too sudden.

a car swerved into your lane out of nowhere, tyres shrieking against the slick road. without thinking, you yanked the steering wheel to the side but it was too late.

metal clanked against it each other as the other car made contact with your hood; it screamed as you lost traction and gravel tore beneath you. your hand reached for hers instinctively.

“wait —” her voice cracked in confusion, body tensing.

the collision stole the rest.

it folded with a horrifying crunch as glass sprayed across your vision. the impact immediately knocked the air from your lungs, made worse by your shoulder slamming into the door, pain blooming immediately.

there was a moment of pure chaos — motion and noise and sudden searing light.

then, stillness.

your vision flickered; tasting blood in your mouth. you weren’t sure if your body had stopped moving or if your brain had just disconnected from it.

a horn droned nearby, endless and disoriented. you were floating, somehow, consciousness slipping in and out - it wasn’t long before sirens began to wail in the distance.

someone was yelling but their voice didn’t sound real. you tried to move your hand across the console, searching for sophia’s but your fingers wouldn’t cooperate.

a figure moved across your vision. paramedic, maybe. you couldn’t feel your legs and couldn’t see clearly.

something warm and sticky was trailing down the side of your face and everything and nothing hurt at the same time.

but your thoughts — what little remained of it, at least, landed on one thing.

if you had known this would be the last time, you would’ve done everything differently:

you would’ve pulled over and waited, let her talk and say her goodbyes to her sisters a little longer and kissed her like it was the first time when she got in the car, you would’ve told her how she saved you just by showing up.

because you didn’t know it yet, but when sophia would open her eyes again, she wouldn’t know your name; wouldn’t remember your kitchen, the first night you stayed up until sunrise just talking in bed. she would forget the way you hold her hair back when she’s sick, the clay mug you made her that still sits cracked but proud in the hallway.

she would look at you like a stranger. and you, for all your quiet sacrifices, would have to start over again.

or perhaps, never.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

there was something unsettling about waking up slowly. it felt like coming up for air underwater, your consciousness swimming through heavy fog and pressing through layers of darkness until you broke the surface. you drew in a breath, sharp and sudden — your body immediately exploding with pain, radiating in pulsing waves that locked you in place.

your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, pulled down by medication and exhaustion. when you got to open your eyes, the room came into shaky and unfocused view: muted white walls and the hiss and beep of machines.

you tried to speak but no sound came out: only a dry, guttural rasp that scraped up your throat like sandpaper.

something was very wrong; you couldn’t speak and you couldn’t move your fucking legs nor your arms.

your mouth opened again; another gasp.

your chest began heaving, muscles protesting and heart pounding out a rhythm of helplessness. movement stirred nearby, fabric rustling and footsteps approaching.

blinking sluggishly, your forced your head to turn slightly toward the sound.

a familiar figure unfolded from a small, uncomfortable-looking blue couch in the corner, stretching stiffly. it was lara, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her sweatshirt wrinkled and messy from being used as a makeshift pillow.

beside her, manon sat up quickly, her phone falling to the floor as she reached your side in seconds. her eyes widened when she saw you blinking, chest hitching with pain and panic.

lara had stood the second you started gasping. “i’ll get the nurse —” she rushed out of the room.

manon cupped your face in both hands, gently holding your gaze. her voice stayed low, grounding. “you were intubated,” she explained softly, her voice shaking as tears pooled in her eyes. “you’ve been asleep for a week, they just took the tube out yesterday so your throat’s going to hurt. i know, i know, it’s scary — but you’re breathing on your own now. you’re okay.”

your eyes flooded with tears helplessly, vision blurring because it felt like you were living in a body that didn’t belong to you.

everything ached. and you were stuck in the fire: too awake for comfort but too weak to fight.

their footsteps rushed quickly and before you knew it, a nurse and a doctor followed lara back in.

the nurse checked your vitals while the doctor moved to your side. you listened as best you could while they spoke gently, more to lara and manon than to you.

turned out, you had been asleep for almost a week and intubated due to low oxygen levels. your throat was still recovering from it — hence the pain and inability to speak. there were fractures in your right tibia and left shoulder: crutches and a sling were your best options.

on top of that, you sustained bruised ribs and a concussion. the bright side was there was no internal bleeding, no spinal damage. your prognosis was somehow good; a full recovery was expected in no time.

when they left, the room felt softer again as if the world had narrowed back down to something you could manage.

lara stepped to your side, brushing a strand of hair from your face like it was instinct. her eyes were red, but she was trying to smile.

“sophia’s okay,” she mumbled, voice thick. “she’s stable now. it took a while, but…she made it. you both did. in fact, on the same day.”

she sat on the edge of the bed carefully, mindful of the tubes and the cast.

manon took your hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across your knuckles slowly. “she’s still out, they’ve kept her in a coma to let her brain heal properly. her injuries were bad too, but she’s strong.”

you blinked, trying to take it all in. the beeping of the machines; the ache in your bones; the sting behind your eyes.

sophia was badly hurt.

manon looked down for a moment. “the responders said…when they found you two, she had an unbuckled seatbelt. she must’ve done it that second, turned her body towards you. they think she was trying to shield you.”

your mouth opened slightly, but still, no sound.

lara wiped your tears gently with her sleeve. “rest, okay? you’re safe now.”

and you did…eventually. though your mind kept screaming for her name, your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion tugging you under again.

rehab was slow, a bit humiliating, sometimes. your body still didn’t feel like yours — not yet. you were learning how to sit up without nausea and how to transfer from bed to chair with grace you didn’t have. your leg, still in a brace, felt like dead weight.

everything took longer than it should’ve - just getting dressed felt like a full shift at work.

the worst?

time moved like wet cement, your mornings bled into late afternoons and you started marking the hours by which friend would show up next.

they made it bearable.

each day, one of them showed up with something new: takeaway that didn’t taste like cardboard, a new playlist, a trashy magazine, a clip-on fan for your temporary wheelchair and boardgames.

manon downloaded puzzles onto your tablet and kept score on a folded piece of paper taped to your tray table; yoonchae insisted on giving you scalp massages while you watched reruns of grey’s anatomy; daniela brought weird snacks she smuggled in her coat — pepero, haw flakes, little slices of dried mango, she said she was building you a snack altar.

lara brought gossip. recent and messy ones: who was sleeping with who, who was soft-launching a breakup, who got banned from a certain club for throwing up on the bar. she was your link to the real world, your anchor to a version of life that didn’t smell like antiseptic and overcooked carrots.

and it was megan who made you move. she wheeled you out every afternoon whether you wanted to or not, said you ‘needed vitamin d’, you said she ‘was annoying’. she said she was ‘unemployed and had nothing better to do.’

sometimes, you both had a point so you would remain quiet.

you would circle the hallway, sometimes the garden. most often just the long corridor between wards.

she would ramble about her gym crush or her beef with the hospital café. it was concerning how she challenged old people in wheelchairs to races too because they won more than you did.

but every single day, without fail, megan stopped you by sophia’s room. didn’t have to ask, she just pushed the brakes on your chair, waited outside and let the silence settle in.

her room was quieter than yours; peaceful. her skin was paler, face softer in the absence of expression too. her dark hair was always braided or clipped back neatly and her lips slightly parted like she might be dreaming of saying something.

there were always flowers on the window ledge — some from other artists, a few from her friends at the studio and the rest from you.

most of the time, you brought her oranges even though she couldn’t eat it, just to fill the silence. your voice had come back slowly, albeit hoarse and unreliable, it was a reminder of the tube that had kept you alive.

it was often: “i love you, sophia, that’s all.”

and then nothing.

megan would place a hand on your shoulder. or squeeze your wrist. and that was enough to let you know it was time to go.

eventually, you began to move more throughout the days. you could sit up without support, eat on your own because the sling got taken out.

the nurses said you were progressing well; your leg would need a few more weeks, maybe months, but you would get full function back. after the crutches, you would need a cane to support you.

they told you this like it was a gift, as if it would mean something if you weren’t walking beside her.

still, you kept going.

when you stood for the first time, lara cried.

when you took your first few assisted steps, daniela bought cake and said she deserved partial credit for all the snack altar.

but you only felt like yourself when the door to sophia’s room clicked open. and you could see her there. still asleep, still fighting.

and you? well, you waited like you promised her you would.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it wasn’t planned.

you hadn’t thought it through, really, the ring had been sitting in the drawer beside your bed for weeks now — recovered from the wreck alongside a crumpled photo, her bent sunglasses and the burned edges of a receipt for dumplings from the week before.

the nurse had handed it to you in a small plastic pouch with an empathetic smile, you didn’t ask.

but that day, something felt different.

megan had just wheeled you back from physio and when you passed sophia’s room, you stopped her with a touch to the arm.

“can i stay?” you asked.

she glanced at you, then at the door. “i’ll get coffee. need anything?”

you shook your head.

“i’ll be back in ten,” she pushed the door open and guided your chair in slowly, parking you at the same spot beside the bed. “you want me to close it?”

you nodded.

the room buzzed gently, a mix of machines and air vents — you were used to it by now. what you weren’t used to was how much smaller sophia looked, even though she hadn’t changed. she was beautiful still, heartbreakingly so.

one of the nurses had tied a ribbon in her braid that morning and it matched the trim on her hospital blanket. and someone had painted her nails pink — probably yoonchae.

your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your hoodie pocket. the rings sat inside a tissue - yours and hers, you had kept them wrapped like that since.

her wedding ring was thinner than yours, still had a faint dent from where she knocked it on the kitchen counter one morning, looking for a specific pair of earrings.

you held it between your fingers for a while before sliding it gently back onto her finger. it looked right. you let out a slow breath, shaky and quiet as you leaned your elbows on the edge of the bed.

“so,” you murmured, smiling. “you got your wish.”

you spoke more now, your voice had grown steadier. the rasp was still there but it no longer hurt.

“jennilyn’s gone…like total fucking write-off. they said the engine basically folded in half,” you laughed under your breath. “so you won, baby. you always do, don’t you?”

she didn’t move but you kept talking anyway.

you told her how you hated the food here, except what the girls snuck in; how megan took corners too fast in your wheelchair and threatened to start racing old people; how manon had ordered you a cane online and wrapped it in glitter tape as a joke. you promised to burn it but you’ve actually been using it a lot.

you tried to laugh again but your voice cracked at the end; reaching for her cold hand, you lifted it gently and pressed it against your forehead.

“we’ll get a new one. something safe and boring. one of those mum vans, maybe. specifically with better airbags and bluetooth and —”

you stopped, leaned in closer, your hand sliding over hers as your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “i’m so fucking sorry,” you bowed your head, pressing your lips to her knuckles. “i didn’t keep you safe. i should’ve — i should’ve seen the car. i should’ve braked faster. i should’ve done something. you were just…just talking about your dad and i was listening, i swear, i just… i thought we had time. i didn’t think —”

you pressed her hand against your cheek; you would do anything to feel her warmth again. anything.

the tears were quiet but they came, one after another, falling into the blanket pooled between you. you kissed her hand, gently, where the ring sat.

“please, i don’t know how to do this without you,” you mumbled in between sobs. “come back to me, baby.”

you didn’t believe in god, not really…you hadn’t for a long time. but that night, when you were wheeled back to your room and the ache in your chest wouldn’t stop, you folded your hands in the dark.

and you prayed for her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the nurse, a tiny filipino lady named maria, came in just after dawn, you were propped up on too many pillows, leg stiff under the blanket - trying to stretch the ache out of your lower back.

the light from the window was still grey, flat against the tiled floor. she moved around the room like she always did: soft-footed and humming under her breath, probably another aiza seguerra song like she always told you about.

nurse maria was the kind woman from davao, always calling you ‘anak’ and sneaking you extra juice boxes after meds — always gentle, humming old opm songs under her breath. you liked her because she never asked too many questions but told plenty of stories.

“good, very good,” she mumbled.

she checked your vitals with the same rhythm she always had, fingers cool against your skin. you didn’t bother speaking. mornings had been slow for you lately; slow to move and slower to care.

then she looked up from her clipboard, her voice light. “today is a good day for you,” she began with a smile. “your beautiful wife woke up last night.”

your head snapped toward her so quickly it jolted pain up your spine. “what?”

for a second, you didn’t register the words. they hung in the space between you and it felt like the air in the room changed. you were suddenly too aware of everything: the hum of the vents, the heaviness in your arms, the climbing rhythm of your heartbeat. your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

she didn’t flinch, just smiled again — proud like she was delivering something rare. “it happened a little after midnight. she’s stable, still sleepy but she opened her eyes. she’s with neuro now. really not talking yet. super sedated, you understand? you were the same, nak.”

your mouth was dry, you felt your hands tighten on the blanket without meaning to. “she — she’s really awake?”

“she’s being monitored for the rest of the morning,” the nurse added, glancing at your chart. “but if you’d like, i can take you to her after lunch, just for a few minutes.”

your voice came out raspy. “i want to go now.”

she gave you a soft look and a head tilt that reminded you exactly where she was coming from. “i know you do but there’s a lot of checking they still need to do. swelling and responses. it’s better to let her rest through it. when she’s out of observation, you’ll get ten minutes. just you in the room, spouses only for now.”

you were already trying to sit upright. the cane beside the bed caught your eye but it felt too far away. the wheelchair in the corner was closer, more familiar. you hadn’t used it in three days, hadn’t really wanted to, but you were suddenly willing to be carried if that’s what it took to see her.

“nak, don’t try to walk, you are still learning to stand without shaking like a leaf during a typhoon,” nurse maria said in a worried tone, already moving to help you sit up properly. “if you want, someone else can wheel you to the room, pray not megan, and i’ll walk with you. the cane’s still too risky for that distance.”

you nodded, not trusting your voice.

on cue, the door opened a second later with the rush of outside noise. daniela’s voice came in before her body did, loud and exaggerated. she had a paper bag in one hand and her phone tucked under her chin, talking to someone about how hard it was to find decent coffee in this part of the city. yoonchae followed close behind her, balancing two paper cups in a drink tray and something wrapped in foil.

they stopped immediately when they saw you sitting up.

you didn’t have to say anything. you must’ve looked different — your eyes, perhaps something in your posture.

daniela stared for half a second, then turned to nurse maria. “what happened?”

she didn’t pause, just eyeing the two girls up and down in the most painfully obvious way. “her wife’s awake.”

the sound the latina made was a short gasp, like the air leaving a balloon too quickly. the paper bag dropped onto the tray beside your bed as she moved forward, hands hovering around your shoulders like she didn’t know whether to hold you or hold herself together. behind her, yoonchae put the drinks down carefully and reached for your wrist. her fingers were cold.

you didn’t cry, not yet, but the weight in your chest shifted in a way that felt dangerous.

nurse maria gave you all a moment before speaking again. “please call the others. she’ll want them to know. and get her out of this depressing gown, okay?”

“with pleasure,” daniela grinned, already halfway into your duffle bag.

within a few hours, lara, megan and manon arrived with more clothes and a hundred questions you didn’t know the answer to. there were too many bodies in the room and not enough air, but for once, it didn’t feel suffocating. lara was sniffling even as she helped you change into a soft jumper and sweatpants, brushing your hair with fingers that were too careful. megan tied your laces like you couldn’t be trusted not to trip. manon held your cane while yoonchae fixed the sleeves of your top.

“no hospital grey,” daniela muttered to herself. “not today.”

it took a while to get you up — you had one good leg, one bad leg and two arms that were still weak from weeks of disuse. but you stood. and when they wheeled you out, you didn’t look back.

the observation ward was quiet. colder than the rest of the hospital, stripped bare of flowers, noise or anything human. the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting everything in that pale blue.

room 217 was at the end of the hall. nurse maria walked ahead of you like she promised, nodded to someone at the station, then pushed the door open and held it for manon, who guided you carefully inside.

the room was silent except for the monitors. sophia lay still, propped slightly upright. the blanket was tucked high around her waist, arms limp at her sides. someone had washed her face and her lips were dry but pink, she had more colour to her face now.

the line of her throat, the way her lashes sat against her cheek — it all looked like her and at the same time, it also didn’t.

you felt your hands go still in your lap.

“ten minutes,” nurse maria whispered behind you. “don’t expect too much yet.”

the chair slowed to a stop beside the bed and manon quietly stepped out. the only thing you could do was stare as sophia opened her eyes slowly.

they fluttered open in intervals as if her body wasn’t sure whether it was ready to be in the world. her gaze was unfocused at first, swimming in slow motion between the ceiling and the wall, drifting down to the blanket, the iv line.

her lips parted slightly and her chest moved like she took a deep breath…until her eyes finally settled on you.

you leaned forward by a fraction.

nothing changed.

no lift in her brow or a catch in her breath or flicker of recognition; just dead silence.

she looked at you the way people glance at nurses passing in the hallway or at strangers who hold a door open. her gaze landed and stayed, but there was nothing behind it.

you had been preparing for the worst but you hadn’t known how sharp the absence would be when it was right in front of you. she looked at you like she didn’t know your face at all…as if you hadn’t shared two years of your life together, had never touched your skin, or cried in your arms, or chosen you again and again.

your hand slid slightly toward hers on the bed, just resting nearby. her gaze drifted, blinking slowly and turned toward the window.

manon stepped back in without speaking and you knew time was up.

“see you, sophia,” you whispered. her name felt weird rolling off your lips, hadn’t call her that in years. it had always been ‘babe’, ‘baby’ and whenever you fucked up: ‘the most beautifulest love of my life’.

outside the room, the hallway felt too wide.

you sat unmoving on the chair while manon stood beside you, her hand resting on your shoulder. it was daniela who arrived next. she looked at your face and didn’t ask what happened, just knelt beside you and waited.

doctor kim came soon after, holding a clipboard, her expression stern but not unkind.

it was a bit too early to confirm how sophia was doing in terms of physical recovery, but she seemed to be on the good side.

however, mentally-speaking, they were noticing some gaps.

she spoke softly, carefully used the term retrograde amnesia: forgetting events before the injury, explaining that with moderate traumatic brain injury — specially ones that involved swelling, memory loss wasn’t uncommon.

it varied in scope; there were patients who only forgot hours and months, while there were others that lost years. it depended on severity and timing. in sophia’s case, the memory loss appeared to stretch back at least three years.

her reactions didn’t quite line up with her records. she knew her name, her birthdate, her parents. but her current address? no. her career? law school. her last relationship? she said a boy’s name.

her brain, doctor kim said, had tried to protect her from the worst of the impact. but in doing so, it had folded parts of her life away…and those parts included you.

she didn’t promise that it might return because memory recovery was never linear. most patients regained everything in a week, others remembered nothing but dreams and the rarest group got fragments and names with no meaning.

it was too soon to know.

her voice was kind and apologetic without saying sorry, you nodded at the right moments.

but your hands stayed cold in your lap and your breath never evened out because of the mere fact that sophia had opened her eyes, and for the first time since you met her, they didn’t recognise you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the visits were quiet. no more than fifteen minutes at a time, now that the swelling had gone down. you signed the forms, memorised the neuro nurses’ names and followed every rule like it was scripture: 1. keep your shoes off by the door, 2. sanitise before touching, 3. no noise above conversation level and 4. no strong perfume.

they said the limits were for her recovery; overstimulation could trigger headaches and disorientation.

sophia slept through most of your visits. not deeply — more like a floating sort of sleep, as though her body was suspended between here and somewhere far. she blinked in and out, murmured greetings that barely passed her lips.

she never asked your name. when she did speak, it would just be a polite ‘hello’. even when her eyes were open, you could see it…that emptiness. the way her gaze drifted past you, never through you.

the absence of knowing, but you stayed anyway.

you brought a small bowl of warm water and a soft cloth each time, eucalyptus oil to mix in just a little. you washed her face gently, down the line of her jaw and behind her ears, trailed down her arms to her legs.

“just your wrists now. this one’s warm. okay, here we go,” you opted for quiet words so she wouldn’t startle and narrated your movements like a ritual.

when she was asleep, you talked about the weather, your progress in physio and about the girls — how daniela brought lumpia and fed it to the nurses like they were her children, that yoonchae cried the other night watching an old episode of grey’s anatomy, how lara nearly fought someone (manon) for the last fruit cup.

they were the kind of things she would want to know.

you braided her hair with her own brush; the soft one she used to keep in the bathroom drawer. the plaits were loose in the way she used to like them when she didn’t want a headache. parting her hair always made something in your chest ache, so you did it gently.

it happened two weeks after she woke up, you were wiping down her legs like you always did. everything had been a straight line, a routine was established. the blanket was folded neatly at the end of the bed and there were finally no machines beeping urgently.

she hadn’t stirred at all when you came in, just gave you a faint nod as you entered, eyes half-lidded, like she wasn’t fully here.

you were focused on her left calf, moving slowly, the muscles lean beneath your hands. she always had strong legs, used to tease her about how fast she walked, how you could never keep up because of her filipino calves.

smiling at the memory, you didn’t notice she was watching you until you looked up to wring the cloth.

her eyes were open, but this time, they weren’t unfocused.

she was staring at you with something new — still tired and dulled by medication, but alert in a way she hadn’t been before.

you paused when she began to speak.

her mouth opened slightly, voice coming out dry and cracked. “have we met before?”

your chest tightened, the cloth slipped from your hand and fell back on the bowl.

“yeah,” you hummed, trying to smile. “we’ve met.”

her eyes moved across your face with careful curiosity, it seemed like she didn’t want to be rude but also couldn’t pretend.

you placed the bowl beside the bed, keeping your movements steady. “my name’s y/n. i’ve just been…helping you out.”

“we’re friends?”

you took a deep breath. “yes.”

her lips parted like she was going to say something else, but her eyes were already drifting again, whatever focus she had quickly fading.

“i — well, i have to go, sophia,” you mumbled quickly, leaving everything behind as you pressed the call button but you didn’t wait for the nurse this time.

with quick steps, you held it together until you reached the stairwell.

then the weight buckled.

you sat on the bottom step and cried like you hadn’t since the night of the accident. breathlessly, like your ribs were being crushed from the inside and tried to put a hand on your chest as if that could contain it.

that night, you sat on the bed in your room, a tray of untouched crackers beside you, the tv playing low. manon came in without knocking and sat beside you with her knees pulled up, one sock half-off, her hair still damp from a rushed shower.

the light from the bedside lamp made everything feel smaller.

for a while, you didn’t say anything…just sat, shoulders touching because the silence felt full.

you picked at the corner of the blanket, voice coming to life silently. “what if she never remembers me?”

“what makes you ask that?”

“the last time she looked at me as her wife, she looked at me with so much adoration. now, there isn’t a single hint of recognition behind her eyes…it’s like…i’m a nobody.”

manon didn’t answer at first, just took your hand in both of hers and held it like it was something breakable.

she just squeezed once, gently. “then we’ll make her fall in love you again. you’re not hard to love, at all.”

and for a second, a flickering second — you let yourself believe that maybe she could.

the next morning, when you limped into the hallway outside sophia’s ward, something made you stop. it wasn’t just the silence, though that felt unnaturally thick for this part of the hospital. it wasn’t even the voices; low, unfamiliar murmurs that leaked through the ward’s sliding doors.

it was something colder, an energy so heavy it made you feel uneasy.

then you turned the corner and that was the answer to your question granted.

godfrey and carla stood stiffly by the door, dressed in winter coats too elegant for the plastic floor beneath them. they looked out of place.

his posture was immovable, arms folded tightly across his chest. despite her oversized sunglasses, carly was visibly shaking, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were holding herself together.

you hadn’t seen them since they made sophia choose between them or you. they refused the wedding invitation with silence, their absence a louder rejection than any letter could’ve offered.

now here they were, standing outside their daughter’s hospital room like ghosts that had finally decided to haunt the living.

carla spotted you first, lips parted as if she had already rehearsed what to say, but the emotion overtook her. “so you finally showed up.”

there was no warmth in her voice, only strain.

your grip on the cane tightened instinctively.

“i come here every day after rehab sessions,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “i wasn’t expecting company.”

godfrey took a slow, deliberate step toward you. “and you didn’t think we deserved to know?”

“we found out from someone at her studio,” carla snapped, wiping under her sunglasses. “from one of her clients. not the hospital, not a friend nor a colleague. from a goddamn client, y/n.”

you inhaled slowly, willing your own grief not to rise and twist into something sharp.

“i was in the car with her too,” you muttered, jaw clenching. “i was unconscious. for days.”

your voice faltered before you found it again.

“since waking up, i’ve thought of nothing but her every fucking second. i come here everyday while dragging myself to physio, while trying to walk again and not knowing if she’d ever wake up.”

godfrey’s stare cut into you, hard and unrelenting.

you swallowed. “with all due respect, you’ve never liked me and you disowned her, so no, i didn’t think you’d care.”

silence hung, jagged and long. carla looked away. godfrey’s jaw clenched tighter.

then the ward door slid open and nurse janice stepped out, she frowned at the scene unfolding before her.

“this isn’t the place for arguments,” she said firmly, her gaze falling on godfrey. “if you need to talk, do it somewhere else. this is a recovery floor, not a courtroom.”

she turned toward you, voice gentler. “you okay if they go in and see her? they’ve been waiting.”

you nodded. “but they should know what to expect.”

you explained it quietly, evenly. about the crash and the trauma sophia sustained. how the neurologist now suspected retrograde amnesia —its effects were significant, likely covering the last three years.

the theory was that her brain, in trying to protect itself, had pulled back into safer memories…into a version of life before you.

“she doesn’t remember the life we built,” you tried so hard for your voice not to falter, not in front of them, no. “she asked me if we’d met before.”

carla’s knees wobbled and her hand found yours suddenly, fingers shaking. she held on like she was afraid she would fall apart if she let go.

and you steadied yourself despite the ache coming from your leg.

“maybe seeing you again will help,” you added softly. “she might remember the more recent memories.”

carla gave a trembling nod, tears slipping from under her glasses. she let go of your hand slowly, fingers brushing your knuckles like they didn’t want to part.

you walked past them, arm burning from the effort. the air in the hallway felt thicker.

just before the turn to the lift, godfrey’s voice reached you. “y/n we’ll cover the medical costs…yours and hers.”

you stopped in your tracks but didn’t turn around. there was a lingering question in your head: what had changed? and what does this change?

but you just nodded and kept moving.

daniela and megan were in your room when you returned, curled up on the couch. the hospital tv glowed with the familiar blue of mario kart’s start screen. daniela had one leg tucked under her and the controller in her hand; megan was half-asleep, head resting against the armrest.

you limped to the recliner, groaning softly as you lowered yourself down and the cane clattered softly against the edge of the chair, your leg throbbing beneath the bandages.

“they’re here,” you announced, breathless. “sophia’s mum and dad.”

megan immediately sat up, already on her feet. she knelt in front of you without a word and gently pressed her fingers into the muscle around your knee with slow and even pressure. her palms were warm.

“how’d it go?” daniela asked, her voice had lost its usual mischief.

“not good,” you murmured. “they were angry. mostly at me…for not telling them.”

megan said nothing, just worked her thumbs in slow, steady circles.

“they were really upset because no one told them,” you continued. “i told them i was in the crash too. i’ve been pretty fucking occupied, you know what i mean?”

you blinked up at the ceiling with a frustrated groan, the white lights blurring slightly.

“and that they never liked me anyway.”

no one tried to correct you, megan stayed crouched in front of you, her hands still on your leg while daniela leaned forward to unpause the game, not to play, just to let the soft, familiar soundtrack fill the silence.

“i feel like a stranger in my own marriage,” you said quietly.

the words tasted bitter.

megan gave your leg one final press and rested her chin on your knee, looking up at you.

“you’re not a stranger,” she reassured you gently. “you’re just waiting to be remembered, but your love for sophia, it lingers. we can all see and feel the familiarity of it.”

the tears came then — not all at once, just a slow, burning sting in your eyes as the hospital hummed quietly around you.

for the first time that day, you let yourself cry.

and neither of them looked away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days later, after endless asking and a carefully worded appeal to sophia’s doctors, you were finally given permission: thirty minutes, that was all they could allow for now.

thirty minutes for sophia to be surrounded by familiar faces — something they said might help jog her memory, or at the very least, lift her spirits.

you entered her room slowly, pushing the door open with your shoulder, cane tucked under your arm. behind you, the girls trickled in one by one. lara first, her arms full of daisies from the corner florist; manon, dragging a small pink suitcase filled with snacks and old polaroids; yoonchae with a stuffed bear tucked under her arm; daniela held take-out drinks and megan brought nothing but her ridiculous charm (she was so confident that sophia would like it better than anything).

sophia looked up from the bed, blinking groggily. her head was propped against a pillow and the blinds had been opened to let the morning light spill gently across her face. when her eyes landed on the group, something changed. her mouth twitched, it was a hesitant smile as her gaze swept over each of them and then briefly, to you.

you could see it — the faintest flicker of recognition.

“wow,” sophia whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “this is a lot…you guys…look older?”

“wow, still a bitch even after wiping a couple years of memories off her brain,” lara laughed, propping the bouquet in an empty vase.

“we missed you, dummy,” daniela smiled, dropping a straw into her drink before handing it over. “we figured it was time for an intervention.”

megan flopped into the visitor’s chair, grinning. “you look better than expected. bit corpse-y, but not bad.”

sophia let out a short, breathy laugh. her fingers fumbled with the straw. “thanks mei, i’m guessing you’re still you?”

“hey!” the younger girl frowned. “i’m basically your daughter, so you’re slandering your own blood.”

manon leaned against the side of the bed, brushing her knuckles lightly over sophia’s blanket-covered leg. “you’re doing really well, soph.”

sophia tilted her head slightly, looking at you again — this time longer. something passed behind her eyes, curiosity, maybe. or confusion.

then she looked at manon.

“are you her girlfriend?” sophia asked her. “are you guys a thing? i always see you two…you used to drag her here, manz.”

the room stilled for a second like it hadn’t expected her to speak more than ten words.

manon blinked, surprised. “me?” she snorted. “god, no. not even close!”

before anyone could say more, megan chimed in from the other side of the bed, far too excited to catch the change in the air. “she’s your wife, genius.”

your heart plummeted.

it felt like the whole world tilted and something had knocked the wind out of you without touching your chest. you hadn’t briefed them — not really, you assumed they would tiptoe around the subject like you had been.

it was stupid, so fucking stupid. because of course someone would say it, blurt it out like it wasn’t the thing you had been holding in your hands every day, delicate as glass.

sophia turned to look at you, confusion drawing sharp across her features.

“my — what?”

she glanced down, slowly, eyes landing on her hand; the ring. the one she never took off because she insisted it was ‘comfortable’ when she first woke.

her face changed.

“is this real?” she asked, voice thinner now. “am i actually married?”

no one answered, not even manon. they all looked at you like you held the answer but your mouth opened and nothing came out.

sophia pushed the blankets back, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and touching the ring like it had appeared without her knowing.

“i —” she sat up straighter, suddenly restless. “i need a minute. y/n, can you — can you step out, please?”

your breath hitched, suddenly frozen in your spot.

“please.”

you nodded, barely. the back of your throat burned, you didn’t look at the others — you couldn’t. it was embarrassing so you walked out without another word, the door closing softly behind you.

you didn’t hear anything else after that, just your own heartbeat pounding through the silence like it was trying to break something open.

three days had passed since.

the hospital room stayed cold no matter how many times you adjusted the thermostat. even the flowers lara brought had started to droop, leaning pathetically toward the window that barely let in sunlight.

and sophia hadn’t spoken much since that afternoon. not about the ring or the wedding and definitely not about the way she stared at you like she was seeing someone else’s life mapped onto hers.

“i just need time,” she said once, eyes on the wall behind you.

you said nothing and she didn’t ask you to leave this time, so you stayed.

you still arrived every morning before breakfast, despite the lingering soreness in your leg. you brought fruit cups and clean socks and swapped out the water jug like clockwork. she thanked you each time, polite and careful, like you were just another kind stranger who had simply been assigned to her.

you didn’t blame her, but it hurt in new and quiet ways.

when you helped her brush her hair, she no longer leaned into the touch. when you knelt to wash her feet with warm cloth like you always had — ever since that one winter she caught the flu and couldn’t stand for long, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.

“you really don’t have to do that,” she whispered softly.

“i know,” your voice didn’t tremble, but it felt like it should’ve.

you folded the cloth with steady hands and packed it away.

there were moments, flashes, where you thought you caught something in her — something curious or searching…like when she asked if she could read one of your books, the one you had left on the chair beside her. it was all about dopamine. or when she stared at her ring finger too long; or when she half-smiled at a joke you made and then quickly looked away because she wasn’t sure she was allowed to.

you never brought up the elephant in the room again and neither did she. it was better that way, you thought.

instead, you talked about the weather; or the nurse rotation and their chikas (she translated their conversations for you); or the birds that sometimes landed on the sill outside the fourth floor.

“that one’s back,” you murmured one morning, pointing at the stubby pigeon outside the glass. “he looks like he’s been punched.”

“hey,” sophia snorted and then caught herself. “you be nice to him.”

you didn’t look at her, smiling down at the cut fruit you were arranging onto her tray. whatever this was, it was better than the silence; awkward and random conversations to kill time.

the sound of her voice was enough to make your heart beat louder than anything else in the room, anyway.

“y/n,” she opened up later that afternoon, her voice quiet.

you looked up from your book. “yeah?”

“do you think i was happy?”

the question winded you, clearing your throat before answer. “i think you were very happy…content….and loved. very much so.”

she nodded slowly, maybe that answer made sense, she didn’t ask anything else.

you stayed in the chair beside her that night until your back hurt. then you stood, walked to the bathroom, ran a cloth under warm water and returned to her bed.

you crouched, gently lifting her foot. sophia didn’t stop you this time as her head leaned back into the pillow, watching you carefully.

you didn’t dare look up, but you felt her eyes on you.

and you wondered, as you wrung the cloth out into the bowl, if maybe…something in her was remembering what it felt like to be yours.

just maybe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the day you and sophia were finally allowed to go home, the celebration carried on outside the hospital — all sunlight and camera shutters.

the girls began to joke about who cried the most (daniela), who brought the ugliest flowers (megan) who made the better playlist (manon, against lara and yoonchae’s will).

sophia looked overwhelmed but touched, her eyes flitting from face to face like she was still getting used to the attention again.

you stood a little further back, careful not to hover, though your hands itched to fix her jacket, to tuck the loose hair behind her ear. rather, you kept them folded in front of you, trying not to wince at the dull ache in your leg because you’d forgotten your cane in lara’s car and the cold didn’t help.

sophia’s parents stood a few feet off to the side, talking quietly between themselves until her carla glanced in your direction.

then they both started walking toward you as you braced yourself, smiling politely and straightening your back.

“y/n,” godfrey spoke first, not cold, but not quite warm either. “thank you for…everything. you’ve taken care of her well.”

“of course,” you answered with a small smile. “she’s my wife.”

he gave a tight nod, but it was her mum who lingered, eyes narrowing slightly the way they always had as if she was constantly working out where to place you in their lives.

“we just think,” she began wording it carefully. “that it might’ve been better if she came home to us, to the house. you know, her bedroom’s still exactly how she left it.”

you swallowed. kept your expression neutral. “with all due respect, mrs laforteza…she is home, with me.”

her brows lifted faintly. “is she, though?”

“we’re married,” you repeated, a little steadier now. “and i understand this is hard. for all of us. but taking care of her…it’s not just something i’m doing out of duty. it’s love, it’s what we promised each other.”

her dad sighed. “but she doesn’t remember that promise, does she?”

you looked down, then back at them. “she will and even if she doesn’t, i still meant every word. so unless she makes that choice herself, i’d love for her to stay with me.”

the silence between you stretched just long enough to make your chest tighten. but then sophia’s voice called from behind you — soft, curious.

“is everything alright?”

she was walking slowly toward you, bundled up in her navy peacoat, one arm looped around daniela’s. she looked so different from the last time you saw her in a hospital gown: stronger, cheeks a little pink from the wind.

her eyes flicked between you and her parents.

“all good,” you gave a small nod. “just talking.”

she tilted her head slightly, sensing something, but didn’t push. instead, she glanced at her mum, then at you again. “i’m ready to go if you are.”

“will you be coming to visit us, hija?” godfrey asked in that tone reserved for his only daughter.

“why wouldn’t i?” sophia giggled, looping her arm around yours for support. then you began to walk with her, waiting for them to object but they didn’t. “i think lara has a date so she wants to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“well, manon could’ve driven us since she offered,” you chuckled.

“i don’t remember her having a license when we first met…so…i don’t know if i can trust her skills.”

that one made you snort because she was going to be in for a ride with megan.

one quiet step at a time, you thought.

the sun had already begun its slow descent behind the warehouse buildings across the street, painting the sky in dull gold and soft grey. the apartment greeted you both in silence, a quiet too familiar now, stretching between the wide windows and exposed brick walls.

“you sure you’re going to be okay?” lara looked at you one last time just after she had unloaded the boxes in your apartment.

“yeah,” you let out a tired sigh. “thanks for everything…third wife.”

“third?” she feigned offence, gasping. “who the fuck is second?”

“hmm,” you smiled playfully. “it’s between manz and dani. maybe megan.”

“fuck off, you’re lucky i have to go!” she shook her head at you, but blew sophia a kiss. “see you later, my first wife: sophia.”

as you watched her drive off, the filipina stood next to you with confusion plastered all over her face; wondering what it was all about.

“…i hang around you and the girls so much that they reckon all six of them, including you, are my wives.”

“but i’m your real wife, aren’t i?” her eyebrows creased, as if she were thinking too deeply. “like on paper? we’re married?”

“yes, we are,” you smiled shyly. “let’s go inside and i’ll show you the papers, yeah?”

you guided her inside carefully, the weight of her presence making the space feel suddenly smaller and heavier.

“this is home,” you murmured gently, trying not to sound too hopeful. “ours.”

she sat in the chair, still in her coat, her face turned slightly as she looked around with narrowed eyes.

“this is where we live?” she asked. her voice wasn’t mean — just distant, unsure, like she was trying the words on for the first time.

you nodded. “since last year, you chose it, actually; converted warehouse. you loved that about it…the history.“

her gaze drifted up to the tall windows, the ceiling beams, the hanging plants you kept forgetting to water. the furniture was warm and mismatched, cushions worn from years of use, shelves stacked with vinyls, books, candles; tiny things you had both collected.

it wasn’t the mansion she remembered, not the world she had once belonged to. this was smaller but it was loved and it was yours and you were hoping she could at least feel that.

she didn’t say anything else, just kept looking around. you bent slowly, grimacing as your bad leg screamed in protest, hands shaking while untying her shoelaces in silence. you didn’t say a word, focusing on the loops, the soft scrape of her boots against the floor. she didn’t say thank you. just stood still, letting you do it like it was owed to her.

the routine came back easily like breathing. the same way you always did it after a long day — only now her body didn’t lean into you like it used to. now she didn’t smile down at you, tug at your hair and ask if there was chamomile left in the cupboard.

sophia’s eyes darted up to the ceiling beams. “it’s smaller than i thought.”

your hands faltered on the laces, despite already knowing the answer to it, you still asked: “than what?”

she didn’t answer, lips pressed thin.

when you stood back up, your breathing was uneven.

“i mean, i know the ceilings are quite high,” you murmured breathily, still trying to make it feel like home. “you liked that about it too…used to say it made you feel like the apartment could breathe.”

she remained quiet; her mood immediately shifting.

you helped her to her feet gently, guiding her down the hallway with one hand hovering near her back in case she needed it. you kept your touch light and distant…the way she seemed to want it.

“we’ve got three rooms,” you continued, standing with effort. “this way.”

she followed you through the hallway, her footsteps echoing against the old wooden floor. you watched her eyes scan every surface: the vinyl collection corner, alphabetised and colour-coded; the art prints you picked together; the chipped mug she once swore she’d take to the grave, now sitting on the bookshelf like a relic.

“this doesn’t feel like me,” she whispered in confusion. “i don’t understand any of this.”

your throat tightened. “i know, it’s okay. i just thought seeing it might help now.”

it was awkward…it didn’t feel right being home like this again because she didn’t fucking know you, there was no recollection of how she built this place to what it was now.

it was more of her, less of you.

“this is the studio,” you said as you opened the first door on the right. “mine…and kind of messy. don’t look too closely.”

she glanced inside. ceramic pieces lined the walls, unfinished, cracked and mended. the table still smelled faintly of clay.

“you’re a sculptor,” she said quietly, as if realising it for the first time. “is that right?”

“it’s how we met, you used to help me glaze pieces,” you replied. “but you got bored of it after a while.”

the second room you passed was the hobby room. the shelves were full of half-used sketchbooks, photography books, canvases stacked in a corner and a bunch of acrylic paints on the table. on one wall hung a corkboard full of photos — some of her with paint on her nose, some of you asleep in a beanbag; it was a collage of an old life.

“you were trying everything,” you spoke. “you wanted to find something that made you feel free. i think you just liked the trying and learning bit.

she stood still, humming as she tried to absorb it all. then she turned to the last door.

your bedroom.

it looked exactly like it had the day before the accident: her robe still hung behind the door, a water bottle sat on the nightstand. there were framed photos of your wedding, your travels, a blurry selfie of the two of you laughing, all lined along the dresser.

sophia didn’t move any further, eyes darting across the photos, the bed, the candle you lit every night just to keep the place feeling cosy.

her hands trembled slightly. “i also don’t remember this.”

you stood beside her, trying not to crowd her. “it’s okay, soph, i’m certain it’ll come back in pieces.”

but then she looked at the photos again — at herself smiling, her arms wrapped around you, so deeply in love…she stared at it like she was looking at someone else’s life.

then, without a word, her shoulder began to shake as she cried. not delicate, graceful tears — this was her feeling extremely overwhelmed.

you reached for her, instinct taking over, fingers brushing her shoulder.

“don’t touch me,” she flinched, her voice was sharp and too loud in the quiet room.

your hand froze mid-air, not knowing what to say as guilt filled your chest.

“i said don’t. i —” she shook her head, backing away further. “i don’t know you, i don’t want you touching me.”

you dropped your arm, slowly. your stomach churned in quiet shame. “i’m sorry,” you began, unsure what you were apologising for. “i didn’t mean to —”

“i left law school?” she asked, her voice suddenly rising. “i gave up law school and a mansion and my whole life…for this?”

all at once, your years together shrank - folded in on themselves, all collapsing like paper under water: your quiet mornings making coffee, her head on your shoulder during film nights, the wedding you built from nothing, with borrowed chairs and a playlist you burned onto a usb stick because you couldn’t afford a proper dj.

every fight you had forgiven, each sacrifice you made. the way you held her hand through the worst days, even when yours were just as heavy.

was that all it was to now? a moment of impulse she didn’t understand?

and it wasn’t like she was trying to be cruel either, but the words still landed like stones — the face you knew by heart, the voice that used to be home. and now, you couldn’t find yourself in her eyes.

“i don’t know who i am anymore,” she pressed her hands to her face, crying through her fingers. “i don’t know this place….what any of this means. y/n, i don’t know you.”

you stood there, heart in your throat. “i know,” you whispered. “i’m sorry, soph, i know it’s a lot to take in.”

“just — please,” she turned away, shoulders hunched and sat down on the edge of the bed. “please leave me alone. i just need a minute.”

“i’m sorry,” you walked out with a slight limp, fingers curling tightly around your cane. the bedroom door didn’t click shut behind you, but you closed it softly anyway, as if even that deserved gentleness.

from the other side, you could hear her crying —lost sobs in the centre of a room she no longer recognised. you leaned against the door for a moment, letting your head fall back. you inhaled deeply. held it. exhaled slowly. and you stood in the hallway alone, aching in a way that words couldn’t reach.

you didn’t eat dinner, opted to collapse into the couch as the cushions swallowed your sore body, staring at the ceiling until the ache in your chest eclipsed the one in your leg.

the apartment was too quiet without her humming in the kitchen, without her footsteps, her laugh echoing from the hall. your eyes landed on the vinyl shelf she used to curate with obsessive precision. her handwriting on the little tags; her ‘sundays with you’ section.

your chest squeezed.

she used to look at you like you were the best decision she ever made. tonight, she looked at you like you were a problem she didn’t know how to solve.

you pulled a throw blanket over your lap, buried your face into it, tears soaking the fabric slowly, and no matter how many times you told yourself to breathe, it didn’t stop hurting.

you missed her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the knock came soft, but persistent. you didn’t hear it at first, too focused on shaping the curve of the vase you had been working on all week. your hands were caked in drying clay, your leg already beginning to ache from the hours spent standing, leaning too much on the wrong side.

it was only when the second knock came that you wiped your hands on a rag and hobbled out of the studio, limping slightly. your good leg was strong enough now that you could go without the cane sometimes, but the limp lingered — stubborn and quietly humiliating.

specially when the cold settled deep into the joint and sophia watched you massage it in frustration.

when you opened the front door, manon pushed in first, sunglasses still on despite the cloudy sky outside. “you didn’t answer the buzzer.”

“yeah, no shit, i couldn’t hear it.”

yoonchae trailed in after her with a sheepish grin, followed by daniela carrying two iced coffees and a paper bag that smelled like garlic and carbs.

“we brought moral support,” daniela announced, like that was reason enough for the intrusion. “and judgement, if necessary.”

“we missed you,” yoonchae said simply, walking in and looking around.

you followed slowly, every step a quiet reminder of what had happened. the ache was dull today, maybe manageable…but it was always there.

they spread out across your studio, yoonchae already perching herself on the small couch near your display shelf, daniela took the low chair by the kiln and manon stood with her arms crossed, examining your unfinished pieces.

“she’s out with her brothers, right?” manon asked.

you nodded, dragging your leg forward and leaving the door open behind them. “they went to some sneaker place, i think.”

“perfect,” manon muttered. “we’ve been trying to corner you all week.”

“corner me?”

“emotionally.”

yoonchae watched you walk and frowned. “is that going to get better?”

“yoonchae!” manon called out sharply, but you shook your head and laughed, grabbing a rag to wipe the clay from your palms.

daniela sighed. “okay, totally not the judgement i was wanting to send across.”

“what?” yoonchae blinked. “i just meant —”

“it’s alright,” you murmured, settling slowly onto the edge of the studio bench. “yeah, it’s getting better. less pain than before. some days it feels like i’m almost normal again and other days it’s like i just got hit yesterday.”

they all went silent for a second. you could feel it…the weight of their pity and how it filled the air like humidity.

daniela handed you one of the iced coffees. “how’s everything…otherwise?”

she didn’t say sophia’s name, none of them did these days. it was an unspoken thing between you all now — how careful everyone was being around it.

since that day, things had changed. not even in a way most people would notice, but you did. you felt it in the spaces between things…in the way she no longer laughed at your jokes and how she avoided your side of house.

it was like living with a ghost of your life. or maybe, you were the ghost.

at the hospital, sophia had been quiet, dazed and tender in small ways — grateful, even, that someone was there to hold her toothbrush and explain what day of the month it was.

there was warmth in her confusion back then, a soft politeness that still clung to you like hope. you told yourself it would come back to her, eventually, and she just needed time to heal.

but now, at home, reality had started to settle like dust on untouched surfaces. and sophia wasn’t confused anymore — she was distant and careful in her presence around you, as if she had to constantly check herself.

was she in someone else’s house? someone else’s life? someone else’s love story?

sometimes, she looked at you like she was trying to do the math of it all. her eyes tracing your face too long, watching how you stirred your tea, how you wiped the kitchen counter down with the same cloth as always. and there was never judgment in it…but there was no closeness, either.

she studied you in the way you would look at a childhood friend whose name you forgot.

you kept thinking about what doctor kim had said: “she might not remember falling in love with you. and if that’s the case, she may need to fall in love with you all over again. if she wants to.”

if she wants to.

you didn’t ask if she did…you didn’t think you could survive the answer.

the coffee was bitter as you took a sip. “difficult,” you admitted. “i don’t know how to explain it. it’s like she’s here but…not. like i’m living with a version of her that i’ve never met.”

manon’s gaze drifted past you, to the small stack of wine bottles near the couch, the blankets tucked neatly over the armrest and the pillow propped just right.

“so she’s in the bedroom?” she asked, already connecting the dots.

you glanced toward the living room too, at the faint imprint from where you slept last night. and the night before that. and the week before that.

you hesitated. “yeah.”

“and you’re out here?”

“better me than her,” you answered quietly. “it’s her bed too. and it’s not like she asked me to leave the room. i just…didn’t want her to feel like she had to share that space with me if she wasn’t ready.”

daniela shifted forward on the stool, her eyes softer now. “you don’t have to martyr yourself, you know.”

you smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “it’s not martyrdom. it’s just…this is easier, like she flinches when i brush past her shoulder in the hallway, you know?”

yoonchae moved beside you, her knee brushing yours. “does she ask about it?”

“no, she doesn’t ask much of anything anymore. we talk, but it’s surface-level. weather, breakfast, her plans for the day. sometimes i catch her looking at me like she’s trying to remember something but then it’s gone.”

you pressed the cup to your lips again to keep from saying more. the room was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint tapping of daniela’s fingers against the takeaway bag.

“do you think she’ll remember?” she asked.

you didn’t answer right away. your gaze moved to the studio shelves — lined with unfinished sculptures and glaze samples. there was a piece she used to love: a white ceramic bust with cracks along the cheekbones that you had intentionally left unsealed.

she said it reminded her of you. now, she hadn’t even looked at it.

“i don’t think she’ll ever remember me, but i’m hoping still,” you admitted, fingers curling tightly around the cup. “and i don’t blame her. she’s not doing anything wrong. it’s just how it is; strangers in a house that remembers us.”

the answer came too easily, like you’d been reciting it in your own head for days. before anyone could respond, the front door opened.

surprisingly, sophia walked in first, keys in hand, smiling so brightly the whole flat felt lighter for it. two boys followed behind her, arms full of shopping bags.

“hope you don’t mind,” she greeted, slipping her shoes off at the door. “i brought my brothers.”

“hey fifi!” manon waved with a grin. “you’re home a bit early.”

“yeah, i got a headache,” sophia frowned, but smiled at you and the rest of the girls anyway. “sorry to interrupt.”

you stood, heart thudding in your chest as your leg flared in protest, but you didn’t care. you wiped your hands on your pants, suddenly aware of how much clay you had on your shirt and the smudge near your collarbone.

basil walked in first, tall and quiet, followed by a lankier teen, oreo, who looked exactly like sophia when she was seventeen — mischievous smile and all.

“hi y/n,” oreo said brightly. “it’s nice to finally meet you after all these years.”

your stomach turned.

sophia looked between you and her brothers. “wait…you’ve never met them?”

your mind scrambled. of course this would come up, you hadn’t even thought of her brothers.

suddenly, your mind remembered things before your body could — the day sophia cried on the balcony after another call from her father. remembered the words: “if you stay with her, you’ll lose everything, including your brothers.”

her way of protecting all of you was by keeping the worlds separate.

although, you eventually got to know her brothers through stories; the notes she wrote about them in her songwriting notebook; through old photos on an archived instagram. remembered everything about them too, she used to talk about basil’s piano recitals, oreo’s obsession with space and the way they all used to sneak out for milk tea after curfew.

so, you knew them. always had; they just never knew you.

“we were studying in the philippines,” basil said smoothly, saving you. “bad timing, i guess.”

sophia paused. “right. yeah, okay.”

manon, bless her heart, stepped forward and broke the tension. “so! shopping day, huh?”

oreo beamed. “she bought me a bunch of clothes. i’m officially cool now.”

sophia laughed, bright and unfiltered. “he’s graduating this year. i still can’t believe it.”

“no way,” daniela chimed in. “you were like twelve the last time i saw you!”

“dani, i’m seventeen!”

sophia reached out to touch oreo’s hair and he ducked, laughing. and just like that, her whole face lit up. the corners of her eyes creased when she laughed. there was joy in her again, like sunlight coming through a window you didn’t realise had been dirty all along.

you watched her quietly, heart aching.

this version of her, the one who lit up like the sun just from being around people she loved, was still your wife. she was different, yes — so different, but she was still the woman you married.

and even if your sophia never came back…this version of her, this girl with joy in her voice and kindness in her eyes — you knew you could love her just the same. maybe even more.

you would learn to love her in all the ways she allowed you to. again and again and again…even if it broke you in the process.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

tw: violent scene, three years ago

it had started as one of your favourite nights.

you walked her home from dinner, shoulders brushing in the cool evening air. sophia had been in a good mood — laughing, tucked into her coat, one hand always reaching for your arm when she got too excited about something.

her cheeks were flushed from the wine and her goodbye was soft at the gate, a hesitant “text me when you get home,” and a look like she maybe wanted to kiss you but didn’t know how to ask.

you didn’t mind. she had time — you both did.

the late bus back to your side of town was your only way home, didn’t even think twice about it. this was the nicest part of the city.

the stop was mostly empty; just three young boys, clearly drunk, one of them eating chips out of a plastic bag like it was a lifeline.

you didn’t look at them, they didn’t try to bother you either as you checked your phone and read her last message again, the one that said: you’re really easy to talk to, y/n. i miss u already

and then —

“hey.” a sharp voice, lazy and half-slurred. “you better leave that pretty girl alone, you hear me?”

you looked up, confused. “you’re talking to me?”

“yeah, you,” the tallest one grunted, stepping forward. “you think we don’t see you tryna flirt with her? think you’re slick?”

“i think you’ve got the wrong —”

the first hit landed before you could finish. it wasn’t even hard — just fast and unexpected, a shove to your shoulder that knocked you into the bench. then another. and another. your knees scraped concrete and your head rang.

someone kicked your side as you curled in on yourself, arms up, stupidly thinking if you protected your face, it wouldn’t get worse.

but it did.

your right hand was the worst of it. something cracked…maybe more than once. your fingers bent wrong. it didn’t feel like your hand anymore.

“fucking idiot,” one of them muttered as he walked off. “can’t say we didn’t warn ya!”

they left you there on the pavement. the bus came and you got on anyway. the driver hesitated but didn’t say anything when you sat down, blood soaking through your jeans and your breath catching on the cold like your ribs had forgotten how to move.

and when you reached home, your body took over the carpeted floor and shut the rest of the world off.

it took four days.

you were trying to wash your hair one-handed when the buzzer rang, heart tugging but you kept ignoring it.

it rang again and again. and then there were footsteps — heels, too confident for a stranger and a sharp knock on your door.

you opened it, towel slung over your shoulder, hand still wrapped in an ice pack.

sophia stood there, angry and wild-eyed. she pushed past you into the apartment.

“what the hell?” she exasperated. “you disappear for days and then i find out from mina, the gallery curator mind you, that you got fucking jumped? why are you ignoring me?”

you couldn’t even look at her. “it wasn’t a big deal.”

“not a big deal?” she grabbed your wrist gently. her eyes dropped to your hand. “your fingers are purple.”

you pulled away. “they didn’t like how close we looked, i got warned.”

that stopped her, her breath hitching. she said your name quietly like it hurt to say. “i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head. “sophia, it’s not your fault.”

“it is,” she whispered. “if i wasn’t — if i didn’t let you walk me home —”

“don’t do that,” you said, voice trembling. “please.”

and then she sat on your couch and refused to leave; ordered takeout and helped you change your bandages.

the next day, she was still there. and the next. and then the next. she never came home to her gated mansion after…not really.

“i want to be here forever,” she told you, curled up beside you on your second-hand mattress. “with you.”

and she meant it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the apartment was dim, lit only by the early morning light bleeding in through the tall windows. you woke to soft shuffling — barefeet on floorboards, to be specific.

the room smelled like clay and dust and something faintly sweet, perhaps from the leftover pastries from a couple days ago. when you sat up, your joints groaned in protest, your body stiff from another night spent curled beneath the window. you could hear faint rustling from the far end of the apartment and it wasn’t the fridge this time, was something that sounded gentler.

in curiosity, you followed the sound, barefoot and careful on the cool timber floor until you reached the vinyl corner; her sanctuary back when things felt less breakable.

sophia was crouched there, her back to you - hair still a little messy from sleep, harbouring the old grey jumper you hadn’t touched since the accident, sleeves pushed to her elbows as she leafed carefully through her songbooks like they were sacred relics she didn’t recognise.

you didn’t want to startle her.

“good morning,” you mumbled gently, almost apologetic and voice still rough from sleep.

she turned slightly, just enough to glance at you over her shoulder. “hey,” she murmured back, distracted but not cold. her fingers trailed across the cover of a notebook with peeling gold stars.

you stepped in slowly. “you alright?”

“yeah. just…curious, i guess,” she answered, staring at a lyric sheet covered in chord notes. “these are all mine?”

“every single one,” you settled on the ottoman nearby, keeping space between you. “you used to write for hours. sometimes you would forget to eat. there was this one summer you barely left this chair.”

“me?”

you nodded. “yeah and you’re kind of a big deal in the local scene.”

she flipped a few pages slowly, brow furrowed. “i really don’t remember any of this. i…it doesn’t feel like me. law school was all i ever wanted.”

you moved carefully to your feet again, testing your weight on your leg before limping toward her. “you were already planning a studio when we met. you were still in law school, but…it wasn’t making you happy. you used to say it felt like you were living someone else’s life.”

she glanced around at the setup, trying to measure herself against it.

you exhaled slowly. “and you did a semester part-time while the studio started up. but once the label stuff came in…you finally decided to choose music.”

she didn’t say anything for a while, still staring at her handwriting like it belonged to someone else.

“i don’t know how that happened,” she murmured.

you shrugged, lips curving slightly. “you fell in love with sound and eventually produced tracks for some really popular bands in the city and you always said that law taught you structure — but music made you feel free.”

her eyes pierced yours, something quiet flickering there. “will you take me there? to the studio?”

you smiled, feeling like you had just won a prize. “do you really want to?”

“i think so,” she answered shyly. “if that’s okay.”

you nodded, already planning how to pace yourself, how long you could stay on your feet. “yea, of course.”

she smiled, the faintest one. “then i guess we better get ready.”

preparation was quiet and domestic in a way that made your chest ache.

sharing the bathroom like old times, you got ready together. she brushed her hair while you sat on the closed toilet lid, trying not to wince as you stretched your leg. she caught your eye in the mirror and smiled at you softly before passing you the toothpaste.

the morning light spilled into the kitchen as you finally stood brushing your teeth beside her. she yawned as she tied her hair, bumping your elbow once by accident.

and for a moment, just a second too long, it felt like nothing had changed, that you were just getting ready for another weekday together —your routine and rhythm intact.

sophia stepped out to the kitchen while you stayed behind in the bedroom. it was the first time you really looked around in days, you had been careful not to touch too much and disrupt whatever space she needed.

but now you glanced at the wardrobe, cracked open with familiarity and allowed your eyes to settle on the photos lining the shelves.

a wedding photo stared back at you from the top of the dresser. your hand in hers, heads tipped together, eyes full of laughter. however, the frame on the bedside table had been turned face down. a small, almost imperceptible shift — but you noticed.

the pang came sharp, fast, burying itself deep in your chest like a quiet rejection.

your throat tightened because you didn’t know if she did it intentionally or if it had simply tipped, but either way; it stayed that way.

you didn’t flip it back.

the feeling was swallowed down instead as you followed sophia to the kitchen, where she was plating eggs and toast, humming softly. she handed you coffee with both hands as soon as you came into view.

“hey, you remembered how to cook,” you teased gently, settling into your chair.

she smiled. “muscle memory, maybe. it’s not bad, right?”

“it’s perfect,” you grinned, taking a sip.

the conversation flowed easier this morning. she asked questions; about the studio, the music she liked, the kind of bands she worked with. you answered everything, watching her eyes widen as she pieced together a version of herself that had once been second nature.

she sat across from you. “so…what else did i like? besides poached eggs and writing music i don’t remember?”

you smiled, small. “hmmm, you liked cooking, dancing in the living room and late-night drives with the windows down…also bad horror movies. and that one filipino noontime show you were obsessed with.”

“which one?”

“it’s showtime?”

“oh my god,” she laughed, eyes wide. “yes.”

“you cried for two days when they got shut down for a minute.”

“i didn’t know they got shut down,” she grinned, poking at her eggs. “but sounds about right.”

“the studio,” you paused, sipping your coffee. “was the reason we could afford this place. we used to live in a tiny one-bedroom with no heating. i remember we’d leave the oven on to keep warm. but yeah, yunjin and giselle — your staff…they’re looking after it now.”

“it sounds like we lived in chaos.”

“indeed,” you said fondly. “but we were happy and it was beautiful.”

she stared down at her coffee. “this version of me…she sounds fearless.”

“she was. you still are.”

when breakfast ended, you tried to get up to clear the plates. your leg ached from being seated too long, the cold creeping in and hands gripping the table instinctively.

“i’ll get it,” sophia interjected, already standing. she returned a second later with your cane, holding it out. “here.”

you hesitated.

“come on,” she stepped closer, held her hand out gently.

it was the first time in weeks…her warmth. the offer. you stared at it for a second before taking it and she wrapped her fingers around yours with surprising care. she steadied you as you shifted weight onto your leg.

“sorry about the limp,” you muttered, half embarrassed.

she glanced down at your leg. “you don’t have to apologise every time you move,” she spoke, half-teasing. “we both got into a pretty bad crash and lived to tell the tale.”

you smiled, embarrassed. “it still feels like i’m apologising for slowing the world down.”

“then slow it down,” she said. “it’ll wait.”

you looked at her. “it gets worse in the cold, i’m counting the days ‘til summer.”

she nodded. “we’ll keep the place warm then. for now.”

you felt yourself smiling, not just out of gratitude, but because it felt like something sacred had returned.

“we’ll have to uber,” you winced as you adjusted your stance. “jennilyn’s officially dead.”

sophia’s brows furrowed. “jennilyn?”

“our camry,” you began to laugh. “you named her after jennilyn mercado.”

you grinned. “you were obsessed. said she was the definition of talent and beauty.”

she rolled her eyes. “i was always more of a kapamilya girl so i think you’re lying.”

“me? excuse you,” you raised an eyebrow. “my nominee was anne curtis!”

she laughed; the most beautiful sound. “missed opportunity.”

you laughed along with her, letting yourself imagine, just for a moment c what it would feel like if all of this wasn’t temporary. if this version of her, warm and playful and curious, was here to stay.

when you got to the studio, it clearly hadn’t changed.

the sunlight poured in the same way through the dusty skylights and the sound panels still wore the imprints of giselle’s stickers and yunjin’s messy handwriting — notes to self scrawled on yellow post-its. the scent of lavender cleaning spray clung to the couch that you could almost pretend it was a regular day, that sophia hadn’t forgotten everything and she still knew which of these cables she hated and which of the speakers buzzed faintly when left idle.

you stood beside her, still holding your breath. “this is where you spent most of your nights,” you said quietly. “you used to sleep on that couch when you had deadlines.”

she glanced at the couch and nodded once.

she stood near the soundboard, fingertips tracing over the faded edge like she was trying to remember how it felt to belong to it.

“you always hated that switch,” you smiled, limping closer. “you’d flick it by accident and lose ten minutes of recording.”

she hummed without laughing, just kept touching everything with narrowed eyes in concentration.

“do you wanna hear something?” you asked. “one of your songs...i’ve got it saved.”

sophia hesitated. “okay.”

your heart rose a little. maybe this would help, maybe music would bring something back.

you connected your drive and pulled up halflight — a song she had written for a contemporary dance piece two years ago. it one of her favourites, you still remembered the way her eyes lit up when she finally finished mixing the cello part.

you hit play and the piano started first, soft and wandering. you turned it up just slightly, watching her out the corner of your eye.

“this one you started after our first big fight, couldn’t tell you what it was all about though,” you muttered, smiling a little to yourself. “you were so dramatic about it — pacing around here like a storm, then you sat down and said ‘i want it to sound like heartbreak standing still.’ and you did it, you really did.”

the first few notes unfurled into the room. it was slow, reverent. echoing strings, soft piano: familiar and haunting. you smiled to yourself, turning slightly so she could see your face, just in case she needed the safety of something recognisable.

her back was still turned to you.

“this part —” you began, pointing toward the screen. “this is the one you rewrote, like, twelve times? i thought you were going insane.”

a soft chuckle left you, but it hung unanswered in the air. she was still staring at the floor.

“and the bridge,” you added. “you said it reminded you of when we first fought. remember? the laundry fight…over the pink sheets because you spilled my matcha on it and you said i ‘never should’ve been drinking it in bed in the first place because there’s a kitchen for that.’”

nothing; not even a twitch.

you kept going, rambling now, hoping something would shift. “that bridge section was the one giselle cried over…like, actually cried. we didn’t tell you because you would’ve never let us live it down and —”

“can you turn it down?” she quietly asked.

you didn’t hear her. “— but it was the part where you —”

“turn it off, y/n,” she snapped coldly.

your fingers hovered over the desk as you turned toward her, slightly taken aback with confusion settling in your chest. “sorry, i —”

“just fucking turn it off!” she raised her voice at you, tone sharp and mean like everything else these days. “jesus, this bullshit — it’s not me. i don’t care how many poetic metaphors you attach to it, all of this has given me a fucking headache.”

you flinched.

her voice grew louder with every word, there was venom in it — brows furrowed in frustration, her body stiff and coiled like she had been holding this in for too long.

“this place,” she continued, gesturing wildly. “this studio and that stupid song, all these memories you keep forcing down my throat. i never wanted this. law school — that was my life.”

you just stood there, breath catching in your throat as you gave her the space to let it all out.

the song still played, quietly, behind her voice. it felt cruel, now…like background music to your own humiliation. you reached out slowly and turned the speaker knob, silencing everything.

and then silence. a kind of silence that made your cheeks burn because you had never felt so small under her gaze.

sophia had stepped back, arms folded tight against her chest, as if the room had suddenly become dangerous.

“this…” she kept going, heaving out an exhausted sigh. “this isn’t me. this place — i don’t know what the fuck this is, i don’t want any of it and i don’t want this life.”

you stood there, one hand still resting lightly on the keyboard, as if letting go would make it worse. the blood in your legs felt like it had drained and your chest caved in, for a second, you wondered if you were dreaming.

“i know this must be confusing —” you tried, carefully.

“it’s not fucking confusing,” she spat. “it’s pretty clear to me that it’s bullshit. you’re filling my head with things i should feel, but i don’t. this isn’t for me — you aren’t for me.”

your ears rang.

she hadn’t meant to say that last part…maybe. or maybe she had, maybe it slipped out like something festering finally found air.

you couldn’t lift your eyes from the mixer, pulse throbbing somewhere deep behind your ribs.

because what do you say when the love of your life recoils from the very life you built together?

sophia has never spoken to you like that; her words hung heavy in the air, still echoing off the walls.

not even when she was overwhelmed and exhausted and bitter at the world. her voice had always been laced with care, even when she was upset, she never made you feel small.

but now…now, standing in the very place you built together — she made you feel like an intruder.

you blinked hard, swallowing the lump in your throat. your cheeks felt hot from shame, the kind that settles into your skin and stays there.

you wished you hadn’t said anything and never pressed play.

“i’m trying really hard, sophia,” you didn’t look up. “i’m trying so hard to help you…to not push you, to be kind and patient, but you can’t keep doing this to me every time you hit a wall, it’s not fair because this —” you finally lifted your eyes. “this isn’t how we talk to each other, this isn’t us.”

she looked away, jaw tight, arms crossed.

you felt pathetic…like you were begging someone to remember how to love you.

“you may not remember the life we built together, and that’s okay because it’s not your fault,” you added, voice cracking near the end. “but i do.”

her silence stung more than her words. you nodded slowly to yourself as you realised she had nothing to say to you, then turned to leave.

“come out when you’re ready,” you whispered, before walking out the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

your hands trembled, cane clacking once too loud on the stair. your chest ached in that terrible, hollow way that always came after being yelled at by someone who used to look at you like you were sunlight.

there was no dignity in it. no protection in loving someone who couldn’t love you back…not because they wouldn’t, but because they couldn’t.

and still, somehow, it was more humiliating to realise she didn’t even know what she was taking from you.

it really was the beginning of the end, wasn’t it?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you didn’t say much these days.

the apartment had grown quieter, even in the hours that weren’t supposed to feel so heavy. you woke up early like always, limping around the apartment with your cane, keeping busy with small things like making tea and cleaning surfaces that didn’t need cleaning.

sophia would come into the kitchen some mornings with a faint good morning and you would answer softly, careful not to crowd her, not to say too much, not to be too much.

and you hated how you had grown quiet when you had so much you want to tell her, but the silence felt safer than saying the wrong thing again. you found yourself moving softer, closing doors gentler and pausing a second longer before speaking — as if anything you said might spark something horrible in her again.

luckily, today she was out. lara had picked her up, daniela had texted you a group photo from the passenger seat, yoonchae tried to call you and manon had threatened to post an embarrassing throwback if you didn’t come. you replied with a thumbs up and a vague ‘maybe next time.’

you had already made up your mind not to go.

you were in your pyjamas, back braced with a heat pack and legs stretched awkwardly across the couch, gaming laptop open on your lap.

megan’s voice crackled through your headset from across the city. “that’s bullshit!”

“you know,” you grumbled into your headset, adjusting your position on the couch, “you could heal faster if you didn’t keep peeking mid.”

her sniffle echoed through your headphones, followed by a violent cough. “shut up. my immune system is depressed, i’m playing with blurred vision.”

you glanced at your screen. she just died, again.

“sure,” you replied dryly. “maybe if you buy a phantom like the rest of us instead of being edgy.”

“the vandal sounds better,” she muttered.

you shifted carefully, wincing at the dull throb climbing up your back. your leg had started aching again halfway through the second round, and now even the blanket bunched beneath your knee wasn’t helping.

you should’ve stayed in bed, but the bed wasn’t yours anymore.

your team lost. again. megan groaned in frustration.

“i’m actually gonna kill you,” she was saying. “you let me get sniped again. that’s like…the third time. fourth, if we count the warm-up round.”

“i was healing,” you murmured, leaning into the back cushion. “you ran into gunfire like you had a death wish.”

“i do have a death wish. i’ve been sick for five days, i’ve eaten nothing but strawberry milk and blue takis and i haven’t seen sunlight since tuesday.”

you smiled at that. “you got sick on saturday.”

“exactly! why do you think i sound like a victorian orphan? this is my deathbed.”

you chuckled quietly, letting her rant. the sound of her voice was comforting, megan didn’t require anything from you except your presence. even when she was annoying, she was never hard to be around.

but somewhere between matches, you stopped laughing and the dreaded silence came back, curling around your chest like a slow ache.

she must’ve noticed because she was quiet for a moment. then: “you alright? you got quiet.”

you clicked into a new round. “yeah, just tired.”

“uh huh,” a pause. “and that’s why you’re letting your best duelist die a slow humiliating death?”

you smiled without meaning to. “oh, don’t be dramatic.”

“too late. i am dramatic — tell me what’s wrong.”

you didn’t respond right away. your fingers hovered above your keyboard, half-committed to reloading.

“we had a fight,” you sighed, closing your eyes. the ache settled deeper, crawling behind your ribs this time. “at the studio.”

megan didn’t speak, just waited.

“she hated it,” you whispered. “not just the space. the music, her music. she said it wasn’t her and that she never wanted it.”

your throat tightened, hands starting to tremble.

“and i get it,” you kept going, voice quieter. “she doesn’t remember and she’s scared and frustrated and overwhelmed. but the way she looked at me…it was like i was forcing something awful on her, as if the life we had was this mistake she never meant to make.”

the match started but you didn’t move.

“and i’m trying, mei. i’m trying so hard to be patient, to be kind, to give her space. but —” you broke off, swallowing the lump in your throat. “she hates the old sophia. and i think she hates that i keep trying to bring her back.”

you heard megan shift through the headset. the sound of a blanket being pulled closer.

“it’s like…she hates who she used to be. when i look at her, i can see that everything we built together makes her sick.”

you stared at the screen, blurry with tears now. your keyboard lighting pulsed faintly, casting your hands in dull blue.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” you said, the words finally spilling. “i don’t know how to help her and i don’t even know if she wants my help.”

you wiped your nose on your sleeve.

“her parents were over the other day. i think…i think they’re trying to convince her to move back in with them, back to the mansion. law school’s come up again, too. i heard them in the kitchen.”

megan didn’t speak, but you could hear the gentle breathing on the other side; her presence alone kept you going.

“i don’t know what hurts more. that she might go. or that maybe she’s supposed to. maybe this version of her doesn’t love me, maybe she never will.”

megan let out a quiet sigh on the other side of the line. “you don’t believe that.”

“i want to,” you whispered. “i want to believe she’ll fall in love with me again. it only took a month last time.”

you laughed pathetically, turning away from the screen. the living room looked dim in the soft afternoon light, the shadows of your sculptures looming like silent witnesses. the photo frame of your wedding day was still turned face-down on the bedside table, though you tried not to take it personally.

“so why does it feel harder now?” you asked. “why does it feel like i’m loving someone who’s already halfway out the door?”

you wiped your face again, quietly.

“i just want my wife back.” you closed your eyes. “i just want her to love me again.”

megan said nothing but you could still hear the soft static of breathing, she was listening. she knew that was the only thing you needed.

and as the silence stretched…it dawned on you, like the waves kissing the shore, that perhaps you had to accept this: sophia was never coming back to you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days later, it was nearly midnight when you finally got off the bus.

your leg throbbed — sharp, persistent, like your body was warning you that you had pushed it too far. the meeting had gone longer than expected. you hadn’t even planned to stay for the post-tour drinks, but the gallery curator, sana, was kind and young and full of ideas.

you said yes out of politeness and stayed out of hope. and to make matters worst, you realised halfway down the tramline, that you left your cane back at home.

the night was unforgiving, wind slicing through your jacket, making every step feel heavier than the last. you had meant to text sophia, really had, but your phone had died somewhere between chatsworth road and that weird corner petrol station where the bus driver had stopped for a ten-minute break.

by then, you were too cold to be annoyed about it.

bills had started to pile. too many unopened emails. the accident had thrown everything out of rhythm: your savings gone to physio, medication and taxis when the pain got unbearable. and the recording studio, the only stable thing left, had been left to giselle and yunjin to run alone.

sophia hadn’t even asked about it. not once, not since she screamed at you in that same room.

you didn’t blame her…not anymore.

when you finally reached the apartment, a sense of relief washed over you as your hands shook fumbling with the keys, the ache in your lower back spreading like fire.

the place was dark as you pushed the door open. of course it was, you liked it better that way lately; less chance of stepping wrong, no chance of disappointing someone.

you toed your boots off, shoulders sagging. the floor creaked beneath your weight as you stepped inside. your only goal now was the couch, some warmth and a good night’s sleep. maybe heat if your leg didn’t stop aching.

and then —

“hi.”

you turned, startled, heart in your throat.

her voice cut through the silence, sharper than the cold. she was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her, face partially hidden by a thick hoodie. her hair was a little messy, eyes wide.

“jesus, sophia,” you muttered, heart pounding. “you scared the shit out of me.”

she stood up. “you didn’t answer your phone.”

you gasped, confused. “i — what?”

“and you left without your cane.”

“…yeah. i know.”

her face twisted, the worry fully blooming now. “i’ve been trying to call you for hours. i thought something happened. you could’ve fallen or passed out or —”

you swallowed, throat dry. “i’m sorry. i was at a gallery meeting across town and didn’t realise i forgot it.”

“do you know how cold it is?” her voice cracked, rising. “i thought something happened to you. i nearly called manon to check the hospitals.”

“i’m okay,” you assured softly, eyes already drifting toward the hallway. “i’m sorry i scared you. i didn’t mean to, but i’m here now so you can go to bed.”

she crossed her arms. “no. i’m staying out here.”

your eyebrows furrowed. “why?”

“because it’s freezing,” she simply answered, as if that explained everything. “and you’re not sleeping on that couch again. i’ll take it tonight.”

you shook your head, instantly. “no. i’ve got it, it’s fine.”

“you’re limping worse than usual.”

“it’s fine, soph.”

“come to bed.”

you shook your head again. “no, you go ahead. i’ll take the couch.”

“don’t be ridiculous.”

“it’s not ridiculous. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“then i’ll take the couch.”

“sophia —”

“just come to bed,” she snapped firmly, the words too fast. she caught herself a beat later, softer: “i’ll join you in a bit.”

you hesitated, wanting to argue more but too worn out to lift your chin. “…okay, but only because i physically don’t have it in me to keep fighting.”

when you changed out of your damp clothes slowly, each movement was a negotiation with your body. you eased yourself into bed, trying not to groan at the way the pain pulsed under the covers. the cold had settled deep into the joints as you laid still, expecting her to stay in the lounge on that nasty old couch you still hadn’t cleaned properly.

you turned your head just as she appeared at the door, a heat pack in her hands.

“for your leg,” she murmured.

she flicked on the lamp before sitting on the edge of the bed and placed the heat pack gently against your thigh. it was warm — god, it was warm — and your body sagged into it like it was salvation.

“thanks,” you uttered as you rubbed it against your leg. “it’s fucking freezing, isn’t it?”

“how’s physio going?” she asked.

you smiled, sleepy, and so, so tired. “can i tell you all about it tomorrow?”

she didn’t say anything for a moment, just pulled the covers higher up your body. and then she shifted, laying down beside you, not too close. the bed dipped with her weight.

and then, her laugh — quiet, soft, almost fond. it was the last thing you heard before sleep pulled you under.

soft morning light cutting in through the gaps in the curtains was what woke you, streaking across the sheets in warm golds. the room was still, but not empty. the mattress held the imprint of sophia’s weight and her scent — passionfruit, shampoo, something warm beneath it, lingered stubbornly on the pillows.

for a second, your brain, still softened by sleep, almost let you believe this was normal. you blinked against the light and let yourself enjoy the way your back didn’t scream for once; sleeping on a proper mattress again felt like your spine had been re-aligned by god herself.

you stretched your good leg and reached over instinctively, fingers brushing the empty side of the bed, but sophia was gone.

the house was quiet, but faint music floated in from the living area. you sat up slowly, dragging the blanket with you as you reached for your jumper.

fleetwood mac: landslide - the ache that bloomed in your chest was slow and familiar.

you limped out and paused at the doorway.

there she was: sophia, hair tied in a messy bun, wearing one of her old pyjamas and moving about the kitchen with casual ease. she had her back turned to you as she poured pancake batter into a pan and she was humming to the song.

it wasn’t loud, just under her breath but enough for the notes to catch and twist something deep in you. her hips swayed slightly as she moved, bare feet padding gently on the tiles.

for a second, she looked like your wife again; your throat caught.

but you smothered the thought hard. shoved it down into that box inside you and killed the thought before it could grow sharp edges.

“morning,” you greeted softly, so you didn’t startle her.

she turned with a smile, spatula in one hand. “morning, you slept in.”

“it was nice,” you smiled, rubbing the back of your neck shyly. “first time in a while my back didn’t feel like it was in a death grip.”

she chuckled at that, flipping the pancake like muscle memory. “that’s really good, do you want some pancakes?”

“of course, can i help?”

“hmm…could you make me a strawberry matcha? like with the crushed jam we got from the market?”

you nodded. “still your favourite?”

she shrugged, playful. “i guess?”

huh, guess the body didn’t forget even if the mind does, you thought, moving to the fridge to grab the oat milk, matcha powder and strawberries. you used to make this exact drink for her every sunday morning.

“you probably already know this, soph,” you began as you tapped the spoon against glass. “but matchas are actually better for you than coffee…slow-release caffeine, so no crashes.”

she looked at you, grinning. ���i actually didn’t know that.”

you chuckled as you whisked the green tea on the bowl. “you told me that fun fact, actually…and pretended you’ve always known it.”

she gasped, mock-offended. “no, i did not.”

“you did. i remember because you said it like you discovered it yourself but i saw the youtube video open on your laptop two minutes later.”

sophia narrowed her eyes. “that’s slander!”

“not when it’s the truth.”

she snorted. “god, i must’ve been so annoying.”

you handed her the drink. “no, you were…annoyingly endearing.”

she laughed. “yeah, okay, that sounds more accurate.”

she plated breakfast: pancakes, blueberries, whipped cream and a few slices of prosciutto (you didn’t know why she had it out) and carried everything to the small round table you used as a dining space. she sat across from you, curled up in the chair like it belonged to her…like she belonged here.

“so,” she began. “how are the physio sessions going?”

you winced slightly as you eased into your seat. “he’s not thrilled that i planned to catch the bus to a gallery meeting across town. he knew it’d be too much walking — but he said we’re still making real progress. muscle strength’s coming back, very fucking slowly.”

“i’m happy for you,” she said, genuinely. “you’re tougher than anyone i know.”

and that did something to your chest. you didn’t know what, only that it felt hopeful. you picked at your blueberries, letting yourself sit in the comfort of this quiet rhythm, the way she kept glancing up like she wanted to say more.

your phone buzzed against the counter, you ignored it.

“what’ve you been up to lately?” you asked.

she sighed, nudging her plate aside. “dad’s helping me with law school reapplications. since both my parents are alumni, it’s kind of a walk-in thing…interviews are a formality.”

you hummed, ignoring that funny feeling forming in your chest. “when do you start?”

before the sting could settle, your phone buzzed again. and again. then again. the sound echoed through the small kitchen like a warning.

her eyes flicked toward it. “you should probably get that first.”

you stood slowly, a familiar unease crawling up your spine as you checked the screen. giselle. fuck. that could only mean one thing.

you hesitated, then answered.

“what the fuck,” giselle snapped, her voice immediately cutting through. “come here now. we’re so fucked off with these workloads.”

you flinched, trying to keep your voice even. “giselle, i —”

“don’t giselle me. yunjin is dead. we don’t even have to bury her cause she’s six feet under invoices!”

“i’m sorry, i’ll come by today. i promise. just…breathe, okay? we’ll sort it out,” you bit your lip, putting a hand on your hip.”

there was a pause, a sigh. “fine, but hurry. we’re dying out here.”

when you hung up, you turned back to sophia, suddenly aware of how far away she felt again.

“i have to go to the studio,” you mumbled. “yunjin and giselle are crashing out. and when those two crash, something’s seriously wrong.”

she only nodded, offering a vague apology. “i’m sorry about that.”

you smiled, half-hearted. “it’s okay, i know music’s not your priority right now.”

you turned on the record player, choosing frank ocean. his voice swelled in the quiet, gentle and full of longing. one of her old favourites; the type she used to play when she needed grounding. or on sunday afternoons, curled into you with wine and her legs tangled through yours.

you watched her rinse plates at the sink, and it hurt.

the fact that she didn’t remember how much this album meant to her…how much you did.

you thought, maybe you had to stop looking so desperate. maybe you had to stop hoping she would remember the way she used to hold you, kiss you behind your ear, leave little notes in your coat pocket.

maybe you had to let her love you again in her own time — if she ever would. you could still win her back without pressure.

but then, her voice cut through the haze. “vincent reached out to me the other day.”

the words were shattered that hope straighaway, dropping the fork into the sink as you looked over slowly. “vincent…like your ex-boyfriend?”

she nodded, casually. “yeah, i remember wanting to break up with him, at least…so it’s nothing.”

you didn’t breathe, hands gripping the edge of the counter. you felt her words crawl beneath your skin, cold and mean in a way she didn’t intend.

so it was true, in her head, they really never ended.

to you, it felt like she had just admitted she was still in it, tangled up in a version of herself that didn’t yet know you.

“what —“ you paused, closing your eyes as you tried to compose yourself. “what did he want?”

“said he saw me on my dad’s facebook and just wanted to say hi. he’s in town again, wanted to catch up.”

you ran a hand through your hair, lips pressed together. “right.”

that was all you could do, you didn’t trust yourself to say anything and couldn’t dictate her either, but something inside you had curled up.

the thought slithered in before you could stop it: she doesn’t even remember that she already left him, that she chose you.

the song changed. frank ocean crooned something low and aching: white ferrari.

you moved slowly through the apartment, eyes on everything but her - hummed a little as you packed your things, hands shaking slightly when you folded your notes and picked up your scarf. the door to the bedroom was wide open and sophia could see you, entirely, but you pretended not to notice.

it was only then that the conversation caught up with you: law school. the words echoed, uninvited, curling around your ribs like ivy.

you felt a familiar twist in your chest, the one that came with holding too much. and yet all you could think about was how sophia was stitching together a life you weren’t part of.

it was that it was his world, the version of her that had been built to please her parents. it was the version she ran from when she first met you, when she curled into your tiny apartment and kissed you like she was saving herself in real time.

it was the version of her she left behind, once upon a time, because she said: “i just want to live for myself for once.”

but now she was going back.

and you, well, you were still here, holding on to something you thought you both agreed was worth it.

you reached for your shoes, grimacing slightly as you bent forward to slip them on, your back spasming with the effort.

and then:

“wait,” sophia said softly, coming up behind you. “i’ll do it.”

she knelt carefully and helped guide your foot into the shoe. her touch was gentle and practised. her face tilted upward when she looked at you, and for a moment, the tension softened.

“do you have your phone?” she asked.

you nodded.

“will you be back before dinner?”

“probably.”

“will you be safe?”

you nodded again, tried to smile but your chest was tight and you could barely meet her eyes.

“thanks for helping me with the shoes, soph.”

as you stood, she reached for your cane before you could, extending it toward you like it weighed nothing and it hadn’t become a part of you lately.

your fingers brushed as you took it.

“come back in one piece,” she pleaded, so soft it was almost shy. and then, more firmly. “promise me?”

you stared at her.

for a moment, you forgot how to breathe because it sounded like her. like her. your sophia. the one who used to write notes on napkins, who once stood outside your apartment with cupcakes and an umbrella after your worst gallery rejection.

she used to ask you to come home safe all the time. every time you so much as left for the market.

and here she was, asking again.

you swallowed, baffled. “i promise.”

you didn’t ask why it mattered, didn’t really want to risk pushing her back into the careful coldness she had since the hospital. instead, you opened the door and stepped into the morning air, letting it hit your skin. the way she looked at you then clung to your ribs, tight and trembling.

but all you could think about was how quiet her voice had been when she said vincent; how easily she said his name. and how your own felt like a wound in her mouth.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

part 2 —

[clockwayswrites]

A Bird Nest Part 43

masterpost (please no editing or concrit, this is a first draft!) Also, Duke is 100% to blame for this part.

It was Wednesday, so Danny was working from home. As much as he insisted that he was alright, Lucius wasn’t taking a single chance about it and still had Danny on reduced hours. Danny had argued against it, but Lucius wouldn’t budge. Fainting his first week back from a blood pressure crash hadn’t helped Danny’s case in the least.

The end of the tablet pen dented slightly as Danny chewed on it. There was something wrong with the diagram—something that Danny knew that he should catch. (He was maybe still a little fuzzy.) He was going to figure out what it was before he was back in his lab on Monday. Some progress would do him good. Ever since his water filtration prototype had gone off for testing, Danny had felt restless.

Though some of that restlessness might also have to do with everything else in his life. Like the wings. And becoming an Ancient. And his new boyfriend. Partner? Love interest? What would Bruce want to be called? The paper usually went with love interest, Danny thought, or fling. While he hoped that they were more than a fling, love felt like such a big word.

Danny leaned back in his chair and twirled the abused pen between his fingers. Partner felt too business and permanent and they were hardly each other’s ‘other half’. They were both too independent for that, and Bruce had his flock of children that would always come first. Significant other? Bruce was logical enough that he might appreciate S.O. as a moniker. Danny was certainly logical enough that he was fine with it.

A quick staccato of knocks at the door jarred Danny from his pondering. He peered through the peep hole curiously. The site made him scramble to get the door open.

“Hummingbird? What’s wrong?” Danny asked as he ushered Tim into the apartment.

“Sorry for just dropping in,” Tim said as he started to pace. He didn’t look at Danny.

“It’s no—”

“I know you didn’t give your address to me,” Tim interrupted as he spun on his heels and headed back the other way, “like, not to me for me, but so that Jason could grab your stuff and this is, like, an invasion of privacy or something.”

“It’s not, you’re more than welcome to kno—”

“But I needed someone to talk to that wasn’t family. Because family is the whole, um,” Tim smothered a hysterical sounding giggle.

Danny stepped in front of Tim and halted him with gentle hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Cream or sugar with your coffee?”

Tim blinked at Danny as if he had just said the sky was falling. “What?”

“What do you take with your coffee?” Danny asked again as he guided Tim over to the couch.

Tim sat. “I—sugar?”

“Okay. I’ll be right back with some coffee,” Danny said. While the coffee brewed, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to let Bruce know that Tim was with him and he’d touch back later. Then he silenced his phone. He set Tim’s mug on the side table for him once the coffee was ready. “Careful, it’s warm.”

Tim wrapped his hands eager around it, but didn’t drink. “Thank you.”

“Of course, honey,” Danny said. He settled into the armchair that mostly existed for Danny to drop his work stuff on. “There’s no rush to start, but I’m listening whenever you’re ready.”

Tim took a long, slow sip of his coffee. “This is a good blend.”

“Isn’t it? My friend found it when she was on a research trip and I’ve bought it ever since,” Danny said. “She finds all sorts of interesting things.”

“Is this the one the plants are from?” Tim asked with a glance towards the greenery.

Danny nodded. “It is. Her name is Sam.”

Tim kept his eyes on the plants. “You’re close then.”

“We are,” Danny answered even if the words had been more a statement than a question. “I’ve known her almost forever. We even dated for a time in high school, but I think we both always knew that it wouldn’t work out, somewhere deep down.”

Tim took another sip. He finally glanced at Danny. “You’re bi then?”

“Pan,” Danny said, “but I’m fine with bi too. I just think in the weird world we live in that pansexual better defines me.”

“Bruce is too,” Tim said. “The papers never use pan, though. They don’t even like to use bi still. When he’s with a woman it doesn’t come up and when he’s with a man, he’s gay. I don’t know if it’s because he’s dated women a lot more publicly or what.”

“I think that the news is just like that, sadly. Bi or pan are harder for them to put in a simple box,” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “It sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Tim took another sip and then cleared his throat. He looked away from Danny again. “But, um, yeah. Bruce has been with women maybe more. There were only two serious ones though. Before he adopted Dick he was known as a pretty big playboy. Not that he was ever, you know, like a jackass to his one night stands. That’s not Bruce. He just… had a lot of flings, you know?”

“I got a big of a sense of that,” Danny replied, a bit cautiously.

“I think that he, you know, felt that it was expected of him. He was a rich, handsome bachelor. If he wasn’t seen with women, people would talk. And people talking back then wasn’t good. There’s a lot of talking in high society. There’s a lot of… a lot of stuff,” Tim said.

Danny set his cup aside, his stomach churning. “Have you ever felt that pressure? Has anyone ever made you do anything?”

Tim’s head jerked up so quickly it looked like it hurt. “What? Oh, no! No. I, um, I dated Steph for a bit, but I think we just needed to both figure stuff out, you know? I have a boyfriend now, Bernard. He’s weird in the best way.”

“Good,” Danny said, relieved.

“I don’t know if it’s that things are better now or what, but I’m not like Bruce in that way. They joke about it a lot, you know, the family does. They joke about how much I’m like Bruce. Damian hates it. That was an issue, for a while, between Damian and I,” Tim said. He looked down at his drink again. “I sorta always ignored it, you know? Especially since it upset Damian. But a few weeks back Duke made a joke or a comment or—he said something.”

Danny leaned forward. “That hurt you?”

“No,” Tim said with a shake of his head. “That made me think. He asked if I’d ever actually ran the DNA. Of course I hadn’t, but that comment got stuck in my head.”

“Thinks can do that, sometimes,” Danny agreed.

“So I did. Best way to get it out of my head is to do it, you know?” Tim asked. “I got the results back today.”

Danny reached out and gently took the coffee cup from Tim’s shaking hands and set it aside. He left Tim hold one of his hands instead. Danny stayed quiet.

“I got the results back,” Tim continued. “And, um, he is. Bruce is actually my dad. Like, biologically my dad.”

[darlingeternally]

—⁠☆ Paige thoughts 🩷

—⁠☆smut

thinking about gf!Paige who's a sucker for whenever you look effortlessly pretty. you could be wearing an old, oversized tee with panties and her coochie is already wet. you're wearing her former UConn jersey? you'll be hearing from that strap tonight. and her ultimate fav, when you're wearing a moomoo with nothing underneath -- no panties, no bra.

"look at you, ma" She'd tease as if she's not already desperately brunching up your moomoo to your waist, big hands groping your ass like her life depends on it and giving it a few smacks for safety measures. you could only roll your eyes, trying to focus on the curry that's currently cooking in the pot. "Later, P, don't wanna burn your lunch." You'd whisper back, but Paige already made up her mind and once she's set her mind onto something, she'd get it. And right now she wants nothing more than to eat you out before practice.

gf!Paige who'd turn the stove off and lift you up on the kitchen counter as if you weigh nothing, wasting no time and pushing up your moomoo to your waist before kneeling between your legs. She'll leave kisses on your calves, then the back of your knees, then your thighs before she looks up at you, blue eyes desperate and wanting. "can I, pretty baby?" and of course you'd nod, how can you deny her when she looked like a starved woman between your thighs? and it's not like you're not already dripping.

gf!Paige who'll give your lower abdomen a kiss before licking a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit, wrapping her lips around it and gently sucking. she'd throw your thighs over her shoulders to anchor herself before burying her face deeper. she knows what you want, more than you do. tongue flat, one of her calloused thumb rubbing your clit while she fucks her tongue in you, moaning like a bitch against your pussy. "f-fuck, baby... mhm, Paige..." all you could do was moan and take it, hand gripping the side of the counter while the other was raking through her blonde locks.

"you taste so fucking good, mama" she'd whine, lapping you up like you're her first meal in ten years. your slick was dripping down to her chin but she doesn't give a fuck and she'd keep eating you out, warm tongue lazily twirling around your clit occasionally flicking it before going back to sucking. You're starting to lose your mind, gaze foggy and breathing heavy. "c-cumming, baby... I'm cumming" you moan, voice cracking when you feel her thrust two fingers in you, eyes rolling back, and thighs quivering.

gf!paige who'll fuck you through your orgasm, gently licking your clit while she pump her fingers nice and slow until you rode out your orgasm. she'd carefully pull her fingers out, licking them clean before licking your pussy clean as well, drinking every single drop. "You good, lovely?" She'd ask as she got up from her knees, wiping her lips with the back of her hand before she pulled your moomoo back down. "M-mhm... I'm good" your voice was quiet and meek which made her smile and hum, pulling you close to her, hugging you and letting your head rest on her chest until you got your regular breathing back. "I love you, mama. You better be careful the next time you wear a moomoo, I might just make you a mama for real" she'd joke, pecking your lips softly with a smile

gf!Paige who'd kiss you goodbye by the door of your apartment, wearing an all gray set of sweatpants and sweatshirt, hair pulled back in a slick back bun, bag in one hand while her other's wrapped around your waist. "I'll see you after practice, baby girl. I love you." She whispered, placing one last kiss on your temple, you nodded and smiled, watching her disappear down the stairs. "I love you too, superstar" you'd whisper to yourself before closing the door.

gf!Paige who'll brag about you to the whole Dallas team about how you're the most beautiful, caring and amazing girlfriend ever.

gf!Paige who's already shopping for a ring.

just a little Paige fic because I love her and she's so hot, wanna hear ur thoughts abt this so I know if I should do more or nah and who should I do next 😜 das all, xoxo kyriaki 🪽

[byfawn]

tattoo artist!simon, who is also your boyfriend, can’t help but pierce your pretty tits

the tattoo parlor is empty except for the two of you. you’re spread out on the leather chair, thighs trembling, already aching for him. his thick fingers trace the curve of your nipple, pinching just enough to make you gasp. "gonna make these even prettier," he murmurs, voice rough. "wanna see you squirm when the needle goes in."

you whimper, but the sound gets caught in your throat when his other hand slides between your legs, fingers pushing into your cunt without warning. "fuck, you’re soaked," he growls, curling them just right, making your hips jerk. "knew you’d get off on this."

he pulls away to sanitize his hands and snap on a pair of black latex gloves. you breath audibly hitches as he presses the needle against your pebbled nipple.

"that’s it, baby," he coos, dark amusement in his voice. "hurts so good, doesn’t it?" your nails dig into the leather as he pierces deeper, the pain mixing with the throbbing pleasure between your thighs. "s’too much—"

"no it’s not," he interrupts, "you love it. love how much i ruin you." his thumb circles your newly pierced nipple, pushing in the barbell and you sob, your cunt clenching around nothing. "gonna make you come just from this. just from a little pain."

you shake your head, but your body betrays you, hips rolling desperately against his thigh. simon leans down, his breath hot on your ear. "think you can take my cock while i do the other one?"

before you can answer, he’s unbuckling his belt, his thick cock slapping against your thigh. "fuck—"

"exactly," he grins, lining himself up. "gonna ease the pain, sweetheart." he pushes in with one brutal thrust, stretching you impossibly wider, and you scream, back arching off the chair. "there you go," he groans, bottoming out. "fuck, you’re tight."

the needle hovers over your other nipple. "hold still," he orders, and then he’s piercing you again, this time while his cock is buried to the hilt. you sob, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t stop fucking you, each thrust jolting your body, making the pain sharper, brighter. "s’good, isn’t it?" he rasps. "hurts so fucking good."

you nod frantically, nails raking down his arms. "y-yes—"

"knew you’d like it," he growls, his pace turning punishing. "love how your cunt grips me when it hurts." you cry out a sob as he pushes in the new jewelry. "gonna come all over my cock like this?"

you can’t even answer, too lost in the way he’s wrecking you, the pain and pleasure blurring together. your nipples throb, your cunt aches, and simon fucks you through it all, his hips slamming into yours. "that’s it," he snarls, feeling you clench around him. "come for me, baby. let me feel it."

your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, violent and all-consuming, your scream muffled against his shoulder. simon doesn’t stop, chasing his own release, his thrusts turning erratic. "gonna fill you up," he grunts. "gonna mark you inside and out."

with a final, deep grind, he spills into you, his groan raw against your skin. for a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing, his weight heavy on top of you. then he pulls back, admiring his work—your pierced nipples, your wrecked cunt, the way you’re still trembling beneath him.

"next time," he murmurs, voice low and rough, "i’ll tattoo my name right here while you're on my cock." his thumb brushes over your sternum, pressing just enough to make you shiver. "so everyone knows who you belong to."

[thatonebluehedgehog]

Two things that rile the boys up in bed, and one thing that makes them want to get you in bed…

Hyung Line / Maknae Line

word count: 1.2k

warnings: SMUT, fem!reader intended, minors or ageless blogs don’t interact– the following warnings belong to their respective member: overstimulation, things that need TRUST (sensory deprivation), edging, semi-public, spitting, general filth

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Han Jisung

Overstimulation (Receiving)

Han’s favorite place is on his back while you drive him absolutely insane above you. His eyes are low and lazy, but his voice gives him away completely. His broken whimpers show just how many times he’s cum, and you’re still going. A ring of white is at the base of his dick from both of you, and he still won’t let you stop. He wants you to use him to completion every time, even if that means his back is arching and his face is contorted in painful pleasure. He’ll never understand why he loves overstimulation so much, but every time you refuse to stop after he’s filled you up once or even twice, he thinks he could live his life right here under you.

Body Worship (Giving)

With the theme of using him for your pleasure, he’s a big fan of showing you just how much he wants you to. Han could be kissing up and down your body for hours, listening and obeying every word you say, just to show his love. His hands are everywhere, and each flaw you think is there, he kisses and bites into extinction. And if he hears one bad word about your body from you, he’ll lie you down right there and prove to you how much he needs you.

After a Shower

When you exit the shower, towel wrapped around you and hair still dripping, he falls in love all over again. He’s so insanely drawn to you normally, but seeing you after you’ve taken a hot shower, taking care of yourself, he’s hard in a moment. Han can’t help the attraction he feels to you, freshly clean, and all he wants to do is dirty you up again. Maybe you can take the next shower with him.

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Felix

Morning Sex

Felix’s motto is that mornings are for soft, sweet moments. He can’t help the fact that you turn him on just by being his. He’ll snuggle the covers up around both of your bodies while simultaneously spreading your legs and getting between them. He thinks you look so beautiful with the sun peeking through the blinds. Felix is a lover, and he wants you to wake up every morning and go to bed every night knowing it. 

Sensory Deprivation 

However, nighttime is a different experience with your boyfriend. Any kind of deprivation turns him on to the max without fail. It doesn’t matter if it’s on you or him, but when a blindfold or headphones are used, he goes insane. He’d slip the blindfold onto you and whisper little compliments in your ear with his seductive voice. The fact that you don’t know where he’ll be next excites him; he wants to be spontaneous. 

“I could give you what you want, but I guess you won’t be knowing that until I do it, huh?”

Acts of Service 

It could be as simple as making him a sandwich or packing his dance practice bag. Once he sees you do something you know you did so, his life would be easier; he just wants to take you to bed at that moment and be between your legs for as long as possible. His schedule is hectic, and the fact that you notice and actively work to make it better makes him want to give you everything.

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Seungmin

Edging

Seungmin himself didn’t know he liked edging until he met you. He was interested in just satisfying you at first, but then he realized that when he denied you, you whined and begged so pretty for him. He couldn’t resist! From then on, it’s been at least one denied orgasm a session, and he loves it. His favorite part is right when you realize he’s stopped. You squeeze your eyes shut and give him a frustrated whine. He kisses you while it dies down and then starts the whole process over again. Evil little demon.

Semi-Public (hear me out)

He likes treating you to clothes every now and then, as a token of his appreciation. What? He’s definitely not going to say it. However, when you find yourself in the dressing room trying on different sundresses, he’s quick to get greedy. It’ll start with a quick kiss and a, “Just look so pretty, baby,” and next thing you know, you’re on all fours on the dressing room bench. This is why he likes the privacy of luxury dressing rooms.

A Little Sass

He’s similar to Lee Know in that he likes to put you in your place a little bit. You could just be poking fun at him, causing problems, and general brat behavior. He’ll smile and raise his eyebrows at you, but you both know you’re in for it when you get home. It’s never about “embarrassing” him or anything; he just loves that you can spit fire right back at him. Loves it so much that he’ll ask you to say it again while he’s got your mouth full of cock. 

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Jeongin

Mirror Sex

Usually, mirror sex is about you watching yourself be ruined. While Jeongin can get behind that, he’s really drawn to the idea of being able to see both your face and your pussy as he ruins you from the inside out. That way, if your head starts to hang down or you close your eyes, he can see and pull your head back up by your hair. He wants you to see what he sees, and he knows you look pretty. Will definitely do it in front of a floor mirror, not one of those ceiling ones. He wants to see that arch.

Spitting

He was very cautious about introducing the idea of spitting to you. He knows that it could be seen as gross, and you liked your space, so eventually he made an effort to forget about it. But one night, he was ramming into you, and your legs were over his shoulders. You two were involved in a messy kiss, and he found himself grabbing your jaw harshly and pulling back. What surprised him was your tongue rolling out of your mouth like it was a habit. A sexy grin immediately adorned his face as he spat right on your outstretched tongue. You fell apart almost directly after that, and that’s when he knew you were his forever. 

Providing

Being seen as the baby of the group wasn’t his favorite part of being in Stray Kids. Especially as he grew older, he acted like a man and knew it. So, when you two started dating and you treated him like a man, not a child, he felt respected. This led to a lot of cooking for you, buying clothes or even your groceries for you, and carrying you to bed when you were too tired. Providing for you and being a man for you made him want to treat you in every way possible. (Especially with his tongue.)

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This one was funnn, I'm slowly getting less embarrassed so I hope you enjoyed this one!

General taglist: @seunghyoverse

[tbaluver]

S/O WHO SLEEPS WITH PLUSHIES- The Love And DeepSpace Men

featuring ( in order ): xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb

genre: silly + fluff

a/n: hihi lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i was going through my drafts and i swear this was requested but i couldnt find the anonnie(s) that did im so srry my drafts are a mess atm! .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. anyways i hope you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

It doesn’t take long for your plushies to mysteriously disappear during the night. One moment, they’re tucked comfortably under your arms as you drift off and by morning, they’re either on the floor or wedged awkwardly between the pillows. And without fail, you always wake up with Xavier in their place, arms wrapped around you and face buried against your shoulder, chest, or neck, like he’s claimed the spot for himself.

He never has a solid explanation. In his defense, the plushie was definitely giving him a mocking look. It was a threat to your safety obviously and he has to get rid of all threats.

Zayne:

There’s always a faint smile on his lips whenever he comes home late at night and finds you fast asleep, cuddled up with your plushie. Sometimes, he’ll gently slip them from your arms as soon as he joins you in bed because it’s his job now and the plushie turns to clock out for the night. Other times, he lets you hold onto them as he wraps his arms around you as he joins you in sleep.

And when he has to leave early for work again, he always makes sure to place the plushie back into your arms or tuck you both in the covers before he leaves.

Rafayel:

His phone is filled with countless photos of you and your plushies, taken from every angle. He thinks you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen and he never really gets tired of watching you snuggle up with them. But, he can’t help but playfully whine and pout, saying it’s not fair that your plushies are always taking up his space, the space in your arms, even if they barely do.

Sometimes he’ll dramatically point out how lonely and cold he feels when he wakes up and finds your plushies curled against you while he’s left alone with just a corner of the blanket. Eventually he suggests a compromise. Maybe your plushie needs a partner of their own, since his is clearly too busy cuddling someone else.

Sylus:

You can definitely expect a lot of playful teasing when he catches you sleeping with your plushies. There’s a spark of amusement in his eyes and it’s clear he finds the sight to be endearing. The way you’re nestled against his chest, your breathing steady as the plushie was tucked close to your chest. He’ll run his fingers through your hair as you asleep, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you rest peacefully.

What you didn’t expect was to catch him with that same plushie curled up on his side. His brows are relaxed, breathing slow, as he gently holds it like it was comforting in your absence

Caleb:

Caleb has seen you sleep with plushies for as long as he can remember, ever since the two of you grew up together. He thinks now that you have him, maybe you won’t need them anymore. But it turns out some things stay the same, and he doesn’t mind. He finds it both adorable and a little nostalgic.

He lets you hold onto it while you sleep, but the moment it slips from your arms, he pulls you closer and quietly keeps the plushie out of reach. It’s had enough of your comfort and now it’s his turn. But when you’re the one who’s away for the night, he secretly keeps your plushies close since they smell like you, giving him the comfort to go to sleep.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others places you can find me:

Wattpad

Twitter ( but idk how to use it or interact with people )

[octraiin]

── .✦ Sunday in Smallville - [Clark Kent]

FT: Clark Kent x reader

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, Clark Kent, brings you home to Smallville to meet his parents.

CW: none. fluff

Relaxing in your apartment and watching tv after work had become a comforting routine while you waited for your boyfriend, Clark, to get home.

The soft hum of the Metropolis news channel played in the background going on about Superman did this...Boravia has that, a familiar white noise. Suddenly, the jingle of keys at the door pulled you from your trance. A moment later, Clark’s heavy footsteps crossed through the door.

But instead of his usual warm 'Honey, I’m home!' or the sound of your name, you heard his voice, quiet and affectionate, speaking on the phone.

“Yes Ma, I know. Tell Pa I’ll come help him take care of it soon.”

You paused, listening in.

“Okay, Ma, I’m home now. I’ll call you tomorrow… Yes… Okay… Mhm… I’ll let her know… Okay love you Ma. Bye!”

Assuming he was off the phone, you called out. “Clark?”

He peeked his head around the corner while kicking his shoes off, spotting you on the couch. “Hey hun. How was work?”

“It was okay, same as usual” You paused. “Was that your mom?” You asked, gesturing toward his phone.

“Yeah” He replied while slipping off his suit jacket as he walked into the living room. “She was asking when I could come home and help out with a few things around the farm.” He tossed his jacket over the back of the chair before settling into the seat across from you, pulling at his collar and undoing the first few buttons on the white button-up he typically wore to work.

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly. “I want to meet her and your dad.”

Since you've been with Clark he always spoke so fondly about his parents and the memories he had growing up on the farm. You loved Clark, and you wanted to see the place, and the people, that shaped him into the man he is today.

Clark raised a brow slightly in surprise and slipped his glasses off, but his smile was immediate. “Really? Well… maybe we could drive up to Smallville this weekend. I can show you the farm.”

“Yes, that’d be amazing Clark!” You said with a happy smile spreading across your face.

“Okay, I’ll let Ma know we’re coming. We can head out in the morning."

He stood up and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before walking toward your shared bedroom.

On his way into the bedroom, Clark paused in the doorway and looked back at you.

“Y'know, every time she calls, she asks about you” he said with a soft smile. “They’re going to be so happy to finally meet you!”

With that, he disappeared into the dim light of the room, heading for a shower before bed. Shortly after, you follow him and slipped into your shared bed both nervous and excited for what tomorrow will bring.

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

You and Clark wake up bright and early the next day. He pulls on his signature farm boy flannel and a pair of worn jeans, looking like he was back doing work on the farm.

You, on the other hand, stand in front of the closet feeling unsure. You're meeting his parents for the first time but, you're also going to a farm.

“Clark! Come look. Is this okay?” You call out from the bedroom, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the sizzling coming from the kitchen.

Just a moment later, Clark walks in while wiping his hands on a dish towel. His eyes travel from your face to your feet and back up again. He exhales, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“Y/n, I promise it doesn’t matter what you wear. They’re gonna love you either way. You look beautiful.”

He steps forward, placing a gentle hand on your waist, then leans down to press a soft kiss on your lips. For someone so strong, he’s always been so gentle with you.

Pulling back, he teases, “Finish getting ready so we can eat and hit the road. Breakfast is almost done.”

He places one more kiss on your forehead before disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving you standing in front of the mirror with your heart fluttering.

You take one last look at your outfit, deciding it’s fine, and step out to find your favourite breakfast and your favourite person waiting at the table. Clark looks up smiling and waves you over.

You sit down, and the two of you eat together, Clark chatting about Smallville, the farm, and the things he can’t wait to show you.

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

Clark packs up the car, and soon the two of you are on your way to Smallville. The drive is peaceful, the city slowly disappearing and turning into open fields, hills, and country roads. You gaze out the window, watching small towns and farmland pass by like pictures from a postcard.

Clark drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting gently on your thigh, a quiet, comforting presence.

After a while, a large sign comes into view, visibly weathering but nonetheless still welcoming:

"Welcome to Smallville- The Meteor Capital of the World!"

You read it out loud with a small laugh.

Clark grins. “Yep, we’ll be there soon!” He says, giving your leg a soft squeeze with the hand that never left you.

Shortly after, Clark begins to slow down, turning into a long dirt driveway. You spot a red mailbox at the entrance with 'Kent Farm' written in gold lettering. A sudden wave of nervousness settles in your stomach.

Clark parks beside an old truck, which you assume belongs to his dad. Before he can even take the keys out of the ignition, the front door bursts open.

Mrs. Kent rushes out onto the porch, apron fluttering behind her, with Mr. Kent close behind.

Clark glances over at you with a reassuring smile before opening his door and stepping out. You follow his lead.

“Clark! Oh, we missed you so much!” Mrs. Kent throws her arms around him in a tight embrace.

“We sure did, son.” Mr. Kent adds, staying back while waiting for his turn to hug his son.

After one last squeeze, Mrs. Kent releases Clark and turns to you, eyes bright and warm.

“Oh, Y/N, we’re so happy to finally meet you!” She says, pulling you into a hug just as tight and loving.

You smile into her shoulder, touched by the instant affection. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Kent.”

"Please just call me Ma, dear."

Clark watches, chuckling softly at the scene in front of him.

“Come, come inside. I want to show you the house!” Ma says eagerly, already ushering you toward the front door radiating excitement.

As the two of you disappear inside, Pa pats a hand on Clark’s shoulder.

“Good job son” he says with a proud smile, then adds, “Now let’s get to work. I need help in the barn.”

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

Inside the house, Ma takes you on a tour. It’s hard to miss all the pictures of Clark lining the walls. Each one capturing a different moment of his childhood. Missing teeth, birthday cakes, wide smiles.

“And this is Clark’s room!" She says warmly, opening a door near the end of the hallway.

You step inside, eyes scanning the space. Posters of The Mighty Crabjoys and the Metropolis Meteors hang proudly on the walls. There are framed photos of him with his friends from Smallville High, a shelf full of trophies, and his favourite books and comics stacked neatly on the nightstand. It’s all so personal. So unmistakably Clark Kent. You feel a surprising wave of emotion rise in your chest, touched by the glimpse into the boy he used to be.

Just then, a soft bark snaps you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes land on the bed, where a white dog is lying calmly, staring right back at you with curious eyes.

“And who’s this?” You ask playfully, glancing back at Ma.

“Oh, that’s Krypto!” She says with a smile. “He’s Clark’s dog. He’s been staying with us for a while. At least until you and Clark find a bigger apartment.”

You nod smiling, and walk over to the bed. You hold out your hand, letting Krypto sniff it. Instantly, he perks up, tail wagging as he begins licking your hand and jumping on you in excitement.

You giggle, crouching down to play with him just as a familiar voice speaks from behind.

“I see you’ve met Krypto” Clark says amused.

Krypto turns around and immediately jumps on him, barking happily.

“Hey buddy” Clark laughs, petting the excited dog.

Krypto, still in a playful mood, bites the edge of Clark’s shoe and starts tugging.

“Whoa what the hey dude!” Clark kneels down, now face to face with the dog and whispers, “Please, you can’t embarrass me in front of her.”

Krypto stops and Clark walks over to sit on the edge of the bed beside you.

You turn to Clark with a teasing smirk. “The Mighty CrabJoys? Really?” You say, nodding toward the old poster on his wall.

Clark throws his hands up defensively, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Hey, hey, hey! They’ve got good music. If you gave them a chance, I think you’d actually like them.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” you laugh, shaking your head as you stand up to continue to explore the room. Your eyes land on a framed photo sitting on his shelf; A teenage Clark standing between a smiling blonde girl and a boy with an arm slung around his shoulder.

“Hey Clark? Who are they?” You ask, picking up the photo and bringing it over to him.

He takes a moment, a gentle expression on his face. “That’s Chloe, and that’s Pete. Haven’t heard from them in a while, but they were my best friends growing up.”

You nod, smiling, and carefully place the picture back where you found it. Then you sit down beside him on the bed.

“I’m really glad you brought me here, Clark.”

Clark smiles, a proud look in his eyes. “Yeah? Ma and Pa really like you.”

He reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, clearing the view of your face. His eyes linger for a moment before he leans in and places a familiar, soft kiss on your lips.

You close your eyes, your hand rising instinctively to cup his cheek.

Then suddenly, the smell of something delicious drifts into the room, making your stomach growl.

“Clark! Y/N! Dinner’s ready!” Ma calls from the kitchen.

You both pull back from the kiss with a small, shared laugh. Standing up, you walk side by side out of Clark’s room, heading to the kitchen.

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

When you and Clark arrive at the table, Pa is already seated at the head, while Ma is pulling something fragrant from the oven. The table is covered in a spread of fresh, homemade food; Roasted vegetables, warm bread, mashed potatoes, and what looks like the crispiest fried chicken you’ve ever seen.

“Come on, have a seat” Pa says, gesturing to the empty chairs.

Clark slides into what you assume is his usual spot, and you take the seat directly across from him. Ma places the final dish on the table, then removes her apron, folding it neatly and setting it down on the counter before joining you all at the table.

“Go on, dig in! I hope you enjoy Y/n.” She says with a warm smile, motioning toward your empty plate.

“Thank you! It looks delicious.” You reply, smiling back as you pick up a fork from one of the platters and begin adding food to your plate.

You glance up and giggle, spotting Clark’s plate, already full to the brim. He’s sitting patiently, with a fork in hand, clearly waiting for everyone else before diving in.

“Someones hungry” You tease.

Clark grins. “What can I say? It’s been way too long since I’ve had Ma’s cooking.”

Laughter fills the room as the meal begins.

Ma and Pa trade stories over dinner, sharing fond memories of Clark as a child. Clark groans through it all, cheeks flushed, while everyone else laughs and enjoys the meal.

The comfortable hum of conversation is suddenly broken when Ma blurts out, “So, when are my grandbabies comin?” She wiggles her brows mischievously.

Clark nearly chokes on his food while Pa lets out a low chuckle. You can’t help but smile.

“Ma, please” Clark mutters, shaking his head as he shovels another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“I was just askin” Ma says innocently, then leans in and very quietly whispers, “When are you gonna get her a ring?”

Clark lifts his head, pretending he didn't hear what she said as if he doesn't have superhuman hearing. “...What was that, Ma?”

“Oh, nothin” She says sweetly, smiling as she returns to her meal.

You glance at Clark, both of you trying to suppress shy smiles, a light blush colouring your cheeks.

When dinner is finished, Clark and Pa clear the table while you settle into the living room with Ma, cozy in front of the fireplace, flipping through old photo albums.

“Oh look! Here’s Clark on his sixth birthday!” She exclaims, pointing to a photo of little Clark with cake smeared all over his face and shirt.

You laugh, “Aww, he’s so cute.”

From the kitchen, Clark calls out, “Ma, stop showing her photos please!”

But she doesn’t stop.

“Here he is learnin how to ride a bike... Oh! And this one, his first-”

“Ma…” Clark walks into the room cutting her off and plops down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“It’s okay Clark. You were adorable” You tease, grinning up at him.

“Were? Past tense?” He asks, pretending to be wounded.

“...You still are Clark” You say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Ma laughs. “Alright, I’ll let you two be. I’ll go help Pa with the dishes.”

She rises and disappears into the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Clark stands and offers his hand. “Come on I wanna show you around outside.”

You slip on your shoes and grab a sweater, fingers intertwined with his as he leads you out into the cool evening air. The sun is just beginning to set behind distant hills, casting everything in an orange glow.

Clark walks slowly, matching your pace. The gravel crunches softly beneath your feet.

“To the right’s the garden” He says, gesturing toward a patch of land fenced with worn wood. Rows of vegetables growing in neat lines, swaying gently in the breeze. “Ma still grows everything from scratch. She says food tastes better when you know where it comes from.”

You nod, smiling, as he leads you past an old wooden gate toward the chicken coop. A few hens cluck, pecking at the ground, while one particularly bold one stares at you.

Clark chuckles, giving the hen a knowing nod. “Don’t mess with her.”

You laugh, enjoying the way Clark slips right back into his roots here. You can see it in the way his shoulders relax and he moves more at ease.

As you walk around the side of the barn, Clark points out an old rusting red tractor.

“That thing only starts when Pa talks to it” He says with a grin. “I swear I’ve seen him have full conversations with it.”

The barn stands ahead, large, its wood weathered from the years. Fireflies begin to flicker in the grass as the sun sets further.

“I used to hang out up here all the time” Clark says, leading you to a set of worn stairs just inside the barn.

You follow him up to the loft, the boards creaking under your steps. The space is simple, but it’s filled with character. An old couch, a stack of comic books on a crate, and in the corner by the window, a telescope aimed at the sky.

“I didn’t know you liked looking at the stars” You say, approaching the telescope.

“Yeah” Clark says quietly, stepping beside you. “I used to come up here at night and just stare at the sky. As a kid I always hoped I’d find more pieces of where I came from. I guess I just found it comforting knowing that I used to be up there with the rest of the stars.”

You look at him, a tender feeling in your chest.

“Well” You say softly. “I’m really glad you ended up here.”

Clark meets your gaze, and for a long moment, neither of you say a word. In the middle of that quiet barn loft, surrounded by memories, he reaches for your hand and squeezes it gently.

“Here I wanna show you something cool.” Clark says suddenly, letting go of your hand as he reaches up toward the ceiling of the loft.

You watch as he pulls down a wooden ladder and pushes open a hatch that creaks in the night air. A gentle breeze rushes in.

“Follow me. It’s okay.” He says with a soft smile before climbing up the ladder with ease.

You hesitate just a second, then follow, carefully climbing the ladder. When you reach the top, your head pokes through the hatch and your breath catches.

You're on the roof of the barn.

Clark is already standing there, lit by the stars, as he turns to offer you his hand.

You take it, and with one gentle pull, he helps you up beside him.

“So” He says, with a certain spark in his eyes, “what do you think?”

You turn slowly, taking in the view. From here, you can see the entire Kent Farm. The glowing windows of the house in the distance, the fields stretching out, and the silhouette of the barn casting long shadows against the grass.

“It’s beautiful” You whisper.

Clark squeezes your hand and gently leads you to lie back on the roof beside him. You settle into the cool metal, shoulder to shoulder, gazing up at the sky.

“Clark” You say softly, turning your head to look at him. “I’m just really happy to be here. I feel like I’ve learned a whole new side of you.”

He turns to meet your gaze, a thoughtful smile on his lips.

“Yeah” He murmurs. “Everything I am started right here. I'm glad I could share it with you Y/n”

You and Clark lay there, side by side, your fingers intertwined beneath a sky full of stars, surrounded by the place that shaped the man you love.

WC: 3.1k

[m3mento-m0rii]

Hi ! I hope you’re doing well !

If you don’t mind, I would like to request Saja Boys (separately) with an s/o reader who’s a workaholic and a pushover, like they never refuse taking someone else’s shift, doing someone else’s work and barely getting credit, and they barely sleep so they have deep eye bags they try hard to cover up and are running on four hours of sleep, coffee and sheer willpower.

I hope it was clear and that you like the idea

Have a great day/evening/night !

You're Just A Doormat :(—

2.5k words; Saja Boys x Reader Masterlist | Requests open!

You have trouble saying no to your coworkers and setting a balanced schedule, and the Saja Boys will have none of that.

A/N: Hello, anon! Yes, I'm doing well, and I hope you are, too :). I do like this idea! It kind of resonated with me because I'm a people pleaser 😅 hope you enjoy!

Jinu—

“No, no, no,” Jinu shook his head, taking what he was sure was your fifth cup of coffee today. “It’s almost five o’clock, (Y/N), your sleep schedule is already bad enough.”

“Jinu, I’m going to have to stay up late tonight—”

“Yes, that’s the problem,” He poured the drink down the sink. While a part of him was a bit upset that he had to waste it, he knew that neither of them should be drinking such a strongly caffeinated drink so late in the day. “You shouldn’t be staying up until two, three in the morning just to get up at six and go to work at eight.”

“The deadlines, though,” you pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling your head pound. “It’s due when I go in tomorrow. I can’t just pretend that it doesn't exist.”

“That’s unrealistic.”

“That’s my job.”

Jinu sighed, his eyelids drooping with worry. You flinched as he tilted your head up, his thumb brushing just under your eyes. Even makeup couldn’t mask the puffiness. “You can’t hide just how tired you are.”

You pursed your lips, your eyes closing for a moment. He was right; you were tired. You can’t remember the last time you got a full night of sleep, or the last time you went on a date with him, or when you had time for yourself.

“This is becoming your life, (Y/N), and I refuse to watch this happen any further.”

“I can’t just say no,” you whispered, looking up at him again.

Jinu kept your eyes on him, and you shrank a little. “What is this all for, (Y/N)? Be honest. What makes this worth it?”

Honestly? You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t get credit for your work, all the effort you put in. You worked early mornings and late into the night, and for what? For who?

You missed Jinu.

“You can’t live like this anymore,” he denied, pulling you into his chest. You let out a broken noise. “This isn’t a job, you don’t owe them this much, not anything. Especially when you’re this good at what you do. I’m sure there’s someone around here who needs help. I’ll ask Rumi to ask Bobby, or something.”

“What? Jinu—”

“All industries require connections, Y/N. Let me be yours, let me help you out of this. Please.”

You hesitated, finally conceding. “. . . Okay.”

“Thank you.”

You pressed your head against his collar, breathing in his scent. A small part of you couldn’t help but hope he was right.

Abby—

Abby observed the way the sun set on the buildings surrounding the entrance, glancing at the time on his phone. Five thirty-three. You were supposed to get off thirty minutes ago. 

He knew he should have come to get you. He couldn’t help but frown as he stepped back into the lobby, three seconds in and already sick of the suffocating atmosphere. Abby walked up to the front desk, flashing a smile—although it was a bit strained, but the lady there wouldn’t be able to tell that.

“Hi! How can I help you?”

“Hello, Miss, I’m looking for a (Y/N) (L/N)? They’re my partner.”

Of course, her face dropped when she heard that. Internally, Abby rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they work here. Would you like me to call for them?”

“Is it possible that you can take me to them instead?”

“Sure.”

Abby looked around the place as the woman led him along, his eyes lingering on the scenes and what you’d told him about the place. He hated it for you. He wished you realized how bad it was that they treated you like this, it physically hurt him.

The lady abruptly stopped as she almost ran into you, and you flinched at her gaze. Though it all went away as you saw him. “Abby! Hi, sorry, I had to finish up something—”

“(Y/N)! Just the person I wanted to see,” some guy came up, and Abby was clearly tired of this place. He didn’t have to remember his name to know who he was and what he wanted. “Do you think you could finish these reports for me—”

“Actually, their shift ended thirty minutes ago. We have somewhere to go, and we’re already running late,” Abby gently interrupted, a hard gaze falling on your coworkers. The guy had the audacity to look him up and down.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” he clearly didn’t care, “where?”

“Home.”

The guy blinked. “Oh, just . . . Listen, we’re kind of understaffed, we really need them.”

Abby raised a brow, crossing his arms. His eyes flicked to the personal bag the man was holding. “Really? You seem like you’re just about to leave?”

“. . .”

Abby offered another smile, carefully wrapping an arm around you. “Where’s your stuff, hmm?”

You watched the situation with conflicted eyes, but the reassurance in Abby’s touch had you leading him away. “I’m sorry for being late, Abs.”

“You shouldn’t apologize to me, (Y/N/N),” Abby breathed, watching as you grabbed your bag from your desk. He took it for you without a word, leading you out of the stuffy office space. “You should apologize to yourself.”

“. . . Myself?”

“Yes, yourself,” he held the door open for you, leading you out into the fresh air. “I want you to make a promise to yourself, you hear me?”

“. . . Yes? What is it?”

Abby paused, taking your hands softly and making you look him in the eyes. “I want you to promise yourself that you’ll never leave the office later than the people who need you. And I want you to promise that you will take care of yourself first, and that you deserve your off hours, too.”

“. . . Abby,” you sighed, but he wouldn’t hear anything of it.

“Please. Just promise yourself that. At least that last part.”

You folded (like you always do), and repeated his words back to him. “I deserve my off hours, too.”

“Good. Now say it every morning in the mirror until it becomes a habit,” he pulled you in for a hug. “I love you. You deserve more than this.”

You nuzzled into him, your arms snaking around him, too. “I love you, too.”

Mystery—

Mystery didn’t see you as much anymore.

It was sad, but it was true. You were always working, always elsewhere, and not that he didn’t support you getting that bag, but not when it was at the cost of your health. Which is why he wasn’t allowing you to go into work a night he stayed over, keeping you anchored in the bed. He didn’t even budge as you tried to pry him off (he was too good at being clingy).

“You work too much,” he muttered, “I haven’t seen you since early last week.”

“I know, Myst . . . but they need me.”

“Do they need you, or are they using you?”

That shut you up. Mystery frowned, pulling you further into his cuddles. His limbs tangled around yours so completely that you didn’t even think you could reach for the phone. The both of you only rested there for a while, quiet breaths and faint heartbeats and a wish that you could stay.

“You’re going to get sick at this rate,” he murmured, a sad lilt in his tone. “You have to take care of yourself, (Y/N). It’s not good for you.”

You were silent. Because you knew he was right. Knew that doing all that you did made you feel weak. Tired. Taking vitamins for your immune system, and working so hard didn’t help. In fact, it was probably the problem.

You didn’t have to tell Mystery about the times you felt faint for him to know. Mystery always seemed to know. Knew when your head throbbed and your hands cramped and when you didn’t eat properly that day. Knew the weariness under your makeup. He’d remind you to take care of yourself, refuse to let up until you did. Sometimes, just his stare was enough. 

It messed up your schedule, how he’d help you, but a little part of you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Please stop. You’re going to run yourself into the ground.”

You exhaled deeply, pushing him off of you so you could reach for your phone. After a moment of consideration, you dialed your workplace, nervously waiting for someone to pick up.

Your fingers picked at your pillowcase as you waited, and Mystery took your hand instead. “Just tell them your dog is sick,” he smiled slightly, “I’ll even bark at them if you want.”

That made your lips curl up, just a little. You knew that if he was here, it’d be okay.

Romance—

Romance slipped into the bathroom while you were fixing yourself up, needing to get started on the earliest steps in his morning routine. But he paused when he saw you trying to cover those eyebags of yours, deep and purple and . . . “Woah. Okay, wow. Jumpscare.”

You glared at him. “Rude, you ass.”

“You know I always think you’re beautiful, love,” Romance approached you, taking the brush from your hands, “but I think you need more than makeup to fix those bags. Like sleep.”

“They’re designer, thank you very much,” you reached for the brush, but Romance only held it out of your reach.

“Hell no, not today. I’m calling you in.”

“Romance—”

“No, I’m serious, too, (Y/N),” he accused, turning you towards the mirror again. “Look at yourself. You look so tired. You need a spa day, a twelve hour nap, an intervention, something.”

“I have to work today.”

“Says who? You do so much overtime, I’m sure you’ve accumulated enough hours for a three week long vacation. I think you can afford just one day.”

That’s how you ended up being dragged around by Romance for a day—specifically focusing on skincare; you let him, because taking care of you this way is one of his love languages. Besides, it’s an excuse to get his stuff done, too.

That’s how you found yourself listening to him talk as a nail tech was painting his nails a new color. You guys used to do it together, but . . . well, you’ve been kind of busy. “What makes all the work you do worth it, hmm? Honest question,” he looked at you.

To be real, you didn’t have an answer. “Because they need me.”

“They have other employees, (Y/N). You’re going to get old early,” he sighed. “Not that I wouldn’t love you anyway, but we can at least be proactive. You can’t volunteer your time and not get anything back, my love! You’re not a charity.”

You sighed, eyeing the vibrant color now decorating your nails. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do,” you confirmed, but . . . even you didn’t believe yourself. Your nail tech shook her head.

“Do you at least get compensation for your work?”

“. . .”

She paused, her grip on your finger loosening for a moment. “Oh, no, honey, it’s time to go.”

“She’s right, I’m right, we’re both right,” Romance nodded resolutely.

“It’s my job, Roma.”

“But are you happy, (Y/N)?”

The silence was very loud with that one.

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘if your job is something you love, you’ll never work a day in your life’?” Romance asked, watching you from the corner of his eyes. “It’s true. And you look so tired because you work like a dog, lovely.”

You hated that he was right.

“Will you please do me a favor, and remind yourself of your worth? To me, you're worth everything. You don’t deserve the stress you allow others to put on you, so drop the weight on their toes, okay?”

“Sounds painful.”

“It’ll be a statement,” Romance shrugged, checking his nails. Your nail tech smiled.

“You have yourself a good one.”

Baby—

Baby snatched your hand as you were about to pour a five hour energy (EXTRA strength) shot into your Monster, already knowing you were about to try something crazy. “Holy fuck let’s not do that; what are you a college student during finals week—”

“Baby, chill out, it’s fine,” you huffed, glancing back at your laptop on the bed. He didn’t let go of your wrist.

“Is it? I don’t want my partner to have a heart attack on me,” he huffed, pulling the shot from your hand. “Your eyebags are bad enough. You will literally crash so hard you won’t be ready to get up tomorrow.”

You groaned, heading back to the mattress to slump over your laptop again. Great.

As you set back off to work, your eyes flickering to the clock. Away. Staring at the form. Back to the clock. It was later, and you were only getting more and more frustrated as time went on. You yawned, your eyelids fell, but you had a deadline.

Baby stayed up with you, his presence some form of emotional support. But just that wasn’t enough, apparently, because he felt your shoulders shake a little as you stared at the blue light of your laptop.

“Babe?? What’s wrong??”

“It’s just not coming out right,” you hissed, stressed out. You were ready to push the device off the bed. “It’s due tomorrow, Baby—”

“Um, okay, okay . . .” he tried to figure out how to help, not expecting you to cry. He took your face, making you look at him. “Look, of course it’s not gonna look right when you’re sleep-deprived and cranky. You should go to sleep and look at it in the morning.”

“I won’t have time.”

“Or else what? The world isn’t going to end if they have to wait a few extra hours for this thing. How come this always falls on you, anyway?”

You agitatedly wiped at your eyes, and Baby pulled your head against his carefully. “Hey. Talk to me.”

“No one can do it the way I can,” you huffed, sniffling slightly. “I just—I feel like everyone’s always depending on me to fix everything, to be correct, to do the right things on time, and—!”

“Stop,” Baby cut you off. “You have coworkers for a reason, (Y/N). If they can’t live up to your standards, it’s not your job to fix their stuff. You shouldn’t have to stay up so often to complete deadlines that aren’t even yours.”

“But . . .”

“It’s not your job to carry the team. Maybe it’s time to switch ‘em.”

You thought about it, grimacing at the thought of getting a new job. “I don’t want to.”

“Then you have to stop letting them push you around,” Baby pressed your cheeks together, sandwiching your face between his hands. “Now, you should get some sleep. You need to rest so you can tell all those people to stop dumping their problems on you.”

Baby took the laptop away from you, making sure your stuff was saved before closing it and setting it on your desk. He pushed your face into the pillow.

“Sleep.”

It’s okay, he’d find ways to get the message through to your coworkers if you didn’t. He had methods.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: Hi! I hope you enjoyed, see you soon!

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch

[sukunahs]

sweet tooth | ryomen sukuna

episode 1: going through it

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

word count: 6.6k

content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, harassment, introverted reader, both reader and sukuna are kinda insecure in their own way, reader's life is falling apart but sukuna is there to make things better

a/n: okay here's the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written I hope you all enjoy the journey of these fools not understanding that the other person likes them lol

also, this first chapter is heavily inspired by the fragrant flower blooms with dignity, please check it out if you haven't already!

series masterlist | ao3 | next chapter (coming soon)

You could barely keep your eyes open. 

The last customer had left your family’s bakery about half an hour ago and you were desperately trying to stay awake and alert. 

But that was difficult when you’d stayed up until 3am last night studying, only to wake up just four hours later to ensure you made it on time to your morning lecture.

Usually after nights like those you'd head straight home after your classes and take a nap, but today you'd had to head to the bakery as soon as your lectures were done, not getting a moment of rest before starting your afternoon shift at the counter. 

It was approaching 8pm now and you were exhausted. 

All you really wanted was to go home and curl up in your bed, but the bakery was still open for half an hour, and even after that you’d have to stay a little longer to clean up. You didn’t want to leave a mess for your dad when he opened the store tomorrow. Especially not with how little energy he had since falling ill. 

You shouldn’t complain. Your dad was going through a lot right now, and helping out at the bakery so that he could rest more was the least you could do. It's not like a little bit of missed sleep for a few months would kill you. 

Deciding that you needed to move around a bit more if you were going to stay awake, you got started on wiping down all the surfaces - if you began to clean up now there’d be less to do once the shop officially closed, and you doubted that anyone would be coming in this late anyway. 

Cleaning the cafe was one of your preferred chores. Dealing with customers often made you anxious, and it was something that you’d always let your father do the bulk of when you were working here more regularly as a teen. He always had such a charisma with people that you felt you were lacking - you’d much rather do the isolated tasks that required less human interaction. 

You were humming a soft tune as you got thoroughly stuck into the task at hand. You wished you could play some of your own music, but your dad’s aesthetic for the shop was all based around this being a place of calm and relaxation, and you blasting pop music out of the speakers was not in line with the vibe he had so carefully curated. 

Wiping down the top of the glass display case, you stared down at the remaining sweet treats for today. More than half of what your father had baked that morning was still sitting there in pristine condition, all set to go to waste unless there was a sudden rush before closing time. 

It was depressing. 

This was the state that the bakery had been in for a while, struggling to compete with so many new places popping up in this part of Tokyo, the majority of them utilising social media to draw in large crowds - something that your dad seemed vehemently against doing. He always said that the cakes should speak for themselves, that people should visit because of his skill, not because of fancy marketing tricks. 

You’d tried explaining to him multiple times that marketing wasn’t cheating, that it was essential to bring in more footfall, to get people to try his baked goods in the first place. But he wouldn’t budge. 

Why did the elderly have to be so stubborn with trying new things? 

If no miracle came through soon you weren’t sure how long the shop would be able to stay open. And if it closed you had no idea how your father was going to continue paying the medical bills for his treatments. The situation was dire. You needed to find some way to help. 

The sound of the bakery’s bell jingling brought you out of your thoughts, and you called out a greeting on instinct, eyes still fixed on the glass cabinet. The customer approached the counter and you found yourself doing a double take as you glanced up at the man who was practically towering over you right now. 

He was massive, easily over 6’5, with dark tattoos running down his face and disappearing under his black hoodie. Multiple silver piercings lined his ears, with a couple more on his face - one on his lip and another on his nose. His eyes were a deep shade of crimson, and felt like they were piercing through you as he stared you down. 

In stark contrast to the rest of his appearance, he had a head of soft, fluffy pink hair - windswept and cute, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t dyed it to line up better with his terrifying appearance. 

“Um.” You started nervously, trying not to stutter. “Can I help you?”

He was looking at you like you were stupid and it had the hairs raising on your arms. 

Was this guy here to kill you? Surely he wasn’t the type of person who frequented sweet little bakeries like this one. Maybe your father’s debts were finally catching up with him and this scary man had been sent to break your legs or something if your dad didn’t pay up. 

“Where’s the old man?” His voice was deep and gravelly, and it sent a shiver ricocheting down your spine. 

Yeah, this guy was going to kill you.

“He’s not here right now.” You lied, your tone defensive. Your dad was currently upstairs in his apartment, but you weren’t going to tell this guy that. As scary as he was, you’d die before you’d just give up your sick father like that. 

“Mmm.” He eyed you for a moment, as if he could tell that you were lying, and you gulped nervously as you held eye contact with him. 

You didn’t want him to ask any follow up questions, needed him to leave so that your fake confidence wouldn’t shatter under his unyielding gaze. How did a person who looked like this even exist? It's like some unknown force had crafted the world’s most threatening being just to make your day more difficult. 

“Can I get a strawberry shortcake?” 

You stared at him dumbly, unable to quite comprehend his words, as if he were speaking another language. 

“What?” You asked, confident that you’d misheard him. 

The man pointed at the top row of the glass display case, his finger angled towards the cake with white icing and a couple of strawberries on top. “Strawberry shortcake.” He repeated slowly, as if trying to teach you what the item was, like you were some kind of fool who’d never encountered strawberry shortcake before, despite your family owning a bakery. 

“Uh, yeah?” Your response came out as more of a question than anything, and a hint of a smirk flitted over his lips as he watched you remain motionless, the request evidently still not sinking in. 

“It's 500 Yen, right?” He asked, rummaging around in his hoodie pocket for change, and you blinked a couple of times in confusion before nodding, shaking off your surprise and grabbing a slice of strawberry shortcake from the cabinet while the customer dropped his coins onto the counter. 

“To go, or..?” You didn’t want to finish the sentence, the thought of him staying in the cafe any longer with his stifling presence was not ideal. Especially when you weren’t far off closing time anyway. 

“Stay in.” He cut you off, shooting you a sharp grin. 

Great.

You nodded meekly and plated up his cake, handing it over to him. His fingers brushed gently against yours as he took the plate from you, and you were surprised at how tingly the touch made your skin feel. 

God, you were touch-starved. You needed to go on a date with someone and soon if this guy was making you feel things.

“Enjoy.” You mumbled as he took his plate over to the table by the window. 

He took no time at all making himself at home, his large frame settling in against the chair that looked comically small beneath him. He rummaged in his black backpack for a moment before pulling out a book, flipping to a dog-eared page and beginning to read, taking bites from his cake every now and then. 

In your sleepy state, you found yourself staring at him for longer than you should have. There was no denying that he was attractive, even if it was in a vaguely terrifying kind of way. Not to mention, you were surprised that he seemed to be reading The Ship of Theseus, one of the many books that you’d written about recently in your literature classes. 

Considering the romance plotline that ran throughout the novel, it was not what you were expecting him to read. 

Not wanting him to call you out for staring, and ultimately concluding that he wasn’t here to kill you or break your legs, you decided to get back to the task at hand, continuing with your cleaning tirade behind the counter. 

About ten minutes later you were pretty much there with your responsibilities - the only things left being those that you could only do once the shop had actually closed, and for now you still had your tattooed customer sprawled out in the window seat. 

You were considering going over there and politely reminding him that the shop would be closing soon, and that he should really get a move on. But before you could do so your father made an appearance, swinging open the door that connected the bakery to his apartment. 

“All okay, sweetheart?” Your dad asked as he stepped into the cafe. 

He looked tired, wearing several layers of clothing despite the weather being relatively mild. It was to make up for all the fat that he’d lost over the last couple of months between his illness and undergoing treatment. He was cold all the time now. 

“All good!” You chirped quickly. “I told you I can handle it, you just go back upstairs and relax.” 

Having him move about too much made you anxious. He’d shrunk so much that you were afraid even a light breeze might knock him over. Between you and your extended family, it was best that you took care of things, and he got all the rest that he needed. 

“Nonsense.” He said, “it makes me feel a little better to get these stiff joints moving, I can’t stay cooped up there all day - besides, your aunt’s got one of her dreadful dramas on and if I watch much more I’m going to lose my mind.” 

You giggled in understanding, letting your father walk into the bakery and take a look around, evidently inspecting how well you’d taken care of it this afternoon. As his gaze swept the room, his tired eyes lit up at the sight of the customer in the corner. 

“Oh, Sukuna!” He called out. 

The customer, Sukuna, you supposed, looked up at him with a grin. “Hey old man. How’s it going?”

Your brow furrowed at the exchange, they knew each other? This man was not the sort of person that you envisaged your nice, kind, gentle father hanging around with. 

“Same as ever!” Your father replied, his tone chipper, as though he hadn’t had several doses of drugs pumped into his arm just last week. “I hope my daughter hasn’t been giving you a hard time?” 

Sukuna’s eyes moved to you, and you felt your heart rate increase beneath his gaze. “Nah, she’s been an angel.” He said with a smirk. 

You felt shy all of a sudden. If Sukuna was a regular then you really should’ve been less defensive with him, especially if you were going to be working here all the time now. Not to mention you shouldn’t have stared at him for so long when he sat down. 

This was no doubt all coming back to haunt you at some point.

“Sweetheart, this is Sukuna. Do you remember Itadori Wasuke from my kendo classes? This is his son.” 

You had a vague memory of the man that your father was talking about. Years ago, back when your dad was still healthy, he’d been a regular attendee at a kendo dojo not far from the shop. He’d made lots of friends there, but Wasuke was one that you’d seen often. You knew that he had two sons, but you’d never met either of them before.

You were not expecting that very respectable man to have a son covered in face tattoos. 

“Oh, uh- nice to meet you.” 

“You too. Your old man talks about you a lot.” Sukuna said, the smile on his face growing wider as your soul practically left your body at the thought of all the embarrassing stories that your father had probably shared with Sukuna. 

“All good, I hope?” You asked cautiously. 

“Of course!” Your dad cut in. “I told him all about what you’re studying, how you’ve always got your nose buried in a book making sure you get the best grades in your class, I’m so proud of you.”

Oh, so he definitely thinks that you're a nerd. Great.

Sukuna was eyeing you with something akin to interest, his gaze sending shivers running down your spine, and you felt your heart flutter with the attention. Your experience with men your age was limited - you’d been so focussed on your studies and making sure that your family was proud of you that you hadn’t had much time for a social life. 

You’d had a boyfriend for a little bit back in your first year of university, but it didn’t work out - you’d never really felt the spark that you were supposed to. Since then your love life had been embarrassingly dry.

So the sultry gaze that Sukuna had set on you right now was unfamiliar territory, and all you could do was hope that your face hadn’t turned bright red. 

“Thanks dad.” You managed to stutter out, not wanting his compliment to go without a response. But you quickly went back to busying yourself behind the counter - mostly pretending to work to avoid any further conversation. 

You’d had enough embarrassment for one day. 

Your dad chatted with Sukuna for a little longer before the pink-haired man started to pack up his things - telling your father that it was getting late and complimenting him on how good the strawberry shortcake was, just like always. 

As he headed for the door, you caught him glancing over at you with a smirk. “Catch you later, angel.” 

Now you were sure that your face was red, and you cursed yourself that the only words you could find in the moment were: “Uh- sure.” 

You studied literature, spent half of your time reading books, and that was the most eloquent line that you could muster? 

You wanted to die. 

Sukuna’s expression was filled with amusement, but he made no further comment on your poor response, raising his hand in a lazy wave as he headed out the door, the bell jingling as he left. 

You let out a deep sigh once he was gone, the intense pressure that he’d brought to the room dissipating with his absence. 

“He’s a nice boy.” You dad said as he approached the counter. 

“Yeah? You wouldn’t think so.” You responded. 

Your father chuckled. “Wasuke said that he used to be a bit of a handful before he went off to university - came back home one day with all those tattoos at age eighteen. I think he’s calmed down a bit now though, he’s never been anything but polite when he comes here.” 

“Does he come here often?” You asked, anxious about just how regularly you were going to be seeing this man. You were no doubt going to embarrass yourself in front of him again if he was a frequent customer.

“Three or four times a week maybe? He has a serious sweet tooth.” 

Great. That was more regular than most of the bakery’s returning customers.

“He goes to your university too.” Your father continued. “I’m not sure what he studies, something in science, I thought the two of you might’ve run into each other before - he always seemed familiar with you when I brought you up.”

As far as you were aware the two of you hadn’t met before today, but it wasn’t like you were really putting yourself out there much at university. You had your small, tight-knit group of friends and outside of that you didn’t talk much to anybody. 

Although, you didn’t think you were so unobservant that you wouldn’t have noticed someone as unique as Sukuna walking around. But perhaps you were more caught up in your own world than you thought. 

The idea that he was familiar with you though had your pulse quickening, you wouldn’t expect someone who looked like him to take any notice of your existence. There was nothing special about you. 

“No…I’ll keep an eye out for him on campus.” You said. 

“You should! Wasuke is always saying that he needs to find a nice girl to keep him in line.” You looked at your dad incredulously, certain that you were not the type of girl Sukuna would be looking for. 

Also, considering that the last time your father had tried to play matchmaker it hadn’t really worked out, you weren’t really keen for him to set you up a second time. 

“I think I’ll pass on that.” Your father shrugged, a sly smile on his wrinkled face

“Suit yourself! But he always seems very interested when I talk about you. Called you pretty when I was showing him some pictures too.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying your best not to linger on those words. Sukuna was just being pleasant, or your dad was reading into things. It didn’t mean anything, you didn’t even know each other after all, and you doubted Sukuna wanted to get to know you. 

You clearly moved in very different circles. 

“Can I take these?” You asked, quickly changing the subject and gesturing to some of the leftover pastries. Your dad nodded, and although he hid it quickly, you caught the look of sorrow that crossed his face at the realisation of how little had sold today.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? It's getting late.” He offered, watching as you packed up your bag. 

It was tempting, you’d get to avoid taking a half an hour train back to your rented apartment in Ueno. But with your aunt staying with your dad full time now, there wasn’t really all that much space for you in the two-bed apartment above the store. You were so tired that you needed a good night’s sleep in an actual bed, the couch just wasn’t going to cut it. 

“No, I need to get back. It's closer to campus and I don’t want to miss my lecture tomorrow morning.” 

“Okay, sweetheart.” He said, although he sounded a little put out. He was leaning heavily on the counter, as if just standing up was a great amount of effort for him. “You’re coming in tomorrow afternoon again, right?” 

“Yeah, of course.” You said with a forced smile.

You didn’t want to let on just how badly you actually needed that time to focus on your coursework, and you tried not to think too much about the assignment that you needed to get done before the end of the week - you hadn’t even started the book that you had to write the essay on yet. 

You’d just have to stay up late once you were done with your shift tomorrow night, get a little bit of speed reading done and bash out your essay in a couple of hours. 

It would all be fine. Making sure your father wasn’t overwhelmed was more important anyway. 

Ensuring that the shop was all clean and ready for tomorrow morning, you gave your dad a soft smile. “Need me to help you up the stairs?” You asked, and he waved you off flippantly. 

“I’ll be fine.” He was a prideful man, and ever since his illness he’d despised the way that people would take pity on him, jump at any opportunity to help him. It was painful to watch him stagger around unaided all because he didn’t want to be helped. 

But you weren’t going to fight him on it. It was late and you were exhausted. 

“Alright. Goodnight, dad.” 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He said, raising his hand in farewell as you headed out into the street. 

The area was quiet at this time of evening. Your family’s shop was located in Shinjuku, where night life was generally thriving, but the bakery itself was tucked away down a side street, a little removed from the hustle and bustle of the city. You were mostly grateful for that, because it meant that the chances of being bothered by drunk salarymen while on your way home was relatively low.

Unfortunately, luck didn’t seem to be on your side today, because as you shuffled through the sidestreets in the direction of the station, you found your path cut off by three men, talking loudly with each other and chuckling, their faces red with intoxication.

Hoping that they were too drunk to even notice you, you kept your head bowed and tried to shuffle past them, mumbling out a quiet ‘excuse me’ as you did so. But things could never be that easy, because as you approached their focus quickly turned to you. 

“Hey, what’s a pretty girl like you doing out this late?” You took a step back as the man in the middle of the trio leaned over you, slurring his words as he spoke. 

‘This late’? It wasn’t even 9pm yet.

“Going to meet my boyfriend...” You said, trying your best not to let your voice shake. Usually the mention of a boyfriend was enough to placate men like this, they’d always respect a man after all. Besides, if you stood your ground they might just let you go by. All you wanted was to go to sleep, you really didn’t have time for this. 

“What’s the rush though?” Another of the men asked. They were really crowding you now, taking up so much of the narrow side street that you couldn’t easily get past without making an active move to dart around them. 

“Yeah, come drink a bit with us baby, we’ll show you a good time - I’m sure your boyfriend won’t mind.” Revulsion climbed up your spine at how pushy they were being. Any boyfriend certainly should mind three creepy men trying to proposition a girl who clearly wasn’t interested. 

“No, thank you.” You said firmly, and you took a step back, pivoting to try and walk around the men. 

But before you could quite get past, one of them grabbed your wrist firmly and your eyes went wide with shock, heart racing with fear and adrenaline. With a surprising amount of force, the man pushed you up against the wall, and you let out a yelp of pain at the feeling of your back meeting the brick. 

“Don’t be so difficult, yeah?” The man hissed, leaning close to you. “Me and my buddies here are just trying to have a nice night, why’re you ruining it?” 

“Get away from me.” You said firmly, body shaking a little as you considered the situation you were in. You needed to get away from here now.

“Aw, don't be like that.” One of the men said as he leant in close to you. And you struggled desperately, just about managing to pull one of your hands free, and on instinct you slapped the man hard across the face.

There was silence for a moment, and even you were shocked by the force that you’d put into the hit, not doubting that the impact would leave a mark on the man’s face. 

“You little bitch.” He hissed, and in an instant he was drawing his fist back, sending it flying towards you. Your eyes went wide, completely frozen in the moment and unable to do anything but wait to get hit, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as you waited for the contact. 

But the pain never came. 

Instead you felt a warm hand wrap around your shoulder, an arm tugging you firmly against a chest as you heard a thud. 

Your eyes flew open in surprise, and all you could see was the black fabric of someone’s hoodie. You pulled back a little and your heart picked up at the sight of who had come to your rescue. Holding you protectively was Sukuna, looking even more intimidating than before as his red eyes glared down at your harassers. 

Standing much taller than you, the punch from your attacker had bounced harmlessly off his back, but he still looked like he was very pissed off. 

“Sukuna…” You said quietly. He wasn’t paying attention to you right now, too fixated on the man that had tried to hit you. You stayed huddled against him, not wanting to move from the protective bubble you were in at his side. 

At the sight of Sukuna, the two other men had instantly fled down the street - their bravery no match for his fearsome appearance. But the ringleader stood firm, too full of pride to flee along with the others. 

“That bitch hit me, you know.” He explained to Sukuna, as if he could appeal to a man’s sensibilities and turn him against you. 

Sukuna’s hand was still grasping your shoulder tightly, and you felt his grip intensify at the man’s words. Looking up at him, it was clear that he was seething, an unsettling grin sitting on his face. 

“Yeah?” He asked, slowly releasing you but making sure to keep you behind him, not giving the man an opportunity to lunge at you. 

He took a few steps forward, towering over the man and leaning over as he spoke, highlighting the difference in height between them. “So that makes it okay, huh? A girl defends herself from some creep in an alleyway, and that gives you the right to punch her?” 

The threatening tone in Sukuna’s voice had your heart racing. If he’d been talking to you like that, looking at you with that terrifying gaze, you probably would’ve dropped to the floor and started crying by now. 

“Come on man, women like that need to be put in their place.” The man spat. 

Sukuna grinned, chuckling for a moment as he stood up to his full height, the man’s shoulders relaxing a little at his reaction, clearly thinking that he’d found a way to clear up this misunderstanding. 

Less than a second later Sukuna’s fist was cracking hard into the man’s nose, the sheer force of the punch sending him sprawling, and you gasped as you covered your mouth in surprise. 

This was the first time you’d ever seen such a thing in real life.

Sukuna stood over the man, watching him with amusement as he tried to stumble to his feet. It took him about thirty seconds, his hands desperately attempting to stop the blood flowing from his nose. It was clear that he was no match for your tattooed savior, and you assumed that Sukuna would encourage him to walk away - try to convince him that a fight wasn’t worth it.

But that wasn’t the type of man Sukuna was. On the contrary, instead of de-escalating the situation, he egged the man on.

“Aw come on - you had so much bravado when you thought you were going to hit a girl! Let's see some of that fire.” Sukuna mocked, and your heart leapt with fear as the man was goaded into taking a swing at Sukuna, landing a punch squarely on his cheek. 

You let out a cry of concern at the unpleasant sound of the impact, only for Sukuna to laugh loudly at the man’s attempt as he shook it off like nothing had happened, asking if that was really the best he could do. 

It was just starting to occur to you that Sukuna must be insane, when he was hitting the man once more, sending him to the floor again. And this time the drunkard didn’t want to stick around to try his luck with Sukuna any further, desperately scrambling to his feet and sprinting down the street in search of his cowardly friends. 

It was a pathetic sight, your attacker whimpering and crying as he fled, the confidence that he’d displayed before Sukuna’s appearance nowhere to be found. 

A deep sigh left Sukuna’s body, and he turned around to look at you. Your eyes were wide with fear and worry, not really capable of comprehending what had just happened. 

“You okay?” He asked, and you nodded quickly. You were fine, but you certainly wouldn’t be taking this route to the train station at night anymore. 

“Your face!” You said softly with a gasp. The man had gotten a solid punch in on Sukuna, and there was blood dripping from his cheek as a result of the contact. Even if Sukuna had asked the man if that was the best he could do, it was clear that he had in fact been hit hard.

You were over to him in a second, pulling a handkerchief from your pocket, standing up on your tiptoes and dabbing at the blood without a second thought. Sukuna leant down slightly to make it easier for you, seemingly enjoying being doted upon. 

It was only when you’d gotten most of the blood off his face that you felt suddenly shy, aware of how close you were to him.

“Oh, uh-” you took a step back, handing him the handkerchief. “Sorry, I should let you do it…” 

Sukuna smirked at you charmingly. “All good, angel - you were doing such a good job.” 

His praise did something to you, and you had to fake a cough to conceal the squeak of surprise that almost made it out of your mouth. 

“Thank you.” You whispered once you’d composed yourself a little. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all that for me.” Sukuna was still dabbing at his cheek, and he shrugged his shoulders apathetically. 

He was acting like it wasn’t a big deal but it was, he could potentially get in trouble for what he’d done, even if he was just doing it to protect you. 

“Don’t worry about it. Your old man would want me looking out for you. Besides, this is far from the first fight I’ve been in.” You nodded, feeling at least a little reassured by how laid back he was about the whole thing, as if he’d done this hundreds of times. 

As you looked up at him, his hair tousled and his crimson eyes wild with adrenaline, you couldn’t help but think about how handsome he was, especially with how he was looking at you right now - his expression so uncharacteristically soft compared to how he’d glared at your attacker. 

But you shouldn’t think that way. 

He was just being nice, doing a favor for your dad. He wasn’t the sort of person who’d be interested in someone like you, so you should really stop thinking about how hot he was, how nice he smelled, and how pleasant it felt when he’d wrapped his arm around you. 

“Want me to walk you to the station?” He asked. “You live in Ueno right? I think that’s what your dad said.” You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at the thought that he remembered things your father would tell him about you. 

“Oh, yeah - please.” You certainly didn’t want to be alone if you encountered those guys again on your way there. And if you were being honest, you didn’t hate the idea of a little bit more time with Sukuna. 

The two of you headed towards the station, with him falling comfortably in step beside you as you wandered down the street. Your heart was still racing, adrenaline pumping through you, and you were glad for Sukuna’s presence keeping you grounded. 

There was no doubt that your mind would be running wild with what-ifs if you were left alone to think about what had just happened. You were sure that was going to hit you with full force later once you were safely back at your apartment. 

But for now, Sukuna seemed to be actively working to keep you distracted with small talk. “I live in Ueno too.” He said. “You’re lucky I had to stop at Family Mart on the way back or I would’ve already been on the train by now.” 

That was lucky, you’d been wondering how he’d caught you just at the right time considering he’d left around ten minutes before you did. 

“If you live in Ueno why do you go to my family’s bakery?” You asked, genuinely curious. It was quite out of the way from the university campus, and you only went there because you had to. 

“It has the best cakes.” He said with a shrug. “Besides, my old man is always talking about how the bakery is struggling to get customers - I’ve been going there for a while.” 

“Mmm.” You nodded, satisfied with that explanation, and a little bit flattered by the fact that Sukuna would go out of his way like that. It was kind of him. He really didn’t need to do all that. 

“I haven’t ever seen you working there before though.” He commented.

“Oh, I’ve only just started again - when I moved out and started at university a few years back my dad made me quit, said he wanted me to focus on my studies and not worry about him but…” You glanced at Sukuna, assuming that he probably wasn’t aware of your father’s condition. “They, uh, needed a bit more help than usual lately, so I’m there part time now.” 

“That’s nice of you.” He said, clicking his tongue. “I see you around campus a lot, you know.” 

That brought some heat to your cheeks, the confirmation that he was aware of your existence before today was a little bit nerve-wracking, and had you feeling like you were on the backfoot, since you’d only learnt of his existence today. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your dad is always showing me pictures and stuff, so you were easy to recognise. Always thought about saying hello but I didn’t wanna scare you like I did today.” 

Oh. That made you feel a little guilty. You’d made a complete snap judgement based on how he looked when he’d actually been nothing but pleasant to you. Your reaction to his appearance in the shop had been really rude.

“You, uh, didn’t scare me.” You tried lying, but it was extremely transparent and Sukuna let out a laugh. 

“Hate to break it to you angel, but you looked like you were gonna pass out.” You pouted a little, frustrated by your tendency to wear your emotions on your face. 

“Yeah, okay you’re right. I thought you were a debt collector or something.” He was laughing harder now, and you found that you really liked the sound, it was making your heart jump in your chest. 

“What? You thought I was there to intimidate you or something? Break your legs for late payment?” 

“Yeah.” You mumbled, and he grinned, endeared by your response.

“What do you study?” You asked, switching topics - not wanting to linger too long on how pathetic you’d been earlier. 

“Engineering.” He responded. “Its pretty interesting.” 

“Oh! I do Literature.” You said, deciding to offer a little information about yourself. 

“Yeah, I know.” He said, and you looked at him in surprise, almost a bit unnerved by how much he already seemed to know about you. “Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of stalker, your dad loves to talk and I’m usually the only one there.” 

You giggled softly - that sounded like it was the truth. Your father would take any opportunity to prop you up in front of others, it was just in his nature. “Sorry about him, there’s nothing he loves more than talking.” 

“It's all good with me. I like hearing him talk.” Sukuna said. “Although, it's nice to finally get to talk to you. Had this whole image of you built up in my head for a while now.” 

That was incredibly unnerving. There was no way that you’d be able to live up to all the nice things your father was probably saying about you. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” You said, self-depreciatingly. 

“Oh you haven’t. I’d assumed that you were meek based on what your old man tells me, but then I watched you slap that guy, so I guess you’re full of surprises.” He commented as the two of you approached the train station, hopping on the Yamanote line heading towards Ueno. 

The train wasn’t too busy at this time of day, but there were still a limited amount of seats. You found two together, and you couldn’t help but notice the way that your leg was pressed up against Sukuna’s - his frame far too bulky for the size of the seats. 

“Is your face going to be okay?” You asked, looking at the wound with concern. 

“Yeah, I’ve had way worse.” He said with a grin, and you decided that it was probably better not to ask, if the glee from him beating the man in the alleyway was anything to go off, you were certain that he’d had many more colourful encounters. 

“I bet.” You mumbled. 

The two of you sat in silence for a little while, letting the events of the evening sink in. Your mind was just starting to spiral into worry again about how far behind you were on work and how going outside at night felt scary now, when Sukuna cut through all your thoughts. 

“Are you busy tomorrow?” He asked, and you looked at him with surprise.

“Huh?” 

He sighed. “Do you have plans tomorrow, or are you free to do something?” 

You were a little caught off guard by his question. Why would he want to know? He was just bringing you home out of obligation right? Out of respect for your dad. Why would he want to spend more time with you? 

Maybe your father had told him all about how anti-social you’d grown lately, how much you’d shut yourself off from the world. Perhaps this was some sort of pity project that your father had set Sukuna on. 

That made you feel like shit. 

“I’ve got lectures all morning, and then I have to work at the shop.” You said. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to spend more time with him, but you were busy, and you didn’t want his attention just out of pity.

“Hmm.” He pondered for a moment, before shooting you a grin. “How about I come to the bakery in the evening again?”

“Oh you don’t have to - I’m fine really, if you’re just being nice…” You said, politely turning him down. It was better to stop things now before you got attached to him, it would hurt way more to find out that he didn’t really like you if you started spending time with him. 

“I’m not nice.” Sukuna said simply, sharp eyes fixed on you. “I want to know you better.” 

Now your stomach was doing flips, unsure what to make of this - not used to anyone being so straightforward with you, and still unclear on what it was he was seeing in you.

Sensing your hesitation, Sukuna cut in again. “Just let me buy you a cake, okay? It's the least you can do for me after I so valiantly saved you from those guys.” Sukuna reasoned.

The look in his crimson eyes was so earnest, and your traitorous heart couldn’t stop pounding from the way he was gazing at you right now. 

You supposed one little meet up couldn’t hurt. 

“Fine.” 

a/n: thanks for reading! I'm not sure how quickly this fic will get updated as my main focus is to distant lands but I'll try and have a chapter out once every two weeks

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! replies and reblogs are appreciated as always!! <3

© sukunahs

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

please please PLEASE more hyperspermia with joel. maybe a longer fic where he just keeps filling reader over and over and over and talking sooo filthy. maybe sprinkle in some mean joel… 😔

(need this man #raw)

One more

Parings: mean!joel miller x fem!reader

Content warnings: explicit content 18+, overstimulation, breeding kink, hyperspermia, degradation (calling reader 'milkslut', 'cumdump'), praise kink, cock bulge/belly bulge, cum inflation/swollen belly, hair pulling and slapping, possessive and mean!joel, choking (consensual), dirty talk, use of pet names 'babygirl' and 'sweetheart, excessive cum play, potential physical exhaustion/weakness of reader.

Word count: 1000

Your body's already trembling neath him, the sheets ruined, soaked with sweat and slick and cum, but dosent stop.

He can't.

He needs it.

Needs you. Like this.

He mutters something under his breath, something low and filthy and before gripping your hip, hauling you up onto your side. You're pliant, twitching, a gasp trapped in your throat as he rolls you, presses his chest to your back and sinks back inside your slick, aching cunt.

Slow. Deep. Possessive.

"Fuck- joel-"

"Shh. Shh, baby. I know."

His voice is all gravel and heat, right at your ear as he presses his palmdown over your belly. "Just one. Just need one."

But it's never just one with him.

He drives in again. And again.

Thick and hard and dripping wet, dragging the mess of himself lit of you, only to bury it back in with a bruising slap of skin. You're so full, streched wide and trembling as he fucks his cum deeper and deeper inside. "So fuckin' tight," Joel grits out, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shouler. "You feel that, sweetheart? That's all me. All that mess dripping down your thighs. Fuckin- look at you." He fists your hair and makes you lift your head just enough to see the bulge in your stomach, his cock, thick and swollen, pushing up against the swell in your belly as he pistons inside you.

"Milkslut," He growls.

"That what you wanted? That why you were beggin' earlier, grindin' all needy on meoke some dumb little bitch in heat?"

You whimper, tears spilling. It's too much- but you crave every second of it. "Uh-huh," He smirks, breathing hot filth into your skin.

"You like being red, don't you? Like gettin' filled up, leaking all over the fuckin' sheets like a messy little whore." His voice drops, darker now. The pace is brutal. The sound of your soaked pussy clapping against his hips is loud in the room,arched only by your stuttering moans.

"Mine"

A hard thrust.

"Mine"

Another.

"Say it."

You can't even form the word, not when he's gripping your throat, not when your brain's short circuited from the pleasure, your cunt spasming around him from the fourth orgasm he's wrung our of you in the last hour.

He doesn't care.

"Say it."

"Y-Yours, Joel- oh fuck, I'm yours-"

"That's right, baby."

He slaps your ass, watching it jiggle. Watching you take it.

"Good fuckin' girl, such a good little cum dump for me. Gonna fuck a baby into you, keep you swollen all the fuckin' time."

You clench.

That breaks him.

His thrusts go sloppy as he empties into you again, groaning loud, hips grinding into the mess between your thighs, making sure mome of it leaks out. "Goddamn - take it, sweetheart. Don't spill a drop. You hear me?" Your thighs are shaking. His seed is leaking. And Joel just laughs, low and mean.

"Better get used to this, darlin'. 'Cause I ain't pullin' out ever again."

~~~

You've already lost count.

Maybe it was the third time he came- maybe the fifth. It's impossible to know anymore with how long he's kept you pinned, stuffed full of his cock, held there like a ragdoll while he fucks you into the mattress. His chest is slick with sweat, body heavy and burning against your back as he thrusts up into you, rutting slow and deep. Every movement makes your cunt squelch loud, messy, soaked in his cum and slick and spit and who the fuck knows what else.

"You hear that?"

Joel bites your earlobe as he pushes in to the hilt.

"You fucking hear that, baby? That's me pourin' into you again"

And he is.

You feel it.

Another thick gush floods you as he groans, hips grinding in tight, desperate circles, pumping rope after rope of heat so deep it makes your eyes flutter back. The pressure builds in your belly, a warmth that spreads slow, growing fuller, heavier, deeper.

"Shit- fuck," You whimper, voice shaking. "Its- joel- it's too much, I can't-"

"You can, sweetheart. You will."

He smirks into your neck, teeth grazing skin. "This cunt's made to take it. My messy little milkslut."

Your belly's swollen now, soft and rounded where his cock bulges up through your skin. His hand spreads wide over it, pressing down just enough to feel himself from the inside. "Fuckin' look at this," Be growls, voice dropping filth.

"Can feel my cock through your tummy. You're so fuckin' full, babygirl. Stuffed to the brim and still takin' it. "

He pulls back just an inch only to ram in again.

A squirt of cum spills from between your thighs. It's not the first time. Wont be the last.

"There it is. Can't even hold it anymore."

He watches it leak down your ass, pooling beneath you on the sheets.

"Made my own little cumdump. Look at that mess. So greedy for it. "

Another thrust. You sob into the pillow, overstimulated and burning. Your thighs are shaking, soaked with slick and sweat and his endless release.

"Gotta keep fuckin' it back in"

He shoves deeper, groaning.

"I ain't done. Not 'till I plug you ful. 'till there's no room left in that little pussy of yours."

You're whimpering, clawing weakly at the sheets.

"Say it," He grits out, slapping your plump red ass.

"Say what you are."

"I'm- I'm your- your milkslut," You gasp, breath hitching.

"Fuck Joel- I'm your filthy little milkslut-"

"Good fuckin' girl."

Another load floods you. Thick, hot, endless. Your belly streches a little more beneath his hand and Joel moans sl deep it rumbles against your back. "That's it. Take it. Take every last fuckin' drop." When he finally stops moving, cock still twitching inside you, you feel it. The sheer weight of him isndid. How soaked you are, how ruined.

But Joel just keeps you there. Plugged full, your cunt fluttering weakly around him.

You're shaking.

He laughs softly and strokes your belly.

"Gonna knock you up real good this time, babygirl."