#I’ve never had to worry about something like this

[verstappenverse]

hi! can i request that the reader and max anticipate their first child? he was so worried when the reader had a morning sickness and when the reader was about to deliver the baby? he worried whether he could be a good father or not to their firstborn baby. and how he was so protective, care, and just soft with the reader? thank you! i love your fics anyway, you're doing great! i hope you have a very good day ahead!! xoxo.

What If I Get It Wrong?

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was never afraid of anything, but fatherhood? That’s a different kind of terrifying. As the two of you prepare for your first child, Max is protective, terrified, and completely in awe, and you watch the man you love fall headfirst into fatherhood. (Requested)

4.1k words / Masterlist

You weren’t expecting it to feel like this, equal parts overwhelming and breathtaking. A surreal mix of the mundane and the extraordinary.

Two faint pink lines on a stick, the distant hum of the bathroom fan. The sound of your shaky breathing as you sit on the edge of the tub, blinking down at something that just shifted the axis of your entire world.

Your hands tremble when you press your palm to your stomach. It’s still flat. Still unchanged. And yet… you already feel different. Maybe not physically, but something inside you is new. Expanding. Blooming.

You had a plan.

Of course you did. You’d always imagined telling Max with a smile too wide to hide, maybe over a fancy private dinner at home with the test tucked inside a gift box or a Red Bull baby onesie folded on his plate. Maybe filming his reaction when he opened it. Something worthy of the moment. Something permanent.

You even started writing a card, got as far as, "You changed my life once. Now—."

But when the door opens that night and Max comes in, home late from some media obligations, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and grumbling about TikTok's and something you can’t quite hear. You don’t even get a word in before he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry I’m late. What’re we having for—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words leap out of you before you even mean to say them. It’s not soft. It’s not poetic. It’s raw and breathless and a little panicked.

The silence is immediate. Thick. His mouth stays open mid-word. His eyes flick to your stomach, then back to your face.

“I—” you start, already flustered, “I was gonna tell you in some big, sweet way, I swear. With a whole surprise and maybe a stupid cake or balloons, I even wrote like half a card and now I’ve just blurted it out like a maniac and—”

“Pregnant,” he interrupts.

You nod. Your voice is a whisper. “Yeah.”

It takes another two seconds before a breathless laugh escapes him. He crosses the room in one long stride, pulling you into his arms. His hands cradle your face like you’re something breakable. “You’re serious?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “I took the test three times.”

He looks down at your stomach again. Then back at you. Then exhales a shaky breath that sounds like something breaking open in his chest.

“I’m going to be a dad?”

You bite your lip, eyes filling. “Yeah. You are.”

You nod again, and before you can say another word, he’s kissing you. Slow. Deep. His hand presses instinctively to your belly, protective already, and you feel his body tremble as his forehead rests against yours.

The nerves come quickly.

You’re crouched over the toilet, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain, on what feels like your fifth straight day of relentless nausea. Your stomach rolls again, and you groan, dry heaving into nothing.

Max hovers like a man teetering on the edge of a panic attack. He’s pacing the bathroom floor in bare feet, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other holding your water bottle like it might fix something if he just offers it enough times.

“Should I call someone?” he says for the third time in five minutes. “A hospital? Maybe your mum, I think, maybe Dr. Hendriks? I’ll fly him in. We have the jet, it’s—”

“Max,” you croak, cutting him off mid-spiral. “I’m fine. Just... a bit gross.”

He drops to a crouch beside you so fast you almost flinch. His hand is instantly at your back, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles over your spine like he’s trying to manually ease the nausea out of you.

“You threw up twice, you’ve barley eaten anything since yesterday, and you can’t even stand up straight. This isn’t fine,” he mutters, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for signs of something worse.

You want to reassure him, but all you can manage is another gag and a feeble wave of your hand.

He makes a frustrated sound under his breath, somewhere between a growl and a groan and presses a kiss to your temple. You feel him shift beside you, still kneeling, still rubbing your back.

You’re pretty sure he was supposed to be on a flight to the Red Bull factory two hours ago. His suitcase is still zipped up in the hallway. His laptop sits forgotten on the kitchen counter next to the tea he brewed for you earlier, the tea you couldn’t even look at, let alone sip.

He didn’t even finish drying his hair. It’s still damp, curling at the edges. There’s a red line pressed into his cheek from where he must’ve fallen asleep beside you on the bathroom floor the night before.

“Max,” you mumble, finally able to lift your head. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, exhausted, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before the baby’s even here.”

He tries to laugh but it comes out hoarse and half-broken. “I just hate this. Watching you like this. I keep thinking, what if I’m missing something? What if I’m not doing enough?”

You tilt your head up slightly, catching the crease between his brows, the lines of guilt that don’t belong there.

“You made me three kinds of toast this morning,” you murmur. “And cut the crusts off, and you held my hair and Googled ginger remedies until your phone died.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you press a hand to his chest right over the spot where his heart’s racing, fast and wild.

“You’re here,” you whisper. “That’s not useless. That’s everything.”

He exhales shakily, eyes locked on yours and for a second you swear they shine.

“I’m just so scared of getting it wrong,” he admits, barely audible. “This whole dad thing. Taking care of you. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done, and I keep feeling like I’m already screwing it up.”

“You’re not,” you promise, curling your fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re already the best dad, because you care so much, because you show up.”

The weeks pass in waves. Ultrasounds. Appointments. Cravings that come out of nowhere at 2 a.m. and leave you both laughing in the kitchen in your pajamas, sharing a jar of pickles and toast with peanut butter. There are stretches of calm, slow, quiet mornings when the Monaco sunlight creeps across the bedsheets and Max wraps an arm around your waist, murmuring something sleepy against your neck. And then there are flashes of chaos, bags packed, schedules rearranged, Max on a video call with his race engineers while still rubbing your swollen feet with one hand.

Somehow, amidst it all, you find a rhythm.

You learn to time what you can around Max’s races, his travel, his returns. You count the days until he’s back, until he’s lying beside you again, one hand stretched protectively over your belly like it’s instinct now.

The first time you hear the heartbeat Max looks like someone knocked the air out of him. His mouth parts. His eyes fill.

“She’s real,” he whispers, the words barely making it past his lips. “Our baby is real.”

You haven’t even found out the gender yet, but he says she instinctively, without hesitation, like his heart already knows something the rest of you don’t.

You tease him about it once, smiling as he folds baby clothes that aren’t even needed yet.

“It might be a boy you know?” you say, watching him hold up a tiny lemon-patterned onesie like it’s the crown jewels.

He looks up from the clothes, something quiet and unshakable in his gaze. “Maybe, but I don’t know, I just feel it, every time I picture the future, it’s you... and her.”

You stare at him, your breath catching somewhere in your throat.

“She’s loud,” he continues, grinning now, his accent curling around the softness of his voice. “Talks too much. Bosses me around. Already a little menace. Definitely your child.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs, quick and boyish, and leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. “You’ll see. She’s gonna have your fire.”

You don’t say it, but the truth sinks deep into your chest, he already loves this baby with his whole being.

He talks to your belly when he thinks you’re asleep. You catch him doing it all the time, quiet, unguarded moments where his world has narrowed down to two things, you and the life you’re creating together.

When you both lie awake at night, hands intertwined under the duvet, whispering about baby names and nursery colors and what kind of parents you want to be, Max is always a little breathless. Like he still can’t believe it’s real. Like he’s terrified and amazed in equal measure.

“She’s going to change everything,” he murmurs once, voice low in the dark.

“She already has,” you whisper back.

He nods slowly, curling into you like he always does, like you’re the only home he’s ever needed.

Max becomes… soft.

In every possible way.

It’s not just the way he handles you now, like you’re something precious and breakable. It’s not just the way he walks slower beside you or watches your face when you stand up too quickly or how he quietly puts your sneakers on for you when your feet start to swell.

It’s in the little things.

He buys three different pregnancy pillows, a full-body one, a C-shaped one, and some strange ergonomic wedge because he isn’t sure which one will help you sleep better. One night you catch him actually reading a parenting blog in bed next to you, blue light from his phone casting shadows across the duvet. He scrolls silently, occasionally muttering things like:

“Did you know babies can hear our voices by week twenty?”

Or,

“Apparently we’re supposed to play music for her.”

Then there’s the night you find him in the nursery.

It’s late. You’d gotten up to grab water and noticed the light was on down the hall. You pad softly to the doorway, heart already warm with affection and there he is.

Max. Standing perfectly still. The crib is built, assembled a few days ago it sits against the far wall now, freshly made up with soft cream sheets and a stuffed lion tucked in the corner.

He’s just staring at it.

Half terror. Half wonder.

“Max?” you say gently, stepping into the room.

He startles a little but doesn’t turn around.

“Do you think I’ll be good at this?” he murmurs.

You cross the room without answering and slide your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against the cotton of his t-shirt. He reaches for your hands, holds them tightly over his chest.

“You’re already good,” you whisper.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. The kind that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest for months.

“It’s just…” he starts, and then pauses, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t exactly have the perfect example.”

You nod, letting the silence stretch. You don’t talk about his childhood much but he’s never needed to say much for you to understand. Jos was many things, passionate, driven, ambitious. But he was also sharp around the edges. Affection was earned, not given freely. Max learned young what it meant to perform under pressure. To please. To succeed, or suffer.

“I’m scared I’ll mess her up,” he says, voice quieter now. “That I’ll push too hard. Or expect too much. Or say something I can’t take back. What if she cries and I don’t know how to make it better? What if she needs something I don’t know how to give?”

You pull back just enough to tilt your head and meet his gaze.

“Max, you’re the most patient person I know.”

He snorts, but there’s not much humor in it. “That’s a word I don’t think has ever been used to describe me.”

“You’re patient with people you love,” you correct gently. “With me. You’ve been soft and kind and so careful this whole time, even when I’ve been sick or moody or irrational. You listen. That’s what she’ll see. That’s what she’ll learn.”

You hesitate, then add softly, “I’m scared too, you know.”

His brows draw together, surprised. Maybe he hadn’t realised, maybe you’ve hidden it well. “You are?”

You nod. “Every single day. I lie in bed and think about how much we don’t know yet. About how overwhelming it all feels sometimes. What if I’m not enough? What if she needs more than I can give?”

His arms tighten around you instinctively, like he’s trying to hold the fear out of your body.

“But then I see you,” you whisper. “And I remember… we don’t have to do any of it alone, and that makes all the difference.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just turns in your arms, eyes a little wet, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” he breathes. “Not with her. Not with you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper. “But if you ever feel like you are, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He nods slowly. Swallows. “Promise me you’ll tell me if I ever forget, if I ever slip. If I start to become…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

“I promise, but I already know I won’t need to.” you say, holding his face in your hands.

You kiss him then, soft and sure, and he kisses you back like your faith in him is something he never wants to let go of. And in the stillness of that nursery, with your belly pressed to his and the crib waiting quietly behind you, Max lets the fear settle… just a little.

Maybe it’s okay to be scared, as long as neither of you is scared alone.

The last month is the hardest.

Your back feels like it’s been replaced by concrete. Your feet have swollen so much you’ve officially retired every pair of shoes you own except one pair of very ugly slides. You cry at everything, a dog food commercial, a voicemail from your mum, Max just looking at you across the kitchen.

You’re tired in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your body feels like it’s working overtime to grow a person and also remind you of gravity’s cruelest tricks.

Max, meanwhile, has entered full protective mode. As if the impending arrival of your daughter has turned every single instinct inside him up to eleven.

He won’t let you lift anything.

Not a grocery bag. Not a chair. Not even your own overnight hospital bag.

You once reached for a water bottle and he appeared out of thin air swiping it out of your reach with a sharp, scandalized look.

“Max,” you deadpanned, “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

“I’m aware,” he muttered, already unscrewing the cap and handing it to you like a peace offering.

“You think the baby’s going to fall out if I hold a Fiji bottle?”

“No,” he said seriously, “but why take the risk.”

You rolled your eyes then. You do it often now. But secretly?

You love it.

You love how protective he is. How he walks slightly behind you in crowds, like a buffer. How he started driving ten kilometers under the limit the second you entered your third trimester, even though he used to complain that Monaco traffic was basically just expensive cars parked in motion.

You love how he fusses, quietly but constantly. How he now triple-checks that your favorite snack is stocked before leaving the apartment, how he installed a nightlight in the hallway so you wouldn't trip during your nightly bathroom trips. How he downloaded six different white noise apps on his phone so you could try them out in bed. "For practice," he said, “in case she’s fussy.”

But what really gets you, what makes your chest ache with something warm and vast and impossible to describe is the way his face changes every time you talk about the baby.

A softening around his eyes. A slight tilt of his head. The more you speak about her name, about what she might look like, about whether she’ll like racing or painting or maybe dinosaurs, the more he leans in.

He’s never looked at you like this before. Not when he’s on the podium. Not even after winning his first championship. This? This is different.

This is awe. This is devotion. This is Max Verstappen world-class driver, famously unshakeable completely and utterly undone by the thought of his daughter.

He leans down and kisses your skin. “She’s going to wreck me isn’t she?”

“She already has.”

He looks up at you, eyes shining under the soft lamp light, and for once he doesn’t have a smart reply.

Then the day finally comes.

You wake at 3:13 a.m. with a pressure in your abdomen that steals your breath. It isn’t sharp, not at first. Just a heavy, aching pull deep in your core, like gravity has shifted suddenly inside you.

For a moment you think it’s another false alarm.

You shift under the covers, already rehearsing the mental checklist your doctor gave you: hydration, time the contractions, don’t panic. You ease out of bed, try walking to the bathroom, just like they said to do when you’re not sure it’s real yet, but then the pain tightens, sharp and low and unmistakable. It doesn’t come and go. It grips.

Just like that you know.

You shuffle back to the bed and place a trembling hand on Max’s chest.

“Max.”

He jolts upright as if someone’s fired a starter pistol. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it time?”

His voice is gravelly with sleep, but his body is already moving.

You nod, barely able to get the words out through the rising wave of pain.

“Okay. Okay. Alright, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, as he flings the covers off and springs into motion.

What follows is like watching a pit stop in human form.

Max moves with sharp, terrifying focus. He’s already helped you into the comfiest clothes he can find, sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts, before you even finish brushing your teeth. He pulls the hospital bag from the front closet, double-checks its contents, grabs your water bottle, chargers, snacks, the car keys.

But the entire time, his hands are shaking.

You notice it in the way he fumbles with the seatbelt when helping you into the car. In the way he presses the elevator button three times like it’ll come faster.

By the time he’s in the driver’s seat, knuckles white on the steering wheel, you’re gripping the side of the door, breathing through another contraction.

“Max,” you whisper, chest rising and falling in short bursts. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing, you need to breath.” he says quickly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror even though the road is deserted.

“No, you’re hyperventilating.”

“I’m not, maybe a little,” he admits, cheeks flushed. He loosens his grip on the wheel, forces one deep inhale through his nose.

You reach across the console and take his hand, squeezing through the contraction.

“You’re going to be amazing,” you say through gritted teeth.

He glances at you, eyes shining under the dashboard light. “You’re the one doing the hard part.”

You laugh sort of. It’s half a wheeze, half a whimper. “Hard doesn’t even cover it.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles at the next red light. “Just keep holding on. I’m right here.”

The labour is long.

Twenty hours of chaos and calm. Of excruciating pain and quiet moments in between, your hand curled tight in Max’s.

He never leaves your side.

“I love you,” he says every few minutes, even when you’re too far gone to reply. “You’re doing so good. You’re so strong.”

He hovers beside you, whispering soft encouragements, brushing sweat from your forehead with shaking fingers.

And then, after everything, comes silence.

The kind that feels holy.

The room stills. You collapse against the pillows, exhausted and trembling. And then it happens.

A sound. Fragile. Piercing.

A cry.

Your baby’s first breath shatters the stillness, high-pitched and perfect and real.

Max sags beside you like his legs can’t hold him anymore. He buries his face in your shoulder, and for the first time since you’ve known him, since the earliest days of cautious flirtation and long-distance calls, since the podiums and the plane rides and the quiet "I love you"s you feel him cry.

“She’s here,” he chokes out. His whole body shakes. “She’s really here.”

When the nurse places your daughter on your chest, something in you clicks into place. She’s tiny. Wrinkled. Red-faced and slippery and making the most outraged little sounds, but she’s perfect. She’s yours.

And Max… Max looks like he’s been struck by lightning. He can’t move at first. Just stands there, one hand braced on the edge of the bed, the other hovering like he’s afraid to touch her. His face is wet with tears. He looks shell-shocked.

“She’s…” he starts, but he can’t finish. His voice breaks again.

You reach for his hand and guide it gently to her. His fingertips brush her hand and her tiny fingers curl around his pinky, as if she already knows him.

“Hi, kleine meid,” he whispers. “I’m your dada.”

Just like that he’s gone.

Hopelessly, entirely, irreversibly in love.

Later, after the visitors come and go after your families cry over tiny fingers and kiss your cheeks with soft, trembling mouths, after nurses shuffle in and out with gentle voices and kind hands the hospital room falls quiet again.

Just the three of you now. The soft hum of machines. The muffled hallway beyond the door. The gentle rustle of a newborn’s breath in the bassinet beside the bed.

Max lies beside you on the narrow hospital bed, somehow fitting his long frame against yours like puzzle pieces. One arm is curled protectively around your back, anchoring you to his chest. The other hand rests on the side of the bassinet, fingers still.

You watch him as he stares at her. He hasn’t looked away in over twenty minutes.

Not since the nurse gently wheeled her over and whispered, “She’s all yours now.”

“She’s got your nose,” you murmur sleepily, the exhaustion pulling at you like a tide, but the kind you’d wade into again without question.

Max smiles, slow and full and a little dazed. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears he no longer bothers hiding.

“Poor thing,” he says softly.

You chuckle, too tired for more than a breathy laugh. “She’s lucky.”

He looks over to you, his gaze heavy with affection. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there like he’s silently thanking the universe for bringing you through it.

“No,” he murmurs against your skin. “I’m the lucky one.”

You curl into his chest a little deeper, feeling the solid beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His hoodie smells like hospital linen and baby powder and Max, warm, worn-in, familiar.

“You were worried,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

He nods without hesitation. “Terrified.”

There’s no bravado in his voice now. No need to pretend.

He exhales, glancing back at your daughter. “I’ve been trying to imagine this moment for months. Her face. The sound she’d make. Whether I’d be good enough for her.” His fingers flex slightly against the edge of the bassinet, just brushing the corner. “And now she’s here. And I just keep thinking… how do I live up to her?”

“Still scared?” you whisper.

He hesitates. “Yeah.”

He glances down at the baby again. She’s sleeping now, her tiny fist curled near her cheek, lips parted in a soft, steady rhythm.

“But it’s different now,” he adds. “I think… how is she real? How did we make her? How is she breathing and blinking and making those tiny sounds like it’s the most normal thing in the world?” His voice catches. “How do I ever make sure she knows how much I love her?”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. He grips yours back immediately, tight, like he needs to feel your pulse to believe any of this is real.

“She already knows,” you whisper. “She’s felt it. She’s felt it every time you talked to her. Every time you rubbed my back or held my hair or teared up during an ultrasound.”

Max looks at you then, and you see it all, the vulnerability, the devotion, the pure, unfiltered wonder that hasn’t left him since the moment she arrived.

You smile through the tears clouding your lashes.

“We’re in this together,” you say.

He nods. “Always.”

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak

[girly-girlk]

hiii! i just read your firefighter!rafe blurb and loved it, so can i make a request for him? i had this idea where maybe he and reader just started seeing each other and he comes over and shes doing laundry and then he realizes that she doesn’t clean the dryer vent? i literally had no clue you had to actually clean the dryer vent more than just like wiping the lint off of the little screen pull out thing. maybe some angst because he gets frustrated that shes being unsafe and then fluff? i hope this makes sense lmao

lint

firefighter!rafe cameron x reader

summary: you never knew to clean the dryer vent until rafe told you that it’s unsafe to not clean it

you were humming quietly to yourself, folding warm clothes fresh out of the dryer when the front door opened and closed. you smiled—he had a key now, which still gave you butterflies.

“in the laundry room,” you called out, half-expecting rafe to head to the fridge first like he always did.

instead, his footsteps padded closer, heavy from his boots. he still had his department hoodie on, soot smudged faintly on his jaw. he looked exhausted but lit up slightly when he saw you.

“hey,” he said, voice soft. “didn’t know you were doing laundry.”

“figured i’d knock it out while i waited for you.” you turned back to the dryer, reaching for another shirt. “how was the shift?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he came up behind you, leaned over your shoulder… and then suddenly stilled.

you felt it—his body tensed up.

“babe…” he said slowly, eyeing the dryer. “when’s the last time you cleaned the vent?”

you blinked. “the what?”

“the dryer vent. like—the actual vent. the one that goes outside.”

you hesitated. “uhh… i clean the little lint thingy after every load?”

“that’s not what i mean.”

his tone had shifted. still gentle, but now clipped. worried. frustrated.

rafe crouched down, pulling the dryer away from the wall with one practiced motion. he unscrewed the vent pipe and pulled out a literal wad of lint.

your eyes went wide. “oh my god. that came from my house?”

“yeah.” he turned to look at you, jaw tight. “this is a fire hazard, babe. like—seriously. we see this kind of thing all the time. people don’t realize how fast this stuff can go up. one spark and you could lose everything.”

you felt a weird wave of shame wash over you. “i didn’t know… i—i’ve never lived alone before. my mom always just handled it.”

he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, then shook his head. “i know. i’m not mad. i’m just—” he broke off, standing to face you. “i’d lose my mind if something happened to you over something like this.”

the words hit you harder than expected. you swallowed.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly.

he stepped forward, hands gently gripping your waist. “don’t be. i should’ve said something earlier. it’s just… hard seeing stuff like that every day. makes you paranoid about the people you care about.”

you smiled, even as your chest ached with guilt. “guess i need a fireman to keep me safe, huh?”

he let out a breathy laugh, the tension easing as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“damn right you do.”

[ao3commentoftheday]

Firstly, please allow me to thank you for all that you do.

My ask is this, how do you and your followers reconcile with possibility of being trapped by your own work? I want to branch out and write originals, which i have done previously and uploaded to my blog but traffic to them was slim and i quickly realized that it’s a big ask for people to want to read a story when they come on a social app. I recently wrote a fic that i uploaded to ao3 that is within the same fandom but not related to the character i typically write for but my own ocs. I had one hit. I was overcome with the feeling that i cannot exist creatively outside of this character that i’ve been writing for for the last 3-4 years, that I’ve pigeon-holed myself and left no contingency plan for the future. I cannot do any other type of art the way i do writing, it gives me the most challenge, the most joy and the most reward. And i thought i was of the mind that i didn’t care if no one read my work, but now seeing it reflected back to me on the screen, it stings and i cannot but feel embarrassed, discouraged, disheartened and frustrated.

I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to reply to this ask, and I'm even sorrier that you were feeling like this to begin with 💗 I hope that this was a momentary crisis and it hasn't continued, but in case it has:

You are so much more than the number of hits that you get on AO3. Your talent can't be measured by hits or kudos or comments. Your creativity isn't trapped inside a single character, and the more that you stretch yourself and grow the more you'll be able to feel like that's true.

Embarrassment and discouragement are the natural reactions when you share something you've worked on and get relative silence in response. I've felt disheartened and frustrated too in a similar situation.

From what you've written in this ask, it feels like you've lost confidence in your writing. You're worried that you can't do this thing that you love to do so much. You're looking for "proof" in the hits and other numbers - reassurance that you're a good writer. Reassurance that you can write outside of that one thing.

I've written before, and I'll never stop saying it - AO3 stats will not give you that reassurance, and if they do, it won't last long. To get the kind of reassurance and support that will help you regain your confidence in branching out, you really need someone (or multiple someones) that you can have ongoing conversations with about your writing.

Maybe it's a writer's group IRL. Maybe it's a discord server. Maybe it's your best friends in a group chat. Maybe it's your mom. Whoever it is, whoever they are, they'll have the context of knowing how nervous or uncertain you feel and they'll also know you well enough to know how you need to be supported.

I hope you've already figured this out in the intervening year since you dropped this in my inbox, and I really hope that you're still writing all of the things that you love to write.

[rose24207]

I think I just fell in love with you all over again

Summary: While on a casual city date, you and Gotak unknowingly take part in a wholesome social experiment by comforting a shy little girl

Go hyun-tak x reader

A/N: inspired by my tt fyp. Also; does anyone want to be in my taglist for kdramas?

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It was a warm Saturday afternoon in the city—one of those rare perfect days where everything just feels right. The sun filtered through the high rises, dappling golden light onto the pavement as you and Gotak walked hand in hand, fingers loosely interlaced, drinks in your other hands, chatting and laughing as if nothing else in the world existed.

You had no real plans—just one of those aimless dates where the goal wasn’t to do something, but to be together. He had worn that dark hoodie you liked, the one that made his eyes look even softer than usual, and you had dressed down in jeans and a cute top, wanting to match the laid-back energy of the day.

"Do you wanna check out that vintage bookstore you told me about?" he asked, nudging your side with a little smirk. "The one with the creaky floors and the judgmental cat?"

You giggled. “Only if we get ice cream after. I’m emotionally preparing myself to be judged by a cat. I’ll need sugar.”

“Deal,” he said with a chuckle, and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

But just as you turned the corner onto a quieter street, the kind where little cafés spilled out with outdoor seating and elderly couples walked hand in hand, you both heard a tiny voice call out.

“Um... excuse me?”

You both stopped and looked around until your eyes landed on her—a little girl, no more than five or six, standing with her tiny hands balled into nervous fists at her sides. Her big brown eyes flicked between the two of you. She had on a unicorn hoodie, one sneaker untied, and a shy, nervous look like she was about to cry but didn’t want to.

“Hi, sweetie,” you said softly, kneeling a little so you didn’t tower over her. “Are you okay?”

She looked down at her shoes and mumbled, “My mommy went to the toilet and told me to wait outside. But I’m scared to wait alone. Can you wait with me?”

Your heart melted instantly.

Gotak glanced at you, and without needing to say anything, you both nodded. “Of course,” he said gently, crouching down so he was closer to her height. “We can wait with you. Don’t worry, okay?”

The little girl nodded slowly, her body visibly relaxing. You both led her to sit on a nearby bench, positioned just outside a small café with a restroom sign pointing to the back.

You sat on either side of her, giving her space, not pressing with questions. Gotak smiled down at her kindly. “What’s your name?” he asked.

She hesitated, tugging the strings of her hoodie nervously. “Lila.”

“Hi, Lila,” you said warmly. “I’m Y/n, and this is Gotak.”

She looked at Gotak, her big eyes inspecting him carefully.

“You look really pretty and handsome,” she said suddenly, like she couldn’t help it anymore.

You burst out laughing—not in a mocking way, but in that surprised, heart-squeezed kind of way. Gotak’s ears visibly turned pink, and you caught him blinking in surprise.

“W-what?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Lila nodded very seriously, like she was saying something scientific. “You look like a prince. But also like you could fight a dragon.”

You covered your mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, but it was no use. Gotak gave you a wide-eyed look, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile.

“Well, thank you,” he said, chuckling nervously. “That’s... really nice of you to say.”

Lila’s shyness returned immediately after that, and she twisted in place, clearly unsure what to say next. Gotak leaned in just a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Lila perked up and nodded, eyes wide.

“I’ve never fought a dragon before,” he whispered. “But I’ve read books about them.”

She gasped dramatically, and you chuckled again, watching the interaction unfold like something out of a movie.

“You like dragons too?” she whispered.

“Love them.”

Lila looked between the two of you, visibly more comfortable now. “Do you think dragons would be nice if we gave them snacks?”

“I think even dragons can’t resist cookies,” you said solemnly.

She giggled, kicking her little feet. “Me too.”

Minutes passed like that—talking about dragons, her favorite unicorn toy (which she called ‘Sprinkles the Destroyer’), and her theory that her mother could teleport. At one point, she leaned against Gotak’s side slightly, and he froze like a statue before relaxing and carefully adjusting so she could rest there more comfortably. You’d never seen him look more unsure and touched at the same time.

It made your chest ache in the best way.

You leaned toward him, murmuring, “You’re really good with kids, you know.”

He blinked at you. “Am I? I’m just winging it.”

“You’re adorable,” you whispered, brushing your hand briefly over his arm.

His blush deepened.

Eventually, two people approached from the direction of the café. A man with a camera and a woman holding a mic. You looked up, confused, until the woman smiled brightly.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt—you two have just been part of a social experiment. This is for our YouTube channel Kindness Quest.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

The man held up the camera. “We wanted to see how people would respond if a child asked for help. Lila’s actually our niece, and her mom is just over there,” he said, pointing toward a woman waving from the side.

Gotak straightened in surprise, and you blinked in shock.

“Oh my god,” you laughed as you leaned you head against Gotaks shoulder. “We had no idea.”

“Yeah, you guys were so sweet with her,” the woman added. “A lot of people walked by or ignored her, but you stopped immediately. And the way you interacted with her—adorable.”

Lila waved. “They talked about dragons with me!”

The man chuckled. “We’ll be posting this next week, but if you’re uncomfortable with being shown, we can blur your faces or cut the footage.”

You and Gotak exchanged a look, then shrugged.

“We’re okay with it,” you said.

The woman beamed. “Thank you both! And thank you for being such kind humans. Seriously.”

After a few more thank-yous and another shy compliment from Lila to Gotak—“You’re still the prettiest prince I’ve seen”—you and Gotak resumed your walk through the city, this time a little more dazed and grinning like fools.

Gotak stuffed his hands in his pockets, his ears still pink. “I can’t believe she said I look like a prince.”

“She’s right,” you teased. “My mysterious, dragon-fighting, unicorn-loving prince.”

He rolled his eyes but was smiling softly. “It was... kinda nice. Talking to her.”

“You were so sweet with her,” you said honestly, nudging him. “Like... ridiculously sweet. I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Just for that?”

“That, and the way you said, ‘I’ve never fought a dragon before’ like it was the most serious confession of your life.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you both laughed, turning into the vintage bookstore at last. The wooden sign creaked, and the scent of old pages hit you instantly. The cat, true to its reputation, gave Gotak a judgmental once-over and promptly walked away.

You grinned. “Told you.”

He sighed. “I should’ve brought Lila. She could’ve handled that feline tyrant.”

The rest of the date was full of soft moments—browsing books you didn’t need, sharing a cone of mint-chocolate chip, and recounting the whole interaction with Lila multiple times, each time ending in laughter or a new dragon theory.

As the sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and lavender, you leaned your head on Gotak’s shoulder while sitting on a bench near the riverwalk.

“She really liked you,” you murmured.

He looked down at you, a gentle smile on his face. “I liked her too. And... I liked seeing that side of me. With you there.”

You turned to look at him, heart so full it ached a little. “You’re gonna be such a good dad someday.”

His eyes widened slightly at that, but then they softened. He didn’t say anything, just reached for your hand again, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature.

And in that golden hour glow, the two of you sat together, hearts light, smiles soft, and the sweet voice of a little girl echoing in your minds—“You look like a prince.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa

[sammywritesfics]

QH-Marriage Proposal.

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader Word Count: 676 Warnings: None Request: "Can you write a story about Quinn buying and engagement ring and proposing to y/n? Also including how nervous he is. 🙏😍❤️ thank you!!" Requests are open!

--

Quinn had never been more nervous since he was drafted. He first knew he would propose when you took care of Luke after he got the stomach flu. Quinn had spent months searching for a ring, often texting his mom late at night in secret. It actually started a fight between you too once. 

You were dead convinced he was hiding something. You doubted he was cheating but he would sneak off halfway through dinner with his phone. Or spend late nights answering texts that you weren’t allowed to look at. 

One night Quinn came home with flowers and you bitterly replied, “Are those for your other girlfriend?”. Quinn furrowed his brows at a loss for words. “What?’ Was all that came out of his mouth. 

“late-night texting?” You sassed him. Quinn’s smile returned to his face. It was a goofy grin. “I’ve been asking my mom what the difference is between a princess cut and a pear ring..” Quinn said, setting the flowers on the counter as he reached for his back pocket. 

You stared at him completely shocked as he pulled out an engagement ring. “I’m not gonna propose immediately, I wanted it to be special..” Quinn said, putting it back in his flannel pocket. 

As your eyes watered, you wrapped your arms around him. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you…” you mumble into his arms. 

Since that night, you both talked about different things you wanted after marriage. But the most important thing is that you want it together. All the dumb little things didn’t matter in comparison after that. 

After that month, and the next you had almost forgotten it. You were at the lake house all week. Swimming with Jack, and playing games with Luke. Quinn loved how much you fit into his chaotic family. 

It was only when Ellen mentioned something about Quinn needing a ring polisher to you. That you knew it was gonna be this weekend. 

Quinn’s by the dock pacing as Jack and Luke try to calm him down. Quinn was rambling, “I’m gonna throw up, like actually throw up..”. Jack rolled his eyes, “You're not gonna throw up” he reassured, but neither he nor Luke could be certain at that moment. 

The only time they had seen him that nervous after the draft day, was when Luke broke their mom's fancy vase. And being the big brother, Quinn took the blame and paid for it. 

“She’s gonna say yes. All she ever talks about is you” Luke said casually as both his brothers snapped their heads to him. 

“You talk to her about it?” Quinn asked hopefully. Luke was a bit embarrassed as he sighed, running a hand over his mouth. “She once helped me sneak a girl out of the apartment. Since then she's been my sister” Luke said, watching as Jack burst into an uproar of questions. 

But when you walked out to see what the commotion was, Quinn had never been more certain in his life. Luke pulled Jack away so as to not ruin the perfect moment. Though any moment with Quinn was perfect for you. 

“I don’t have a great speech for this..” Quinn said, kneeling down on one knee. You immediately fell to match him before forcing yourself to stand up. He could see you were just as worried. 

“You can kneel if you want a pretty girl..” Quinn smiled, taking out the box from his shorts. He had even trimmed his hair for this. So you sat with him on the dock as the sun started to slowly descend. 

“I have wanted to marry you since you rubbed Luke's back for an hour as he threw up,” Quinn confessed to you. You couldn’t help but laugh at his words. 

“There’s no one I want to spend my life with. I can’t offer you much emotional support. Because sometimes I’m an idiot. But I'd love to be yours, even if I spend the rest of my life proving I deserve it.” It was short and sweet. 

You said yes, hugging him tightly as Quinn’s face flooded with relief. 

[raven-dor]

illicit affairs

in which you distance yourself from bucky barnes, and he won’t rest until he knows why

PAIRING: congressman!bucky barnes x fem!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, morning sickness, pregnancy, miscommunication (but ig it's more like refusing to communicate), given last name! (Clark), arguing, ANGSTY ANGSTY ANGST, more arguing, kissing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

🎶 : illicit affairs - taylor swift

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - this is like my favorite angsty fic of all time, like it's up there with me and my husband (gwayne hightower) EEEK HAPPY READING!! also i might write a part two where the use the house she bought if that's something you guys would be interested in

The sun shone through the curtains, yellow and bright. You stared at the man dead asleep beside you, a contented smile creeping on your lips. He looked so peaceful, not at all like how he looked awake, always stressed, always worrying over something. If it wasn’t Congress or the team, it was you. Worry was Bucky’s main emotion, you would say when you teased him. He worried over your safety the most, often trying to convince you to stop working in the office, practically begging you to work from home. 

You glared at him every time. 

You could never bring yourself to stay angry, though. He was caring, more than most had ever been with you. You were fragile, something he cherished. 

It made you feel valuable; your cheeks warmed just thinking about it. 

He grumbled, burying his face further into your torso. His arm was lazily wrapped around your waist, and he smiled in his sleep, pulling you closer. You hadn’t wanted to wake him, but he had a meeting in forty-five minutes, and he still needed his routine cup of coffee. “Buck. You have to get up.” 

“Five more minutes.” 

“Bucky…” You laughed, running your fingers through his hair. “You’ll be late.” 

“I could run there in five minutes.” You knew from the look on his face that he was considering it. Thanks to his super soldier serum, he really could run around the entirety of Washington D.C. in less than an hour. 

“You could, but your hair would be a mess.” You frowned, reaching down to run your fingers through the sleep-tangled tresses. “A lot like it is now. Besides, think about the people who voted for you, who elected you to this office. They wouldn’t exactly enjoy learning that their congressman was late to a meeting.” 

“I hate when you’re right.” He groaned, rolling over and walking toward the bathroom, leaving the door open as he fixed his appearance. “Have I told you how lovely you look this morning?”

“No.”  You playfully glared. “And if you did, you’d be a liar.”

He scoffed. “You’re timeless, Doll. Would’ve took my breath away even in the ’40s.” Your heart fluttered from his compliment. “Are you coming into work with me?” 

You shrugged, biting your lip as you admired his back muscles. “Dunno. I think I’ll take a half day. Probably go on a walk, find a nice cafe to get some work done in.” 

He frowned. “What am I going to do without you?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll be just fine. The world will turn without me running the office while you’re gone.” 

“I don’t know.” He was rather dramatic in the morning. “My executive assistant is important-” 

“We can’t go to work together.” You hissed. “You know that. The press would have a field day-” 

“I don’t care.” He sat on the edge of your shared bed. “Don’t you think it’s time the office knows?”

“Bucky. Think of your career, your position. It would look like an abuse of power, I would have to stop working-” 

“Perfect.” He looked terribly pleased with your last statement. “I’ve been trying to get you to stop working in the office for months.” 

“I like working.” You glared. “And I thought we’d finally gotten past that.” 

“We have.” He smiled, reaching out to hold your hand in his. “I just want you to be-” 

“I know.” You sighed. “But I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can.” He leaned in, lips brushing against yours. “Doesn’t mean I can’t worry.” 

Your eyes welled up, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You love me too much.”

He shook his head, eyes darting to your lips. “Not such thing as too much, Doll.”

You leaped up, pulling him down to you, his eyes wide as you kissed him senseless. “God, I love you.” You murmured against his lips. 

He grinned, kissing down your neck. “I love you more.” 

He’d been late to work. You had to peel yourself away from his touch and practically push him out the door, waving goodbye until his car had vanished from your sight. 

His townhouse was perfect, warm and inviting. When you first started dating, it was empty, with only the bare necessities. You’d laughed when you’d entered, insisting that he let you take him shopping. He’d agreed, and you would later find out he would agree to anything you asked simply because he loved the way your eyes lit up when you were determined.

 Your stomach lurched, and you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut to try and quell the nausea. Finding your way into the kitchen, you grabbed your favorite mug, one that Bucky had bought with you in mind, and made yourself a cup of peppermint tea. Another wave of nausea, stronger than the last, hit you as the steam hit your nostrils. You realized that this was not something you could solve with a couple of deep breaths and a cup of tea; your stomach once again grumbled as you rushed toward the bathroom. 

Denial. 

That was the first stage, right? 

You stared at the tests on the bathroom counter, too shocked to cry. There was no possible way this was real. You’d been safe, you’d taken extra precautions. The science behind the super soldier serum coursing through his veins was something neither of you understood, and so you decided you’d rather be safe than sorry. 

Apparently, you thought as you stared wide-eyed at the positive pregnancy tests in front of you, your extra precautions had been for nothing. This was horrible timing, plain and simple. He’d finally made a name for himself other than the ‘Winter Soldier’. He was finally coming into his own, and you’d ruined it. 

You had to resign. You had to leave before the press found out. 

No, you reasoned with yourself. No one knew you were dating; if you simply pretended that you were pregnant by some random man, the office would believe you. 

There was one major flaw in that plan. What would Bucky think? What would he think if his girlfriend of almost two years suddenly broke up with him and showed up to work a week later, visibly pregnant? 

You decided to stick with your original plan, resigning from the office and fleeing DC. You ran up the stairs, shoving everything you’d accumulated into the two bags you kept here. Your drawer would be empty by the time he came home.

He would eventually understand that you were saving his job, saving what you’d both worked so hard for him to achieve. Besides, who knew if he even wanted that with you, a child, a domestic life? This was James Barnes, the World War II veteran, Avenger, and congressman. He had no time for trivial things like that. 

Anger. 

Your life was exactly what you’d wanted, perfect in every way that counted. Your relationship with Bucky was perfect.

At least, until now.

He had been the first man to truly love you, to care about you. You weren’t some object, some underling. You were his equal, his great love, his partner. 

You’d finally achieved your dream. You came to DC to head an office, to become a political weapon. You’d done that, you’d seen the potential in Bucky, and you had gotten him into office.

This wasn’t fair. 

You loved him, you loved him so much that it hurt. He was a gentleman. He held the door open, he respected you, he was- Angry hot tears ran down your cheeks as you lugged the bags over your shoulders, locking the front door behind you, leaving your key underneath the mat. 

This really sucked.

You hailed a taxi, smiling gratefully when the driver helped you with your bags. “Where to, Miss?” 

“Doll?” Bucky called out, shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t show up to work! Something wrong?” 

No response. You were probably upstairs, too tired to call back out to him. He set the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, shrugging off his sports coat. “I brought Indian food from your favorite place down on 8th street.” 

By this point, you were typically barreling down the hallway, jumping into his arms and peppering kisses over his face. He frowned, the house much too silent for his liking. “Baby? Are you home?” 

The hallway was dark, too dark for his liking. You were known for leaving the lights on, too scared to walk around his house in the dark. He laughed when you’d told him, but he’d never judged. If it made you feel safer, then he was all for it. 

He’d checked every room, every possible place you could be, but you were nowhere to be found. It was like you’d never even existed. His mind began to cloud, dark and poisonous. 

His first thought was that someone had taken you. That they, whoever they were, had followed the pair of you home one day, found out where he lived, and taken you as collateral. He began to dial Sam’s number when he pushed your shared bedroom door open, frowning at the sight before him. 

Your drawer was open, empty of all the things you’d brought over. He shut the door behind him, pushing the bathroom door open to find that even your products in the mirror above the sink and the shower had disappeared. His heart stopped, hands shaking as he deleted Sam’s number to make way for yours. It had rung two times before you picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Thank god.” His voice was quiet. “Came home and you weren’t here. Thought something had happened.” 

“I um…” You felt horrible, horrible that he had thought you’d been taken. You almost gave in, almost told him the truth. He loved you, and you knew he would be excited. “I-” No, you shook your head, you had to do this for him, for his future. He loved you, and you loved him, which is precisely why you had to do this. “I think we should stop seeing each other.” 

This was his nightmare; this was infinitely worse than someone taking you. That he could fight, he could win; this was uncharted territory. His heart clenched, on the verge of breaking clean in half. “What?” 

“This has been on my mind for some time now.” Lie. “It would be best, for both of us, for your career-” You willed yourself not to cry, not to break from the sound of his voice, more anxious than you’d ever heard him. “I’m sorry, but-”

“Where is this coming from, Doll?” He sounded desperate, broken. A tear ran down your cheek. “Did something happen? Did I-” 

“Bucky.” You cried, the tears you’d tried so hard to hold back breaking free. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I am going to make this harder than it has to be, because I love you."

Bargaining. 

His voice broke, desperate for an explanation. “Just tell me what happened, baby.” 

“I’d like to take the rest of this week off, please.” He would be better off without you, without this whole mess. This was for the best, you tried to convince yourself. “I’ll be back to work next week.” 

“Where are you?” If he could just see you, he would know. He was sure of it; he could read you like an open book. It was for that very reason that you did not want to tell him where you were. 

“I’m-” It was only a matter of time before he found where you were. Hell, he’d had your location in his phone since before you started dating, for safety purposes, of course. You’d laughed when he'd asked, giving him yours in return. It had been sweet, the way he nervously bit his lip. You remembered your cheeks flushing, stomach fluttering at the action.

Now it made you want to cry.

“I’m at my apartment.” 

“Your apartment?” He felt like he was dying, his heart clenching so tightly he thought he was having a heart attack. Maybe he was. You hadn’t been to your apartment in months, spending virtually every waking moment at his place. He’d even persuaded you to move in last week. “Thought you were moving in with me-” 

“Things change, okay?” You snapped, slapping a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- to snap like that.” You wiped your face clean of tears. “We were never going to last forever.” Lie number two. “Please, just let me do this.” 

“No.” He shook his head as if you could see him. “I can fix this, we can-” 

“I’ll see you in a week, Congressman.”

True to your word, he hadn’t seen or heard from you all week. The radio silence made him jittery, and he began to lose focus in meetings, his peers growing more and more annoyed by his apparent lack of care regarding the nation’s interest. 

He wished he could tell them that his life turned upside down on a random Tuesday, that the love of his life had left him out of nowhere, but he knew better. 

They wouldn’t care. 

He’d been counting down the days, staring at his door for some form of life, for your familiar frame. 

Your desk was right outside his office, and he often found himself watching you through the glass wall. Now he just stared at nothing, at the empty desk that turned his mood sour. He frowned, dropping his face into his hands, wallowing in misery.

“Congressman?” 

His heart skipped, head whipping up. “Ms. Clark.”

You hadn’t wanted to go back to work, but you couldn’t just quit over the phone. 

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You could have, probably should have, but your heart craved him, your eyes had to see him once more. 

Then you could hand in your resignation letter. 

You waved hello to the office as you walked toward your desk, almost laughing to yourself at the sight before you. There sat Bucky Barnes, in all his glory, with his head in his hands. If this were normal circumstances, if you hadn’t just broken up with him and were planning on moving across the country, you would have laughed. 

You draped your coat over the back of your chair, pulling your resignation letter out of your bag. “Congressman?” You cleared your throat, heart thumping hard against your chest.

“Ms. Clark.” His head whipped up, eyes wide as he stared at you. “You’re back.” 

“I am.” You reminded yourself that you were in the office and thus had to behave professionally. Placing the letter in front of him, you mustered up the weakest smile known to man. “Here is my resignation letter.” 

“Resignation letter?” Bucky rubbed his eyes, like you weren’t real, a figment of his imagination. “Ms. Clark-” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, not having the strength to look at him any longer. “For understanding.” 

“Wait just a second-” He stood up, practically racing toward the door to shut it before you could leave. “Don’t thank me for understanding.” His cologne threatened to overpower your senses. “Don’t thank me because I don’t understand.” He looked miserable, hands twitching like he was forcing himself not to touch you. “You haven’t given me any real reason.”

“Bucky.” Your voice was like a warning, a plea not to escalate things.

He didn’t happen to care, because he couldn’t let you go. Not without a fight, or at the very least, a reason for your sudden end of an otherwise happy relationship. 

He whispered your name so faintly you could have sworn he’d never said it. “I can’t let you go.” 

“This is highly inappropriate. We are at work, anyone could walk in at-” 

“I don’t care.” He hissed. “I love you? Do you know how much I love you?” 

“Of course I do.” You whispered, scared of someone overhearing. “And I- I loved-” 

“Bullshit.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it. “We were happy. You were happy. You told me you loved me that morning. What happened in nine hours?” 

“If there’s nothing else you need…” You straightened your posture. “I’ll be just outside.” 

“I need you.” He said it like it was a fact, like it was certain, etched in stone since the beginning of time. “You might not need me, but I need you.” 

Oh, how you wanted to correct him. You needed him like air, like the very oxygen that filled your lungs. You’d been in love with him for so long that you’d forgotten what it had been like before him. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hear you reject him one more time. Not when he knew that you still loved him. He knew it, even if you didn’t. “That will be all.” 

“Fine.” You nodded, turning on your heels like you hadn’t just broken his heart. Like you hadn’t just broken your own heart.

Depression.

You were actively fighting through it, fighting against crumbling into ash and letting the Earth swallow you whole. You’d been to a total of two doctors’ appointments, and even that had done nothing to improve your mood. 

If anything, it made it worse, knowing that Bucky would never be there, holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. He would never see her first steps, her playing in the front yard, her first dance recital. 

And that was fine, because he would be doing great things, he would be changing the world. 

You didn’t even know if it was a girl or a boy. You had a feeling that it was a girl; your feeling was more of a wish than intuition. You’d always known you’d have a girl; it was something that had been part of you for as long as you’d loved playing with dolls. 

Your hand fell to your stomach, caressing it gently as you whispered. “Hello, my darling.” It was too early to tell if it was a boy or a girl, too early for kicking, too early for most things. 

You felt crazy when you talked to your baby; it wasn’t like she (or he) could hear you or show you that it could. “You’re going to be so loved, so deeply loved.” 

The bed in your apartment was comfortable, but you missed your bed, the one you’d been sleeping in for almost a year. Bucky’s bed. You missed his smell, his warmth. You slept in the one shirt he’d left over here every night, pretending as if nothing had gone wrong, that you hadn’t broken the one thing that kept you sane. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered again, eyes tearing up as you thought of him. “I miss your father.” 

Only two more days until you leave DC. 

Technically, one and a half. 

It felt surreal. You’d come here with such big dreams, and now, here you were, leaving with your tail tucked between your legs.

It was fine, not everyone was made for this life. 

You thought you had been. 

You’d already put a down payment on a modest house in a small town somewhere in Pennsylvania. It was pale blue, with three bedrooms, two stories, and it took everything in your savings. 

The front yard was perfect for playing in, for growing up. The large oak tree that shaded the house was perfect for climbing, even a tire swing. 

Maybe this was it, acceptance. 

It felt like it, in some horribly strange way. You’d finally reached the last stage of grief, of mourning your past life.

Mourning your great love. 

The office was relatively quiet, a nice reprieve from a normally chaotic environment. You’d decided to make the most of your last two days to finally organize the file system, hopefully enough so that his next executive assistant had an easier time finding things than you had. 

You wondered as you flipped through a folder labeled ‘The Superhero Support Act’ if he and his next assistant would fall in love, if she would make him forget about the pain you’d caused. 

You hoped she did; he deserved happiness.

By noon, you’d already organized all the digital files, your desk, and Bucky’s office. It was time for the white whale - the file closet.

It was dingy in here, the one hanging light doing nothing to brighten the space. You groaned, knowing that this would take longer than you thought. The files were dusty; they had obviously been neglected since the invention of the computer. Deciding to organize the files chronologically, you began your last mission.

 “Thought I’d find you here.” 

You cursed at the sky, wishing that Bucky would just leave before either of you said something you’d regret. You continued to face away from him, still sorting through the files as diligently as before. “Just doing my job.” 

“Mhm.” You imagined he was leaning against the doorway, looking as handsome as always, his jacket unbuttoned. “I see that.” He didn’t speak for a while, simply watching you organize. You wished he would leave once more. 

Wishes, apparently, are not granted on Capitol Hill. 

“I love you.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t call me that.” He frowned. “C’mon, Doll-” 

“Don’t.” You stood up, finally facing him. “We are at work.” He raised an eyebrow, stepping forward and letting the door fall shut. Your eyes widened, and you stepped forward, trying to open it. “If someone finds us in here-” 

“What will they do?” Bucky laughed. “You're leaving, as you love to remind me.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” 

“Funny.” He took in your face, trying to memorize it before you left. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You whispered.

“Like what?” He whispered back.

“Like you still love me.” 

“Of course I still love you.” He scoffed, following after you as you walked backwards, desperate to put distance between the two of you. “I’ll always love you.” 

Your eyes welled. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Stop telling me what I mean.” 

Your back hit the file shelf, gasping. “I-” 

He was barely a breath away from you, eyes darting toward your lips. “When will you understand that I love you? That I’m here, and I’m not leaving. That I’ve loved you since you walked into my campaign office, all frazzled, barking out orders?” His hand came up to your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen against your will. “That I wake up in the middle of the night, and the first thing I do is look over to make sure you’re still there, that you’re breathing, that you're real?”

“Bucky-” You were sobbing, fighting every instinct that screamed to let him in, to tell him the truth. “Stop.” Every time he spoke, it softened your resolve, made you want to tell him what you’d been carrying by yourself. 

He shook his head, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m not going to leave you alone. I know you love me, I know-” 

You place one hand over his mouth, the other on his chest. “It’s for the best, trust me. You said you love me, so just let me do this. Let me do this for you.” 

He raised an eyebrow, delicately peeling your hand away from his mouth. “Do what? What’s going on, baby?” He grew more and more worried every second you sobbed, every second you refused to open up to him. “Did someone-” 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Bucky, I love you so much-” 

He grinned, a glimmer of hope breaking through his otherwise melancholy face. “I love you too-” 

“But this is for your own good.” Both of your hands were on his chest, pushing him away like he was temptation itself. “You’re meant to do great things, and you can do those, but I can’t be the person who slows you down.” 

“Is that why you broke up with me?” He laughed. “I appreciate you looking out for me, really I do, but you can’t make that decision for me.” 

“Too late.” You cried, his shirt wrinkling under your hold. “It’s too late.” 

“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, his hands holding your face like it was precious. If you had asked him, it was. “You’re scaring me, baby. What’s got you so upset? Talk to me.” 

“I- I can’t-” 

“You can-” 

“You don’t get it-” You sobbed. “I-” 

“C’mon, Doll.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m right here.”

“I’m pregnant, alright?” You sobbed. “There you go, there it is.” He staggered back, staring at you in disbelief. You felt jittery, manic with fear from his reaction, or lack of reaction. “I’m sorry, I just-” You hugged yourself, rambling as you tried to explain the reasoning behind your decision.

“I found out after you left for work, and I-I couldn’t live with myself if I slowed you down. You’re amazing, you’re really making a change for these people. And I’m so proud of you, so so proud. You’re my finest achievement, and I-I couldn’t see it all go to waste. I knew if I told you, you’d drop everything, and I couldn’t have that. Because you care too much, and it scares me. It’s horrifying how much you love me. I’m not used to it. You’re supposed to be more selfish, you have to be more selfish, especially in this-” 

You tilted your head, glaring at the man in front of you. “Are you even listening?” He had that same glazed-over look in his eye, still staring in disbelief. “Are you serious? I know I messed up, but the least you could do is say something.” Bucky slowly walked back toward you, like a predator stalking its prey. “I’m sorry, I really am. Just please, say something, say anything-” You gasped when his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you carefully into his hold. “Bucky-”

His lips dove to yours, your eyes fluttering shut as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. He grinned, your teeth momentarily clashing, neither of you wanting to let up. Your knees weakened, glad that he had an arm around your waist, holding you up with ease. “We can’t-” 

“Are you sure?” He pulled back, breath heaving as he spoke. “Are you sure that you’re pregnant?” 

You nodded, smiling timidly. “Eight weeks yesterday.” 

“Eight weeks?” His eyes welled with tears as he stared at your stomach. “Oh, baby…” 

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to-” 

“I love you.” He grinned, peppering kisses all over your face, your laughter bubbling in waves as you squirmed under his attack of affection. “I love you so much, and I-” He fidgeted with something in his pocket. “This is horrible timing, I know that.” 

“What?” Your heart dropped as he lowered himself onto one knee. “Bucky-” 

“Before you say anything, just let me get this out, and then you can scold me or kiss me, whatever you want.” He smiled, pulling out a small velvet box. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to say this, and now seems as good a time as any.” The ring inside was old, simple, but elegant all the same. “This is my mother’s ring. Rebecca still had it.”

“Bucky-” 

“I want to marry you. So badly it hurts. Marry me, and I swear you’ll be happy as long as you live.”  

“You know my answer is yes.” You cried, leaning down to kiss him. “A million times, yes.” 

He smiled, placing the ring on your finger. “Thank god. If you tried to leave again i was just going to blurt it out, and I didn’t think that-” 

“This is perfect. You’re perfect.” You grinned, staring at the ring as he stood up. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, Doll.” He kissed the back of your hand, smiling when he saw his mother’s ring. “I do have one request.” 

“Yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?” 

“Next time you’re pregnant…” Your heart skipped at the way he so casually said ‘next time,’ like it was inevitable. “Tell me before you do anything rash.” 

You nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. “Sounds reasonable enough.”

taglist: @milesdrift @eddiemunsons-lover @maryjaneeeee

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[munipe]

helloooo pumpkin! i luv ur writing! i was thinking about something very cute an silly for saiki.! Imagine when Saiki tells his partner about his powers. about what he goes through. Dude is NERVOUS. But instead of being surprised, excited, or anything, they look at him for a while before speaking in a quiet tone and saying something along the lines of; "That sounds incredibly difficult for you, please tell me what I can do to make you feel comfortable after dealing with all this." thank youuu! ^^

I was getting through finals studies—I’m writing this after I’ve finished my first final. This was simmering in the drafts :3

YOU ALWAYS found it weird how Kusuo, your boyfriend, always knew what you needed. Whenever you were down, he’d weirdly, always, have your favorite candy. Whenever you were thirsty, he oddly had an extra can of juice from lunch. It was all odd coincidence that every minor inconvenience you had with him, just dissolved within seconds. Kusuo was no fool to your skepticism, though.

He admits, maybe he did pamper you slightly. Perhaps he’s too often solved all of the small pokes in your back than he has let you solve it yourself. He didn’t see why he shouldn’t, though. After all, you are so tolerant of him. You accept when he doesn’t want to be touched, or when everything is too loud for him. Hell, he even remembers when he felt so tired and you bought him coffee jelly and some tea. He could’ve done it himself, but it tasted sweeter when you made it.

Kusuo admits, as well, that perhaps he’s let you in maybe too much. Maybe he’s ‘sensed’ too many things for it to be passed off as “boyfriend instinct”. He can feel your stares—your internal questions. He thought, maybe, he should play dumb and go about as usual. In that case, you’d be incredulous—how crazy would you have to be to believe your boyfriend has powers? Then Kusuo would feel bad in that event. Would it be best to come clean? He figured you would freak out if he did, who wouldn’t? But he couldn’t risk you feeling crazy, either. He had been so deep in thought and contemplation, he hadn’t realized you were worried.

***

“Kusuo?” The both of you had been dating for not long, actually. It was spontaneous, at a festival. Yet, he felt as comfortable as ever hearing his name from your lips. You were lying on the floor together—you said it felt better on your back, so he accompanied you. He turns his head to signal he was listening. “Are you okay?”

He nods, you furrow your eyebrows. With a small chew on the inside of your cheek, you relent. Your boyfriend was a master at avoiding conversation, you wouldn’t win. “M’kay.” You scooted closer, placing your head on his shoulder—his arm wraps around you.

It was pure warmth. He loved your weight on him, it solidified the idea you were real and with him. He glanced down to your curled up form, and he could feel himself caving. He was sure you had been peeling at his defenses, layer by layer. You were reaching to the core of his being—sooner than he’d like. It was worrying. He was so fortified, he didn’t know what else to do. They say love is like a flower blossoming in spring, but what will he do when his winter comes? When he slips up? He wasn’t sure. He only found himself wanting to bear it to you. He would show the deepest parts to you. Maybe he shouldn’t do that with his first relationship, but he didn’t care.

“You want a cat.” He started, speaking with his mouth. “You want…three. One ragdoll, one siamese, and the other is debatable.” All things you’ve thought about, but never said. “You sometimes want to hold my hand whenever I’m irritated, but you never do because you think I’ll get upset. You think my bed is more comfortable than yours but you never tell me to scoot over when you’re over.” His hands felt clammy when he felt your gaze.

“How do you know all that?” You whispered to him. You swore you could see a genuine expression of anxiety on him for the first time

“I can read your mind. I can do a lot of things. I can…use telekineses, I can turn invisible, I can hear everyone’s thoughts in a certain radius. I can’t throw a ball because I can’t control myself. I have x-ray vision, so I can’t actually see your face.”

You turned warm at the notion. So he knew you liked him way before?

He answered your thought. “I did know. You started liking me after we worked on the Chemistry project together.”

…

The silence was killing him. He looked down to your form, only to see it curling into him. “That sounds…rough. You can hear everyone’s thoughts? You can’t see my face? You…” He was a strong man, you thought. You’d go crazy if you constantly heard everyone’s thoughts—nobody could be two-faced with him. You gently maneuvered to lay on him. “Tell me what I can do to make you comfortable when I can, okay? That sounds constantly overwhelming….”

He looked down at you in curiosity. You weren’t freaked out or angry. You were…gentle. How endearing.

“Just stay.” He answered. So you did.

I’ve written ‘Saiki’ too much it’s starting to look like mumbo jumbo

[iyoonjh]

Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 19: Dude we're getting the band back together!

wc: 4144 words

The morning started soft.

Y/N’s nose was tucked into Soobin’s collarbone, and his fingers were lazily tracing shapes along the dip of her waist like he could memorize her skin with just touch. The sheets were tangled somewhere near their ankles. They had no idea what time it was, nor did they care. The only thing that mattered was that the light coming through their window was warm, and that they were here. Still. Together. Somehow.

"Your hair smells like peaches," he murmured, voice still sandpapered by sleep.

“That’s because I shampooed with Karina’s stuff,” she whispered back, nose brushing his jaw. “She said it has hyaluronic acid in it. I don’t know what that means but it feels expensive.”

“It’s working,” Soobin replied, dead serious.

She grinned. “You’re so soft in the mornings.”

“You’re soft all the time,” he said before he could stop himself. Then immediately buried his face into her shoulder to hide from the consequences of his own mouth.

But before she could tease him—

THUMP. CRASH.

“YOU ABSOLUTE TRAITOR.”

Y/N blinked. “What the hell was that?”

Soobin was already halfway out of bed, hair sticking up in tragic yet adorable angles. They threw on hoodies and rushed down the stairs, socks slipping on the hardwood.

What they found in the living room was something between a very violent band breakup and a middle school production of Naruto. Which, in either case, would explain why Yeonjun had the ferocious eyes of a dog with rabies. 

Yeonjun was standing on the coffee table, shirtless, pointing an accusatory drumstick at Jay, who was calmly eating toast like this happened every day.

“You seduced my bandmates,” Yeonjun shouted. “With your harmonies. With your garage aesthetic. With your twin-necked bass guitar and your stupid jawline”

Jay blinked. “Bro. I literally just said we should jam sometime.”

“Exactly,” Yeonjun hissed. “You jammed. In my turf. With my people.”

Beomgyu and Hueningkai were on the floor pretending to be dead.

Sunoo stood in the middle of it all with a spatula, seeming like the only one who was actually worried about Jay's physical integrity–Yeonjun looked like he might jump on him. “Everyone calm down before I have to flip you like a pancake.”

Sunghoon was pacing in the background, completely sunburnt, muttering to Yunjin who watched the scene unfold with a curious glint in her eye. “This is why I don’t trust musicians” while holding a beach broom.

“Jay, explain what you did to make Yeonjun spiral into the Joker.” Y/N knew Yunjin like the palm of her hand, she was certain her friend found this dishevelled and crazy eyed Yeonjun attractive.

“I made him a smoothie yesterday,” Jay said. “With oat milk.”

Yeonjun pointed again. “AND YOU BLENDED IT PERFECTLY.”

“He’s losing it,” Hueningkai whispered from the carpet.

“He was never stable,” Beomgyu added.

Soobin and Y/N stood frozen at the stairs.

“Should we go back to bed?” Soobin asked.

“I think this is a cultural event,” Y/N murmured, holding his arm in an attempt to keep him watching Yeonjun go crazy.

He then hopped off the table like he was leaping into battle, cape (a table towel he yanked from Sunoo's hands) fluttering dramatically behind him. He rounded on Beomgyu and Hueningkai with the gravitas of a betrayed emperor.

“You two—you were supposed to be loyal! Hueningkai! We were going to cosplay while performing!”

Hueningkai, still lying on the floor, held up his hands in a peace sign. “I know. And it was beautiful. But Jay promised we could do Chainsaw Man themes and—listen, I’ve always wanted to scream onstage like Denji.”

Jay, who was still quietly eating his toast, finally looked up. “Yeonjun, I didn’t mean to steal your bandmates. I just asked them if they would like to join for a jam and they never left.”

“You cast a spell on them,” Yeonjun accused. “This is how it starts. First it’s toast. Then it’s jam sessions. Then you’re in my house. Then you’re wearing matching outfits and gaslighting me.”

“I literally don’t know what gaslighting means,” Jay said.

“Convenient.”

Jay stood slowly, brushing crumbs off his shirt like this was a formal negotiation. “I actually wasn’t asking them to join.”

Beomgyu blinked. “Wait, what.”

Jay looked at Yeonjun. “I was asking you. I need a frontman. Someone with flair. Drama. A little unhinged.”

Yeonjun squinted, suspicious. “Why me?”

“Because you’re talented, obviously,” Jay said, exasperated. “And because I’m not plotting anything, for the hundredth time.”

“That’s exactly what someone who’s plotting would say,” Yeonjun replied, narrowing his eyes. “You’re trying to neutralize me. Befriend me so you can destroy me from within.”

Jay sighed. “I’m trying to start a band, not a Civil War.”

“Is it both?” Yeonjun whispered.

Beomgyu leaned over to Hueningkai. “He’s spiraling.”

“Hard.”

“Dude,” Beomgyu said louder, “you have to join.. You can't keep projecting your future in a band that has no future. You also can't keep rehearsing award speeches in front of a mirror when you think no one is listening, because we are.”

“It’s true,” Hueningkai added. “He says stuff like ‘my destiny is calling’ while applying toner.”

Yeonjun clutched his chest. “That is a sacred routine.”

“I just think,” Beomgyu said, not helping, “you were born to belt those emo bridges and spin dramatically in tight leather pants.”

“Plus,” Hueningkai added, “Jay just said he needs your falsetto for their Summer Festival medley.”

Yeonjun looked away, pretending he wasn’t crumbling.

And then—

“I’d really like you to join,” Yunjin said casually, poking her head from behind Sunoo who had finally adjusted his breath realizing no one was actually getting hurt. “We’d sound better with you.”

The entire room went silent.

Even the wind outside paused.

Yeonjun blinked.

“You want me in the band?” he asked, stunned.

Yunjin shrugged, sipping from her cold brew. “Yeah.”

“You never told me,” he croaked.

“You never asked,” she replied, unfazed.

Beomgyu turned to Hueningkai. “He’s fully short-circuiting.”

“Heart rate elevated. Brain fog. Desire to monologue intensifying,” Hueningkai whispered like a doctor diagnosing a Victorian patient.

Yeonjun stared at Yunjin like she had just handed him the moon. “Fine. I’ll join.”

Jay’s face lit up. “You will?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Yeonjun said sharply. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this in the name of music. And maybe the vibes. And definitely because Yunjin asked me and I’m not dumb.”

“Obviously,” Jay said, still grinning.

Sunoo clapped. “Aww! Rivals to bandmates!”

Sunghoon dramatically wiped a fake tear from his eye. “I love character development.”

“Do I still get to cosplay?” Yeonjun asked.

Jay nodded. “I will personally make you a faux leather cloak.”

Yeonjun sniffed, victorious. “Then it’s settled.”

“Wait a minute,” Sunoo said suddenly, mid-laugh, squinting suspiciously toward the stairs like a meerkat sensing drama.

Everyone froze, even Yeonjun, who had been mid-sulk with his arms crossed.

Sunoo slowly raised a finger toward the upper steps.

“Are you guys seeing this?” he asked, eyes widening. “We’ve got spectators.”

All heads whipped around.

There, halfway down the staircase, stood Y/N — suspiciously well-rested, hair slightly tousled in a way that only happened after a good night's sleep (or something else entirely). She leaned casually on the banister, wearing Soobin’s hoodie like it was legally hers now. And right behind her…

Soobin.

He looked like he’d seen God. And then tried to apologize to him. Twice.

His hair was a mess, his socks didn’t match, and he had that exact expression people have when someone opens the bathroom door while they're inside.

“Oh my god,” Hueningkai breathed.

Beomgyu’s jaw dropped. “No way, Boobie actually hit.”

Soobin froze. “Hi.”

“You were there the whole time?!” Jay asked, half-offended.

“We, um… we just woke up,” Y/N said brightly, entirely too at ease. She patted Soobin’s chest like a congratulatory gesture. “Did we miss a brawl?”

“Just Yeonjun trying to fistfight Jay because he asked him to join our band,” Yunjin muttered.

Beomgyu stood slowly, pointing with exaggerated slowness like he was in a detective drama. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Hoodie.”

Everyone turned to look.

Soobin looked down.

Y/N’s smug little smirk deepened.

Beomgyu gasped. “THAT’S NOT YOUR HOODIE.”

“Nice to know you're keeping tabs on your friend's wardrobe” Y/N winked.

“She was cold,” Soobin mumbled.

“It’s the hoodie hand-off,” Sunoo whispered, horrified and thrilled. “That’s like… stage three intimacy, they def banged.”

Yunjin leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “They’re glowing. I’m literally being blinded.”

Sunghoon clutched his water bottle like it was his emotional support item. “Soobin’s not even blinking. Someone check his vitals.”

“Leave him alone!” Y/N laughed, squeezing Soobin’s hand — which only made Soobin blink rapidly like he had just realized he had hands, and she was holding them. His hands. His.

Beomgyu’s eyes were wild now. “You’re telling me while Yeonjun was down here declaring war like an idiot, you were upstairs sweet talking Y/N like you're Anakin Skywalker prior insanity?”

Soobin covered his face. “I hate it here.”

Hueningkai nudged Sunoo. “Is he blushing down to his collarbone or is that a sunburn?”

“Could be both,” Sunoo whispered. “But it’s mostly blush. Classic post-whatever that was glow. Still dangerous to his skin, noneless.”

Yeonjun turned slowly toward them, narrowing his eyes. “Are you guys—”

Soobin’s soul momentarily left his body. He wasn't ready for this conversation, not yet. He couldn't. The topic of whatever the hell they were to each other was something his emotionally unprepared brain couldn't even phantom to discuss. 

Truth be told, he was terrified. Because, even with all his new acquired confidence and the recent events evolving lips, hands and everything else–which he still wasn't fully convinced happened for real– he was still insecure. 

“I plead the fifth,” Y/N said, with the world’s most unapologetic smile.

Beomgyu dropped to his knees. “I just— He was our shy baby boy! And now he’s—he’s got a hickey.”

“Respectfully,” Sunghoon said, raising a hand like he was in court, “I’m spiraling.”

Jay just clapped Soobin on the back as he passed by. “Proud of you, buddy. You were always the dark horse.”

Soobin made a noise like a boiling kettle.

Y/N grinned, tugging him gently down the last few steps. “C’mon, we’re starving. And I want to hear the full breakdown of the band war.”

“You’re just gonna pretend nothing happened?” Beomgyu gasped, trailing after them.

Y/N winked. “What would make you think anything happened?”

Soobin, somewhere behind her, tripped over his own feet and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “oh my god.”

“Suspicious,” Hueningkai whispered. “Extremely suspicious.”

They were still talking about it an hour later.

And Soobin didn’t stop blushing until dinner.

The beach was glowing.

Torches flickered in the sand, their flames swaying with the breeze that carried the scent of ocean salt, grilled corn, and someone’s aggressively over-limed margarita. A few mismatched towels and oversized hoodies had been thrown into a messy circle around a makeshift firepit. The whole group was there—drifting in and out of conversations, barefoot and sun-kissed (or, in Sunghoon’s case, moon-worshipped), basking in the glow of both firelight and the warmth of his burnt body.

Jay and Yeonjun sat shoulder to shoulder on a pair of stolen deck chairs turned stage, guitars in hand, plucking out what could generously be described as music.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jay announced with all the confidence of someone who only knew four chords, “tonight we bring you the acoustic rendition of 'The Rains of Castamere', followed by 'Gotta Catch ‘Em All’, and—if you’re lucky—a full emotional performance of the Skyrim theme.”

Heeseung wiped a tear. “I taught him that.”

Yeonjun strummed solemnly. “This is for the real ones.”

“I’m a real one!” Niki yelled, emerging from the darkness behind the torches, shirtless and holding a chunk of seaweed like it was holy scripture. “The spirits told me!”

Soobin sat cross-legged beside him, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands, trying not to panic about literally anything.

He was trying to look casual, like someone who had definitely not kissed Y/N until he couldn’t breathe the night before, who had definitely not woken up that morning harder than the rocks in the tide pools, and who was definitely not currently spiraling over the fact that she hadn’t stopped smiling at him since. Every time she laughed, Soobin felt it like a ripple across his skin. He was so far gone it wasn’t even funny.

Well. Maybe a little funny.

"Are you okay?" Niki asked, nudging his shoulder, eyes gleaming with campfire wisdom. “You look like you're being stabbed by your own emotions.”

Soobin blinked. “I—I’m fine.”

“Good,” Niki said, placing a smooth stone in Soobin’s hand like it was a rite of passage. “This has the energy of an ancient stingray. It will guide you.”

Soobin blinked at him. “–thank you”. 

“All good my brother, it's a pleasure to help those in need. It is also good to have you here, Y/N was right about you being nice”

“Did she tell you that?” Soobin swallowed, directing his gaze towards Y/N who yapped her way with the girls across the bonfire. His heart speed increased just by the sight of her, which in his defense, did nothing but bring memories of her soft hands on his body. 

“Of course she did jah!” Niki said like it was obvious and Soobin squinted his eyebrows at him. Jah? Was his pronoun jah now? “I am a young spirit but I am quite wise too, so she talked to me, yeah”. 

“Oh”

“Oh?” Niki eyed him. “Are you not gonna ask?”

“Should I?” Soobin asked once again trying to catch Y/N with his gaze. 

“You really are clueless, hm?

Across the fire, Leehan sat with Jake and Jungwon, who had clearly made the mistake of asking a genuine marine biology question.

"So you’re saying seahorses mate for life?" Jake asked, jaw slack.

Leehan nodded solemnly. "And the male gives birth. It’s beautiful. Feminism in action."

"Wait—like actually pregnant?" Jungwon squinted. "Like contractions?"

"Like contractions," Leehan confirmed.

Jake turned to Jungwon. “Okay, but imagine Captain America giving birth to a seahorse baby.”

“Why would I imagine that?” Jungwon whispered. 

“Cause it's sick?” Jake looked at him like he was dumb “Man was frozen for ages and wakes up being able to carry a baby, he is unstoppable”

Leehan tilted his head as if waiting for Jungwon to say something, which he did. “I'm not sure I'm following you there”

“Being pregnant, man! That's like nature's most powerful gift, imagine being pregnant, that's sick!” he insisted. 

“You sound like you wanted to experience pregnancy”

“Yeah, what the fuck! Wouldn't you?” Jake questioned him. 

“No, thank you?” 

Leehan, completely unbothered, pulled out a laminated chart from his hoodie pocket. “Would you like to rank ocean invertebrates by social complexity?”

Jake actually leaned forward, suddenly very invested in knowledge.

Meanwhile, not far from the fire, a cluster of beach towels had become the designated gossip lounge.

Y/N was lying on her stomach, legs kicking behind her as she passed a bag of gummy bears to Giselle, who was halfway through her third canned cocktail. Yunjin sat cross-legged, smirking into her drink, and Karina was braiding Sunoo’s hair with surprising precision.

“So how exactly does your ID business work?” Taehyun asked, voice low and devious.

“Where have you heard about it?” Giselle questioned the boy who stopped working on his cards and eyed her with a serious look. 

“People talk, and I listen”

Yunjin laughed. “Everyone knows about your business Gigi”

“It’s not a business,” Giselle said, flipping her hair with the serenity of someone who absolutely knew it was a business. “It’s a... community service.”

“You literally charged Niki fifty bucks to become ‘Jonathan Edgeworth’,” Sunoo said, sipping his drink through a curly straw.

“I gave him a full backstory!” Giselle protested. “He’s from Vermont. His dad owns a vineyard. He’s allergic to shellfish and emotionally distant. That’s worth more than fifty bucks.”

Sunoo sipped dramatically from his drink, eyes wide with amusement. “You literally laminated it.”

“For realism,” Giselle said proudly.

“He got into a 21+ UK trap club,” Karina added. “They gave him a free glass of wine. And he started explaining tax brackets to the staff.”

“See? That’s priceless,” Giselle declared, pointing her drink at them like a gavel.

Hueningkai gasped, looking up from where he was rearranging gummy bears by color on a napkin. “Wait, that’s illegal!”

Karina patted his head. “Sweet summer child.”

“No, like—like actually! That’s federal fraud!” Kai said, eyes wide. “Do you know how many years he could be imprisoned for identity falsification?!”

Sunoo raised an eyebrow. “I feel like this is coming from a personal place.”

“I mean, it happened multiple times like in Death Note! Bleach! Code Geass, probably! It’s a very serious trope!”

“Hueningkai,” Yunjin said slowly, “are you suggesting that Giselle is a criminal?”

“She already has the bangs, that's terribly suspicious,” Taehyun said.

Giselle beamed. “Thank you.”

Y/N, lying next to them and nearly crying from silent laughter, turned to Yunjin and whispered, “Didn’t Niki try to use that fake ID to rent a car?”

“He said Jonathan Edgeworth was ‘an adventurous soul,’” Yunjin wheezed. “They told him to get off the lot or they were calling security.”

“And that’s why he’s out there now, shirtless with a branch,” Karina muttered, nodding toward Niki, who was currently walking in circles around the fire and chanting something that sounded vaguely like a druidic spell.

“Nature doesn’t require a license,” Giselle said, raising her can in a mock toast.

“Or federal documentation,” Y/N added, giggling.

“Just like everyone in this circle now,” Hueningkai muttered, adding a fifth gummy bear to the 'red' category with shaking hands. “I’m complicit just by proximity.”

“You better call your lawyer,” Yunjin grinned.

Y/N laughed so hard she almost dropped her drink. She looked up across the flames and caught Soobin staring again—softly, like he was studying a rare constellation.

And he was.

She was wearing an oversized tee and a hoodie that may or may not have been his, her cheeks flushed pink from the firelight and whatever gossip was being passed around like a volleyball. The sand was stuck to her calves, and she kept tucking her hair behind her ear even though the wind kept undoing it, and God—Soobin didn’t stand a chance.

He looked away, cheeks warm.

Jay started playing a clunky version of the Naruto theme.

“Wait—wait,” Beomgyu called from the sidelines, stumbling over with a bucket of popcorn. “Do Tank! from Cowboy Bebop! It’s jazz. We’re cultured.”

“I only know two chords,” Jay yelled.

“Boo hoo!,” Yeonjun added, already halfway through a mournful verse of "Zankoku na Tenshi no Thesis."

Heeseung chimed in with backup vocals. Terrible ones.

“I think they’re summoning something,” Sunghoon muttered, now fully draped in a hoodie and three towels like a vampire at a masquerade ball. “If the sun rises before I’m in the house, I’ll combust.”

“You know that’s not medically possible,” Hueningkai said gently.

Sunghoon turned slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Is it though?”

Kai blinked. “Yes.”

“Is it?” Sunghoon pressed, ominous now. “I ask you again, Kai—have you seen me in daylight?”

Hueningkai sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. Twice. Yesterday for an hour while we played volleyball, and once at Jake’s birthday when you passed out in a hammock and woke up with a tan line shaped like a leaf.”

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened. “You promised never to speak of Leafgate.”

“Also, I’ve seen the videos. You were literally ice skating under a sunroof.”

“That was special effects,” Sunghoon sniffed. “My skin is photosensitive. You wouldn’t understand. You’re—” he gestured vaguely to Kai’s cheeks, which were glowing from the firelight and a bit too much canned margarita, “—thriving.”

Kai blinked. “I’m not even in direct light.”

“I can feel the UV rays crawling across the horizon like a curse,” Sunghoon muttered.

“You’re literally wrapped in three layers and it’s barely 9 p.m.,” Kai added.

“Time is fake,” Sunghoon shot back. “The sun has no mercy. It waits.”

Soobin sat cross-legged in the sand, a paper cup balanced between his hands, the firelight flickering gold against his skin, his focus had splintered entirely.

Because Y/N was laughing across the fire. Not just polite laughter, not a chuckle or the kind you offer someone to be nice — no, it was full-body laughter, the kind that bent her over a little, hand on her friend’s arm, eyes squinting shut, radiant and loud and lovely. Soobin could barely process it without short-circuiting.

He took a sip of his drink. It tasted like pineapple and panic.

He wasn’t even sure what he and Y/N were now. That thought alone kept unraveling inside him like a spool of yarn in freefall. Last night… last night had been beyond anything he’d ever imagined. They kissed before, sure. But this — whatever this was — was so far out of the realm of his lived experience that he felt like he was wearing someone else’s body.

She had touched him like she meant it.

She had looked at him like she wanted to do things to him he could only have dreamed of.

And now? Now he was terrified he would mess it up. Because somehow he always did.

He felt too big, too clumsy. His hands were still memorizing the shape of her waist, the curve of her smile when she teased him. And oh god, the things she said to him. She’d look him in the eye and flirt like she’d been born to disarm people, and he — he was a walking blush in response. He didn’t know how to be cool, not really. He was still half-convinced he had imagined half of it, especially the way she’d knelt in front of him in the dark and kissed him like he mattered.

Now, everything in his body was on high alert. Every time she laughed, he heard it like a song written just for him. Every time she got up to grab another drink or nudge Sunoo’s arm, he followed her with his gaze like a starstruck idiot. His heart had been fluttering for hours — soft but relentless, like the tide nudging at the shore.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even the physical ache that overwhelmed him, though he knew that hadn’t gone away. It was the want. The need. The crushing realization that he wanted all of it — her voice, her laugh, the way she teased and challenged him, the way she looked first and then looked again, like he wasn’t just background noise.

He wanted to impress her. Make her laugh. Make her want him back in the same way.

But what if she woke up one day and realized he wasn’t enough? That he wasn’t cool or confident or clever — just Soobin. Quiet, awkward, always second-guessing everything. What if she got bored? What if she told her friends that last night had been a fluke?

What if… what if he ruined this without meaning to?

Soobin was a master of self sabotage, and he knew too well this would be his ruin.

He stared into the fire, the warmth of it dancing across his cheeks. The air smelled like toasted sugar and saltwater. People were talking and laughing, the soft hum of friendship and chaos weaving through the night. And yet, he was still somewhere inside his head.

He felt his face grow warm.

Y/N.

He looked up and she was grinning at him, cheeks warm from laughter and a faint sheen of saltwater still caught in her hair. She looked happy. She looked his.

Soobin smiled back, crooked and small, but honest. 

Niki then reappeared at his side. “The fire told me you’re not grounded. Walk with me.”

“I—I’m okay—”

But it was too late. Niki had taken him by the arm and was leading him in slow, ceremonious circles around the fire. “You must embrace your new self. You are no longer Just Soobin. You are Kissed Soobin. Possibly Blown Soobin.”

“I’m going to walk into the ocean,” Soobin mumbled.

“You’re already swimming,” Niki whispered. “In life.”

And for now, Soobin chose to believe him.

Because that night, with the torches glowing, the guitars strumming, and the tide humming in the background like a lullaby—they weren’t just college students or nerds or crushes or rival bands.

They were something better. Unusual, and certainly not expected. But better.

A group of kids on the edge of everything, singing songs they half-knew, falling in and out of laughter, and making summer feel like magic.

And Soobin?

He was right in the middle of it. Exactly where he wanted to be.

prev | masterlist | next

profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: niki is the goat pls say his name.

also this chapter got me feeling so nostalgic about summer idk, a reader once commented on one of the chapters saying this story made them feel like reading old kpop fanfiction and gave them nostalgia, that kind of stuck to me!!

anyway hope you guys like it and i'm already sorry about next chapter hehe (just kidding, or not?) let me know what you guys think!! thank you so much as always <3

taglist: @heejamas @mingyustar @wintereals @mimimiloomeelomi @wonderstrucktae @delirioastral @gomdoleemyson @i03jae @irishspringing @bunniwords @kirbrary @sirenla @saladgirl @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @uvyuri @imlonelydontsendhelp @haechology @sanriwoozzz @stormy1408 @soobinieswife @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobskz @jkeydiary @imnotsureokay @nyanzzn @lostgirlysstuff @lilbrorufr @beomgyusluver@lveegsoi@pagesoobinie @catpjimin @t-102@sh0dor1@i-am-not-dal @bbeomgyucafe @damn-u-min-yoongi@https-yeonjun@booksxandxlace @kookssecret@jellyyjn@soobinz-wife@dazeymazey11 @jellyyjn @urfavsgf @snoopyispunk

[p-artsypants]

He laughed boisterously, something about Hiccup’s reaction that tickled him. “Aye! And a mighty strong swimmer in my day! And not just friends. Best friends. Brothers even! Not biologically, of course, but thick as thieves!”

“I know it’s a lot to take in. When I was your age, the idea of becoming a human was passed around as sort of a dare. Only the most brave and selfless could do it. You had to give up everything and start new. So only those that felt like they had nothing to lose would even consider it. After I lost my fin, I felt like…well, I had nothing to lose. I couldn’t swim. I wasn’t married, my friends all left, Stoick and your mother were the only ones there for me. I think he felt a little betrayed when I decided to come to the surface. He understood why, but…he didn’t like it.”

“He did tell me in a way. But we didn’t talk a lot after I was transformed.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I knew your mother. The most beautiful mermaid in the whole of the ocean.”

“Sounds about right,” Astrid grinned. “Given how pretty Hiccup is.”

Gobber chuckled. “Word to the wise, lass. Boys don’t like being called pretty.”

She muttered under her breath, “too bad.”

“Anyways…your mother, Valka, was sweet, and kind, and loved every creature on Earth. She often went bird watching and seal swimming. She was always bringing home turtles and crabs and all manner of injured creature to nurse back to health. Her favorite of all were dragons.” He glanced off to the side. “So it wasn’t a surprise when Stoick told me she’d been taken by one. It was a few years after I was on land. Our meet ups were infrequent, maybe once every few months. He told me she was with a pup and that he was excited, and then the next time we spoke, he was a widower. I assumed she’d been pregnant when she was taken, not that you’d survived.”

Gobber walked over and rested his hand on Hiccup’s shoulder with a squeeze. “Stoick changed. When you were in the womb, he was talking about all the things he’d teach you. He wanted a son so badly. Being a father was all he ever wanted in life. But losing Valka…it was like a part of his soul left him. When we met up, I constantly asked him how he was doing, but he always changed the topic. He updated me on the pod, and I told him how I was adjusting, but he never told me about his life. It was too painful.”

He patted Hiccup. “I’d be grateful if you had a word with him. Just let him know I miss him and I don’t hold anything against him. I’d like to talk to him like we used to, but only if he’s willing.”

Astrid didn’t know what to say. Gobber shared all of this with an almost casual tone. Talking about Hiccup’s mom had seemed the hardest, but he seemed content with his transformation.

Too content.

Astrid wrapped an arm around Hiccup, squeezing against his side. She didn’t know what to say to offer comfort, but she would be there regardless.

She wondered if he’d give her the gift to breathe underwater so that she could be there with him when he talked to his father, but she had a feeling that might make it worse.

Gobber weighed down the ends of the paper, which continued to curl. “I worried about the weight too. I’ve been trying to find a material that was rust proof and lightweight. Rumor says that Gronkle Lava mixed with iron makes a metal that might fit the bill, but getting the Gronkle to eat the right material will be the hard part.”

“If you guys work on the tail, I can work on the water,” Astrid supposed. “We can put a basin over there.” She pointed at the low wall on the opposite side of the forge. “And I’ll be here to help and refill.”

After a long training session, all Astrid wanted to do was cool off on the beach. Maybe a tiny swim, even though the ocean was so cold at this time of year. She pushed through the brush and staggered down to the shore.

Only to find a boy lounging in the shallows.

“Oh!” She dropped her axe in the sand. From his bare torso, she assumed he was naked. “Sorry! I didn’t know someone else would be…here…” as the apologies flowed, she realized from the waist down, he had green scales and a pair of fins.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“No way…” she inched closer. “A real mermaid! In the flesh! Are the stories true?” She stamped down her overwhelming curiosity for a moment to give him a stern point. “Don’t try anything fishy, mermaid. I’m very capable of protecting myself, got it?”

((I saw the prompt and went feral, hope you don’t mind))

[X]

Hiccup started, the water around him splashing as he sat up straight in surprise, before he moved a little further back, his cheeks flushed.

"No, sorry, I, I shouldn't--" Ducking his head, the merman awkwardly held up a hand, "Usually no one comes here..."

But his movements only caused his tail to briefly break the surface, emerald scales glittering in the sun for a moment before dipping below the water again.

Firmly, he responded, "Merman. I am a merman. And no, don't worry, I, I wasn't going to try anything...I know you'd probably kill me if I did..."

Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair, which had partially dried in his time sitting in the shallow water. "What, what stories are you referring to?"

He knew, or at least had a gut feeling about what she was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her. She appeared wary, but not fearful. Maybe these humans didn't have the same fears of his kind like the others?

[heartsiebyul]

hello! Could I request for scarabia + riddle with a very paranoid reader? Thank you!!

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

featuring — Riddle : Kalim : Jamil.

✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧

☛ Riddle Rosehearts

You had checked your bag five times before class. Books, notebook, wand, everything was there. Still, you sat stiffly, tapping your pen as your mind raced. “What if I forgot something? What if I messed up the homework? What if someone’s mad at me?” you whispered, voice tense. Riddle, seated next to you, glanced over with a frown. “You’ve done everything right,” he said firmly. “You’re worrying over nothing.”

At first, Riddle didn’t understand your constant paranoia. But over time, he noticed the signs, how your hands shook when you thought someone was watching, or how you triple-checked your door every night. He started making sure everything was in order for you, double-checking his own notes just to ease your mind. “If it’ll help,” he’d say, “I’ll walk you through the checklist.”

One evening, when you were panicking over possibly upsetting a professor, Riddle sat beside you and gently took your hand. “You don’t have to think about everything at once,” he said. “Let me help carry some of the worry.” His words were quiet, but his presence grounding. With Riddle, you didn’t feel silly for being anxious, you just felt safe.

☛ Kalim Al-Asim

You were biting your nails again, eyes wide as you looked around the hallway. “Kalim… did I say something wrong back there? What if I offended them? What if they hate me now?” Kalim blinked, then smiled brightly and threw his arm around your shoulders. “Nah! You were super nice! They probably loved talking to you!”

Kalim didn’t always understand your worries, but he always tried to make you feel better. If you were scared of something going wrong, he’d help you go through everything step by step. If you needed to check something twice, he’d do it with you, humming the whole time. “You don’t need to be scared,” he’d say. “If something bad happens, we’ll fix it together!”

One night, when you were too anxious to sleep, Kalim brought you a blanket and a warm milk. “Let’s just chill and look at the stars, okay?” he said, pulling you close. “I’ll stay with you until you feel better.” With Kalim, your fears didn’t feel so heavy, he made the world seem a little kinder.

☛ Jamil Viper

“Did you lock the door?” you asked Jamil for the third time that evening, eyes wide with worry. “What if someone breaks in? Or if I left something out and it explodes?” Jamil sighed, calmly setting his book down. “Yes. I locked it. I triple-checked everything already, for you.”

Jamil noticed how you always thought something bad might happen. You’d worry about every little thing, spells going wrong, people hating you, disasters that never came. He didn’t tease you for it. Instead, he stepped in quietly, helping behind the scenes. “You overthink a lot,” he said once, brushing your hair back. “But it’s okay. I’m used to keeping things under control.”

He never said much when you panicked. He just stayed close, his steady voice grounding you. “Breathe. I’ve got you,” he’d say, holding you when you needed it most. Jamil didn’t try to “fix” your fears, he just made sure you didn’t face them alone.

✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧ ─── ✧

erm, I think I did the req wrong, I feel like this is "overthinking" than being "paranoid" I'm sorry 😭😭😭

[elphabaathropppp]

“Book place spies?” Elphaba asked with a laugh. “What are you talking about?” She was actually confused for a moment then thought about it. “Galinda, my sweet girl. Do you think you are subtle when you say you had to look things up for class?” She asked with a smile. “I don’t know what you’re doing in there or what you look up, but when you get red every time I ask a question I have a good idea what’s happening.” She told her with a kiss to her temple and a gentle laugh. “I like that you’re going and doing research I think it’s sexy” she told her with a grin. “I think you wanting to be informed and knowledgeable is smart and well thought out and adorable and it makes me like you even more. You don’t have to tell me a thing about what you’re reading. If it’s helping you and making you feel more comfortable with this then I support it completely” she promised.

“I’ve never felt like this before either” she told her “I’ve never felt my body get so carried away or excited by something especially something someone else is doing.” She listened to Galinda and nodded “I can understand that, I worry all the time about making you feel uncomfortable to going to fast too soon, but I’m starting to think we are there” she told her gently leaning into the hand on her cheek. “I know it’s soon in the time of or relationship but I don’t think it’s too soon for us if we both want it” she told her. “What is something you wanted to do that you didn’t because it would make me uncomfortable?” She asked “and I’ll tell one something I didn’t do for the same reason” she promised.

A New Week

Galinda slowly opened her eyes to the light of the new morning. She looked across the room at Elphie, who was still in bed. She knew that she needed to get up and start getting ready because they had classes that day, but she was content to look over at Elphie for a few minutes. She had never thought she could feel happiness like this, like how Elphie made her feel. The way she felt snuggling with her, kissing her, it was all incredible. She smiled to herself, letting herself look for a few moments longer before getting out of bed. She turned and made her bed before heading into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

While in the bathroom, she kept smiling to herself thinking about Elphie and their two perfect dates. As she applied her skincare, she kept replaying all the moments of their dates in her mind. She thought about snuggling with Elphie and just being with her, how much she had enjoyed the kissing, and just how happy she had felt with her company. She couldn’t help the giant grin on her face. How had she gotten so lucky? Once she had finished the first part of her morning routine, she went back in their room to start picking her outfit. She would come back and change before PE so she could pick a different dress then, but she needed something for their morning study session and history. She started sorting through her clothes, trying to decide on her first outfit.

[selunefae]

i would really love to if you could write smut reiner as the reader's husband about him after holding back for a few months after his wife gives birth. with a lil bit lactation kink maybe?

Is it that sweet? I guess so (+18) - Reiner Braun

After months of holding back, your husband Reiner can't stay away from you any longer. You're restless and aching, and he plans to help you out.

masterlist | rules

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,272

tags: reiner braun x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader, domestic fluff, dad!reiner

cw: shameless smut, fingering (female receiving), nipple paly and sucking (female receiving), PinV sex, lactation kink, big boobs, size kink if you squint

notes: I had to do a little bit of investigation for this one – I'm a 20yo woman who has never been pregnant. I hope it's accurate enough. I'm aware that first-time sex after giving birth can be painful and uncomfortable, but this is fiction and we all want to feel good, so sorry if it is a little bit unrealistic. I've never read or written any lactation kink fic, but I understand the appeal and I think that maybe I did too much... VERY messy sex is described. I write it with post-canon in mind, but I tried to make it vague enough that the setting can be anything you like. Anyways, hope you enjoy it! (English is not my first language, not beta reader, not proofread)

You roll under the weight of the blankets, arms tightening around your chest as you wince into the pillow. Your breasts ache. The baby had a weird schedule today. She refused the afternoon feeding and fell asleep earlier than usual. Your body had been ready to feed her, but after seeing her sleepy face dozing off, you hadn’t had the heart to wake her up. You shift again, legs tangled in the sheets, trying to distract yourself from the discomfort. But no matter how much you turn, no position eases the dull throb of your full, swollen breasts.

“Mm… you okay?” a deep, groggy voice murmurs beside you. 

It’s your husband, Reiner. You must have woken him up from your stupid struggle.

You sigh and nod your head before remembering it’s too dark for him to see. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you whisper. “Don’t worry, go back to sleep.”

He hums, but doesn’t do as you say. Instead, he pulls you closer, one arm sliding around your waist while the other strokes your belly. “Feels like something is wrong.”

You bite your lip. 

“It’s nothing, just… I’m a little bit sore,” you admit, brushing a hand over your chest in a helpless gesture. Your shirt is clinging a little too tightly, and the ache manifests again. “She… didn’t eat before bed, and now… I’m kinda… full.” 

Reiner goes quiet for a second, his chest still pressed to your back, but his hand doesn't move. He shifts closer, nose deepening between your shoulder blades. When he speaks again, there’s a different edge to his voice. “I can help you.”

Your eyes flick open to the dark ceiling. “Help?”

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck, lips brushing there in a soft kiss. “Yes, let me help you,” he explains as he moves his mouth to the back of your ear. “I haven’t touched you in months. I’ve been trying to be good. I know you needed time to rest. But – fuck – I miss you.”

You stiffen.

It’s not that you don’t want him. You miss his touch, too – but your body doesn’t feel like it used to. There are new lines and softness you’re still learning to live with. Your breasts are heavier, your hips fuller. Maybe he doesn’t like the way that you look anymore.

“I…”

Despite your hesitation, he doesn’t pull away. His hands travel up, cupping you over the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. “C’mon, love. I’ll make it feel good…”

“Reiner…” you start, your voice smaller than ever.  “It’s just that…” 

You struggle to get the words out. Even if you’ve already accepted the idea that he might not be as attracted to you as he once was, saying it aloud feels like pressing a newly made bruise.

“What if you don’t like me anymore?”

…

Silence.

His hand drops from your chest. A heartbeat later, he pushes himself up on one elbow, and then the mattress dips as he sits fully, knees bent and body half-turned towards you.

“What?” he says, voice tight.

You keep your gaze on the sheets. You’re unable to see his face, but you don’t need to. You already know what kind of expression he has on right now: stern and serious. You feel ridiculous. Fragile. Like if you say one more word, you’ll shatter.

“Hey–hey, look at me,” his hand finds your cheek, and you flinch at the contact. “Babe, no. Don’t say that ever again. You’re beautiful. Of course I still want you. How could I not- ?”

You suck in a breath that burns in your chest. You feel the tears pickling at your eyes. The turmoil of emotions that’s been lingering for weeks finally spills out of your throat:

“You don’t even know that!” You snap, louder than you mean to. “You’re not even seeing me right now!”

He doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you’re scared you might have done something wrong, shouting at him like that. The tears start pooling in your eyes. With a quiet shift of fabric, Reiner leans across the bed until he can touch the nightstand. You hear him moving until a warm light spills into the room. 

Your breath catches.

He’s looking at you.

Really looking at you

His eyes trail up and down, from the strands of your hair fanned out on the pillow to the tip of your toes under the blanket. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. The light reveals everything: the soft curve of your waist, the stretch marks along your hips and thighs, the milk-damp fabric clinging to your breasts…You cross your arms on instinct, shielding yourself from his intense gaze.

He smirks. Not in the sharp, cocky way he used to in his youth – this one is softer. A little arrogant still, but in the way that comes from knowing exactly what he wants.

“I see my very beautiful wife lying in my bed,” he says, eyes drifting down your body again. “And she just so happens to be in a very sexy state right now.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel nice,” you mumble, trying to hide your shaky voice.

He leans down. One of his large hands wraps gently around your wrists, pulling them away from your chest. The other wipes away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek. He pins your hands softly to the bed, one on each side of your head. His breath is warm against your skin as he dips his head, lips finding the space just behind your ear. “You’ve never been more beautiful,” he whispers. “All this time, and I still can’t believe how I got you to fall in love with me.” 

You exhale at that, words caught somewhere between your ribs and throat. Reiner starts pressing kisses from your ear down to your neck, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. His hands move down, tracing the curves of your body through your shirt.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?”

You nod lazily, and he doesn't waste another second. 

His hands slip under your shirt, cupping your breasts fully. They’re heavy, full of milk and a little firm, but that doesn’t stop him from squeezing them with appreciation, his large hands almost big enough to cover them completely. You gasp. Your body is more sensitive than ever, and even the minimal pressure pulls sounds out of you. His fingers glide upward, feeling the few drops of warm liquid already dampening your areolas. He tweaks your nipples, and milk spurts out in response.

You feel something hard against your thigh.

“R-Reiner –”

“I’m sorry, love.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it off, eyes hungry as he finally sees everything he’s been aching for. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months.”

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and starts sucking. His other hand continues giving attention to the other breast, kneading it. He groans when the warm milk touches his tongue and instinctively begins to grind his hips against your leg. You're a moaning mess beneath him, arousal burning hot between your thighs, spreading in slow waves from your core. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling tightly, holding him there. This is the relief you needed.

“Mm…” he moans, sucking once more before pulling back for air.

His eyes are hazy, cheeks flushed, and there’s a drop of milk slipping from the corner of his mouth; one he quickly licks away with his tongue. Then your mouths crash together. You can taste the sweet, warm liquid on his tongue as he kisses with hunger, tongues fighting for dominance and fluids mixing together. With one swift motion, he pulls down his underwear, cock springing free as the tip hits your thigh from the sudden force. He’s desperate to be inside you, but no matter how many times you’ve done this, you still need a little more prep to take him. His hand moves between your legs, cupping your cunt before he trails your lips with his middle and trigger fingers. His thumb moves to start rubbing circles over your clit, and then he presses two fingers inside of you.

“AH!” You yelp. They slide in easily, but the sensation it’s still intense, your body still getting used to the new way things feel.

He smiles against your lips and starts to move them, slow at first and faster with each passing second. Your breasts press to his chest, nipples grazing skin, adding friction to the rising pleasure. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, needing more of everything.

“Relax, baby…” he says between kisses, fingers working in and out, in and out, in a hypnotic pace. “I’ll make you come.”

His lips leave your and return to your chest, switching to your still full tit. His mouth latches on, sucking firmly, milking you as his fingers drive into you faster and deeper. “You taste so good…”

He starts sucking with more enthusiasm when he feels your walls clench, and with one flick of your clit, you come.

You let out a loud moan, back arching as your pussy spasms around him. A clear, wet gush coats his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. Your nails dig into his back. At the same time, milk spills freely from your nipples, streaking down your chest and spattering Reiner’s face. You look up at him and –

God, he looks wrecked.

His body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your release glistening down his arms, and drops of white sizzling down his lips and chin. You’ve never imagined he could look this hot all soaked between your fluids. 

The sigh somehow, even though you just came, makes you feel heated up again. You reach for him and start to lick and kiss him all over his face, the mix of his salty sweat and your sweet milk a delicious combination. Your hands find his heavy cock and you start stroking,

“Eager, are we?” he teases, voice hoarse and smiling against your temple.

You’re not in the mood to pout and play, so without a word, you guide his length to your entrance, still slick and sensitive. Then, he sinks into you in one smooth, desperate thrust.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden pressure.

You can feel everything – every thich inch, every throb of his cock. He’s filling you to the brim, the swollen head prodding your cervix. Your body trembles from the stretch, from how perfectly full you feel.

“Fuck, you’re so hot… so beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding all over your body. He caresses your waist, your hips, the back of your thighs. He touches you like he’s rediscovering you, like every inch of your body is something worth worship. You whine softly, hips twitching, impatient.

He’s not moving.

You meet his eyes, wide and pleading, the kind of look you know he can’t resist. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growls, lowering his hands to your ass and giving a firm squeeze. He wants to hear you say it.

“Please… fuck me.”

And that’s all he needs.

With a deep groan, he grabs your ass with both hands, lifting your hips slightly and angling them just right, and then starts moving.

The first few thrusts are slow and careful. He’s trying to be gentle, trying to give you time after all these months. But with the way your eyes roll back, your tongue slips past your lips, and the sounds that escape your throat, he can’t hold back for long. Before you know it, he’s fucking you deep and hard, each thrust powerful and hungry, dragging moans from both of you. The headboard bumps faintly with his rhythm, and the room soon fills with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

“God, baby – fuck – I love you,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “I love every inch of you. I love your pretty face, the sound of your voice… and how this sweet cunt feels around me.”

You moan loudly at his words, arousal spiking even higher. Your fingers clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in something real, but it’s all too much. The sight of his body above you, the scent of his skin, the stretch of his cock inside you, it drowns every thought on your mind.

All your previous worries fade away.

“R-Reiner, I’m gonna –” you gasp, the pressure building again, much more intense this time.

He kisses you, muffling your cries, and one of his hands slips between your bodies. He starts rubbing your clit, syncing his rhythm to every thrust.

“That’s it, angel,” he pants, “come for me.”

!!!

Your orgasm crushes into you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes as your walls clamp down around him. You moan into his mouth, thighs trembling, nipples sensitive and tingling. Reiner groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself with one hand while the other keeps playing with your clit. He finishes over your stomach, thick ropes of cum spilling across your skin. 

You both stay like that for a moment. Sweaty, messy, and spent. You’ve never felt more release in months, and your body hums with contentment. Your eyes flutter closed on their own, and you have to fight to keep them open.

“I’ll clean you up,” you hear Reiner say. He strokes your cheek with one of his hands. “You rest.”

You barely notice the mattress shift as he slips out of bed. Your body sinks into a deep slumber, and you can finally rest.

Satisfied and with no aches.

[444eggnog]

Light-Up Shoes to Wedding Shoes

✍︎: i’ve always imagined Oscar as a very hands on girl dad, gentle, soft-spoken, the kind who tears up at school plays and keeps crayon drawings in his desk. and i’ve always wanted to write an AU using this song… what better way to capture its quiet beauty than through the story of Oscar and his daughter? 

This one’s for the tender moments:

The wedding. The flashbacks. The tears he swears he’s not crying.

this will probably be my last AU for a while (okay, maybe just a few weeks lol) because uni is absolutely beating me up right now. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy this one; it’s extra special to me. ♡

content: fluff, Oscar as a girl dad, wedding, flashbacks, soft crying, full heart 

wc: 6,175 (I'm so sorry, I got carried away...)

The First Time I Held You…

Oscar held tightly onto his wife’s hand, whispering encouragements as she pushed through the pain of labor. It had been a difficult pregnancy, filled with worry, sleepless nights, and quiet fear he never let her see. He was terrified. But the moment their daughter’s first cries pierced the air, all that fear melted away.

Tears welled in his eyes as the doctor gently placed the baby on his wife’s chest. He couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. She was beautiful, soft features, a tiny button nose, a mix of them both. Somehow brand new, yet already the most important person in his life.

Later, in the quiet of their hospital room, Oscar hesitated when the nurse offered to let him hold her. She looked so small, too fragile, like the world might break her if he wasn’t careful. But his wife gave him an encouraging nod and smiled. You can hold her, Osc.

So he did.

He cradled his daughter with trembling arms, heart pounding in awe. A smile tugged at his lips as he leaned in and whispered the softest “Hi,” like she was a secret only he got to keep.

In that moment, something shifted inside him.

He’d thought he knew what love was. But now he understood something deeper. He would do anything to protect her. No one would ever hurt her, not if he had anything to say about it. He’d never let her cry, never let her feel alone.

And if someone did hurt her? Well, he wouldn’t end them, but he’d think about it.

The Very First Walk

It happened one lazy afternoon.

Oscar was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, toy blocks scattered around him, watching his daughter as she clung to the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her legs were still wobbly, soft knees locked with determination, curls bouncing every time she shifted her balance.

She’d been practicing for days. Holding onto furniture. Testing her limits, then sitting down with a soft thud like she needed a break from trying so hard.

But today felt different.

Oscar held out his hands, close but not quite touching.

“Alright, bub,” he murmured gently. “You ready?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, uncertain but curious. Then slowly, cautiously, she stepped away from the couch. Her little hand reached for his finger, gripping tight like she trusted it, like she always would.

One step.

Then another.

Oscar walked slowly, backward, matching her rhythm. Guiding. Not rushing. Just being there.

“Good job,” he whispered. “Look at you.”

Her grip loosened.

She kept going.

And Oscar, heart lodged somewhere between awe and ache, let her hand slip from his.

She kept walking.

Tiny steps. Wobbly legs. Arms out like wings.

He didn’t catch her this time. Didn’t rush forward or steady her.

He just stayed close, watching.

Letting go, but never far.

When she finally plopped onto the floor with a surprised laugh, he dropped beside her, scooping her up in a hug that felt too big for such a small moment, but it wasn’t. Not to him.

“You did it,” he whispered into her curls. “You walked.”

His wife peeked from the hallway. “Is she walking already?”

“Just now,” Oscar said, still grinning. “We walked together.”

His daughter giggled in his arms, cheeks flushed, tiny fists tugging at his hoodie string like it was her prize for getting across the room.

First Birthday

Oscar had no idea why she was so obsessed with Bluey.

Maybe it was the voices. Maybe it was the colors. Maybe it was the way she’d go perfectly still completely entranced whenever the opening theme played. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t even thought twice before choosing it as the theme for her first birthday.

He just wanted to make her happy.

Now, standing in the middle of a sea of blue streamers and balloon dogs, Oscar was panicking. His heart raced, his palms were sweaty, and he’d forgotten where the gift table was, again.

Why had he invited everyone?

Why did he think he could pull this off?

She didn’t even know what a birthday was. She didn’t care if the cake had fondant or if the streamers matched the cups. She just wanted Bluey. And maybe some mashed bananas. 

So he found her, sitting in the middle of a blanket someone had laid out on the grass, hands sticky with frosting, curls a little wild from crawling around too much.

And just like always, the moment he saw her, everything slowed down.

She was clapping off-beat to the music from the speaker, squealing at the screen as Bluey danced with Bingo. Her laugh was loud and messy and perfect, cutting through all the noise in his head. Nothing else mattered.

He crouched beside her, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Happy birthday, bub,” he whispered.

She turned to him with cake smeared across her cheek and a proud little sound that sort of sounded like “dada...”

Oscar’s chest tightened.

She wouldn’t remember this day. Not the balloons, not the presents, not the chaos he’d wrapped himself in trying to make it perfect. But maybe, she’d remember how safe it felt to be in his arms. How he was always there. Always watching. Always loving her more than he ever thought was humanly possible.

He picked her up, ignoring the frosting on her fingers now clinging to his shirt. “I hope you stay weirdly obsessed with this dog show forever,” he said, kissing her cheek. “But even when you’re not, I’ll still be here.”

She giggled and reached for his nose like it was her favorite toy.

And in that moment, Oscar realized he didn’t need to throw the perfect party. He already had the perfect girl.

It's Just 90 Minutes

It was only ninety minutes.

One and a half hours. That’s all.

Oscar had repeated it to himself at least twelve times that morning, pacing the kitchen in mismatched socks while his daughter munched on a banana in her high chair, completely unbothered by the milestone looming over them.

Today was her first day at daycare. Just a trial. Ninety minutes.

Still, it felt like someone had yanked the ground out from under his feet.

She looked so small in her tiny sneakers and oversized backpack. The straps kept sliding off her shoulders, and her curls were tied up in a little puff that wobbled every time she walked. She was fine. Giggling. Pointing at the fish stickers on the daycare windows like it was the most exciting place in the world.

Oscar smiled and waved, crouched next to her as the teacher led her inside.

Then the door shut.

And so did something in his chest.

He made it back to the car. Barely. And sat there in silence, hands frozen on the steering wheel, heart thudding in the kind of rhythm that made his eyes sting.

His wife reached across the center console and gently touched his arm. “Oscar.”

He shook his head quickly. “I’m fine.”

But his voice cracked. And that was it.

His shoulders dropped as the tears spilled over, quiet and frustrated and way more emotional than he wanted to admit. “She’s just a baby,” he whispered. “She’s so little. I’m supposed to be with her, always.”

She squeezed his hand. “You are. She’s just in a different room.”

He gave a watery laugh, wiping at his face like it would erase the truth. “She didn’t even cry. Didn’t even look back.”

“That’s because she’s brave,” his wife said softly. “Like her dad.”

Oscar looked out the window, blinking hard. “It’s just an hour and a half.”

“Yep,” she nodded. “And then you’ll get to tell her how proud you are and give her the biggest cuddle in the world.”

He didn’t answer. Just rested his forehead against the steering wheel, cheeks damp, heart too full.

Because maybe it was just daycare. Maybe it was only ninety minutes. But it was also the first time he’d felt the space where she wasn’t.

And he didn’t like it.

Light-Up Shoes and Rainbow Wishes

By the third day of daycare, Oscar thought he’d gotten the hang of it.

He no longer cried in the car (small victories), and drop-off had gotten smoother, no clinging, no wobbly lip, just a cheerful wave and a distracted “Bye, Daddy” as she toddled inside.

But that afternoon, when he came to pick her up, something was off.

She wasn’t running to him like she usually did. She was sitting cross-legged on the mat, poking at the velcro on her shoes, quiet.

Oscar crouched in front of her, brushing her curls back gently. “Hey, bub. You okay?”

She looked up at him with eyes far too thoughtful for a toddler. “I want fluffy socks.”

His brows lifted. “Fluffy socks?”

“And shoes that light up when I walk.” Her voice got even softer. “And a water bottle bag. Pink. With rainbows. Gemma has one.”

Oscar’s heart cracked a little.

He didn’t care about the socks. Or the shoes. Or the price tag. What got him was that look, that tiny frown she didn’t quite know how to hide yet.

He bundled her into the car, promising they’d stop by the store “just for a look.” What followed was a two-hour quest through three different shops and one online order. He didn’t know where people even found pink water bottle bags with rainbows, but somehow he did.

That night, she tried on her new fluffy socks with pride, stomping around the house to test the lights on her shoes. Her laughter echoed down the hallway like it was made of gold.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her spin in circles. A soft chuckle slipped out.

“Thirteen bucks for sneakers and she’s acting like she won the lottery.”

He smiled to himself, a little dazed by how much joy something so small could bring.

But then again, so was he.

Almost There

Oscar was cleaning up in the kitchen, humming under his breath, when he heard a soft grunt from the hallway.

He peeked around the corner.

There she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tongue sticking out in pure concentration, tiny hands wrestling with her favorite pair of shoes.

The light-up ones.

The ones with the glittery pink straps and soles that blinked when she stomped. The ones she’d begged for after daycare because “everyone else had them,” and she wanted hers to be pink with rainbows “not just pink, Daddy, pink with lights.”

She was trying to put them on by herself.

Left foot first. A small pause. Then she adjusted it just so, like she was checking her own work. She beamed, proud.

Then the right foot. A little sideways at first. She frowned. Tried again. Wiggled her toes in.

The lights blinked once, soft, faint, a flicker of magic.

She didn’t know how to fasten the Velcro properly yet, not tightly, not evenly but that didn’t stop her. She mashed the straps down with all the strength in her tiny arms, completely convinced she’d done it perfectly.

Oscar didn’t say a word.

He just stood there, heart climbing up into his throat, watching her figure it out. His little girl. The same one who used to cry when her sock bunched up weird. Now sitting on the floor, shoes slightly off-center, still glowing with each proud little kick of her heels.

She looked up when she noticed him.

“I did it!” she grinned, cheeks pink with effort.

Oscar nodded slowly, voice soft. “Yeah, you did.”

She stood up, the lights in her shoes flashing unevenly, Velcro flapping a little with each step. She held out her hand toward him.

“Help me fix?”

He knelt beside her, fingers gently peeling the straps back, smoothing them down with a care that came straight from his chest. Slower than usual. Deliberate. Letting the moment stretch just a little longer.

“Almost there,” he murmured.

And maybe he meant the shoes.

Or maybe he was just trying to come to terms with the fact that she was growing right in front of him and faster than he was ever going to be ready for.

Her Favorite Superhero

Oscar had pulled up to the school gate like always, sunglasses on, window down, already scanning the sea of backpacks and untied sneakers for the one pair he cared about most.

Usually, she came out running, arms flailing, curls bouncing, talking a mile a minute about story time and snack swaps and who got a time-out today.

But not today.

Today, she walked out slowly. Shoulders low. Her hands were curled around something, crumpling it tighter with every step.

Oscar stepped out of the car the second he saw her face.

Her bottom lip was trembling, eyes pink and glassy like she was trying really hard not to let the tears fall. When she reached him, she didn’t say a word, just wrapped her arms around his legs and pressed her face into his hoodie.

“Hey, bub,” he said, kneeling down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. Then carefully, she uncurled her fingers and held out a wrinkled sheet of paper.

It was a drawing. Stick figures and squiggly stars. Her usual style, lopsided but full of love. He could tell instantly who it was meant to be: him, in his racing suit, a cape drawn behind him in bold, wobbly orange. In the corner, a tiny her, holding up a gold medal.

But all across the center, thick, angry black spots were scribbled over the drawing. Like someone had tried to cross it out.

Oscar’s stomach twisted.

“Who did that?” he asked, voice still soft but tighter around the edges.

“Riley,” she mumbled. “The teacher told us to draw our favorite superhero. I drew you.” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “But he said dads can’t be superheroes. And he ruined it.”

Oscar blinked. Hard.

He looked at the page again, imagining her sitting at one of those tiny tables, tongue between her teeth, coloring each little detail just right because she wanted it to be perfect for him.

He pulled her gently into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Hey. You listen to me, yeah?”

She nodded, sniffling.

“That’s the best superhero drawing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Even better than the rocket ship one. And I’m still putting it on my wall.”

“But it’s all messy now…”

He looked at it again, folding it carefully. “No. It’s not ruined. It’s got battle scars. Makes it cooler. Like the real superheroes.”

She gave a small, watery giggle and curled closer into his chest.

Later, when he buckled her into her seat, she reached between the chairs to hold his hand, her little fingers sticky with crayon smudges. He drove slow on the way home, like the whole world needed to take a breath.

That night, he taped the drawing up right above his desk, scribbles and all.

And underneath it, in her tiny handwriting with a backwards 'S', it said:

For Daddy! My Favorite Superhero!!!

And every time he looked up at it, he smiled. Because no one, not even some kid with a black crayon could take that away from him.

Who’s Got A Crush?

Their little café booth had become tradition. Same place, same order: pancakes with too much syrup for her, black coffee for him. A "father-daughter date," she'd called it once, and the name stuck. He blocked out time every month for it. No calls, no training, no team meetings. Just them.

She was older now, legs swinging off the bench seat, baby teeth gone, ponytail messy in that way that said she didn’t care about neat anymore.

Oscar was mid-sip of his coffee when she said it. Casual. Like it was nothing.

“I think I have a crush on someone.”

He choked. Audibly.

She blinked at him, confused. “Are you okay?”

He coughed into his sleeve, heart stuttering. “Yeah. Yep. Totally fine.”

Crush? She has a crush? On who? Why? Who gave her permission to grow up?

She took another bite of her pancake like she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “He’s in my class. He has a dog. And his lunchbox is shaped like a dinosaur, which is really cool.”

Oscar stared at her like she’d announced she was moving out. “That’s... very specific.”

She nodded, matter-of-fact. “I think I’m gonna marry him. Or maybe be a vet. I’m still deciding.”

Oscar gave a weak laugh, setting down his coffee. “Right. Of course.”

She tilted her head. “Why do you look weird?”

“I don’t look weird,” he lied.

Because what was he supposed to say? That his heart just folded in on itself? That hearing those words “I have a crush” felt like someone had turned the page on a chapter he wasn’t ready to end?

He cleared his throat. “Well… whoever he is, he’s very lucky.”

She grinned. “I know.”

He smiled back, trying to hide the ache behind it. Then reached across the table, ruffling her hair the way he always did.

“Just remember,” he said lightly, “you can have crushes and dinosaur lunchboxes and all that. But you’ll always be my girl first.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened.

Later, when she ran ahead to look at the pastry shelf, Oscar sat back and watched her, laughing, confident, growing into herself.

And in that moment, he realized he didn’t need to stop time. He just needed to be there as it moved.

Medals, Caps, and Gowns

Oscar didn’t think he’d cry.

It was just primary school. A short ceremony, small chairs in a sunlit auditorium, kids in too-big uniforms fidgeting in their seats. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But then they called her name.

She walked up, chin up, ponytail bouncing, the sleeves of her button-down still a bit too long and Oscar felt his throat close.

First medal: Athletics. She’d broken the school’s sprint record. Still said it was “just for fun.” Second medal: Academic Excellence. Oscar’s heart nearly gave out.

Then the third one.

“Most Encouraging Teammate,” the principal announced with a smile. “For her kindness, her endless support, and for cheering louder than anyone else, no matter who was winning.”

Oscar laughed under his breath, wiping at his eyes as his wife handed him a tissue.

Of course.

She stood there, medals glinting, grinning like the stage was the best place on earth. When she caught Oscar’s eyes in the crowd, she gave a tiny wave, subtle, just for him and he swore his heart would never be the same.

After the ceremony, she ran straight into his arms, all laughter and tangled ribbons.

“Three medals,” she said proudly.

“I saw,” Oscar whispered, his voice thick. “You crushed it, bub.”

“I almost tripped on the steps,” she added with a giggle. “But I didn’t.”

He hugged her tighter.

He remembered the first day he dropped her off at daycare. The fluffy socks. The pink light-up shoes. How small she looked walking away.

Now she was tall enough to hang her own medals on the hook by the door.

Growing up, he thought, was just a series of letting go, one handshake, one applause, one medal at a time.But holding her now, still breathless and warm in his arms, he knew: He’d never stop being proud. And he’d never stop being hers.

18th Birthday and a New Face

Oscar stood when they asked him to say a few words.

He didn’t grab a mic. Didn’t tap his glass with a fork. Just stayed where he was, hands loosely tucked into his pockets, shoulders a little hunched, eyes steady on her.

The room quieted.

She was glowing in her dress, surrounded by friends and family and a cake that probably took four hours to decorate. But Oscar only saw her, his girl, the same one who once cried because her sock felt weird, now standing tall at eighteen.

He gave her a small smile. The soft kind. The only-for-her kind.

“Eighteen,” he said. “Feels fast.”

There was a short pause. The kind that always followed when Oscar searched for the words that lived somewhere in his chest but not always in his mouth.

“You’re smart. You’re kind. And you’ve always been... good. You’ve always had this way of making people feel seen. I don’t even think you realise it most of the time.”

Another pause. He shifted a little, the room silent, listening.

“You’ve got a strong head, a stubborn heart, and a laugh that’s way too loud. But it’s you. And I love it.”

He cleared his throat. Not because he was emotional, of course, just… clearing it.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Always have been. That’s all.”

Then he sat back down like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just quietly shattered the room.

And she was already blinking fast to hold back tears, smiling at him like he’d given the greatest speech in the world.

Because to her, he had.

A little later, after the candles were blown out and the room had settled back into music and chatter, she found him standing near the corner, sipping from a paper cup.

“Dad,” she said, tugging gently on his sleeve.

“Yeah?”

She glanced over her shoulder and then back at him. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

She bit her lip. “You remember that guy I told you about at our cafe? With the Dino lunchbox?”

Oh. That guy.

Oscar blinked, holding her gaze.

She looked so hopeful. Nervous, too, but sure. And somehow still his little girl, even in heels and lip gloss.

He took a slow breath, then gave her a faint nod. “Alright. Go on, then.”

And she smiled, wide and excited and turned to wave someone over.

Oscar kept his expression neutral.

But inside? Inside, he was already silently evaluating every single thing about this Dino lunchbox boy.

Because even if she was grown now... He still remembered the baby in light-up shoes who once reached for his nose and giggled like it was magic.

And he wasn’t about to hand her heart over to just anyone.

The Drive

The car was quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet they usually shared on long drives. Not the sleepy hum of the engine with music low and snacks in the middle seat. This one felt heavy.

Oscar glanced sideways.

She was curled up against the window, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes fixed on the blur of the road. Her suitcase was in the back. Her university acceptance letter still folded neatly in the glove compartment. The city they'd be leaving in the rearview. And a name they hadn’t said since they left the house.

Dino Lunchbox Boy.

He hadn’t brought it up. Wasn’t sure he was supposed to. But it was all over her face, every sigh, every blink too long, every time she picked at the edge of her thumbnail like she used to when she was a kid trying not to cry.

“You okay?” he asked gently, eyes still on the road.

She was quiet for a second. Then gave a tiny nod.

He waited.

Then: “We broke up,” she whispered. “Before I started packing.”

Oscar nodded once, slow and steady. “Because of uni?”

“Yeah. His offer was overseas. Mine’s here.” She cleared her throat. “We tried to figure something out. But it just… didn’t make sense anymore.”

He could hear it in her voice, that quiet kind of heartbreak. The kind that doesn’t shatter, just bruises deep and slow.

She was always so careful with her heart. But she gave it anyway.

“He was a good kid,” Oscar said after a while.

She nodded, wiping the corner of her eye. “Yeah. He was.”

They pulled up to campus not long after, cars unloading, students hugging their parents, dragging duffels and dreams into dorm rooms. He parked in a quiet corner, far enough that it still felt like they had a moment left to themselves.

Oscar helped unload her things. Carried them up the stairs. Let her lead.

When it was all set, bed made, desk neatly stacked, a mug she didn’t really need sitting on the shelf, he paused at the doorway, hands in his pockets.

“You’ll be alright,” he said.

“I know.”

“And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

She looked at him then. Eyes red, lips trembling, not from Dino Lunchbox anymore, but from this. From goodbye.

Oscar stepped forward and wrapped her in the kind of hug he used to give when she was five and scraped her knee on the pavement. She was taller now. But somehow, she still fit.

“You still call me when you need help opening jars,” he muttered into her hair.

She laughed. “They’re really tight jars.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss the side of her head. “Call me if anything hurts. Doesn’t have to be a jar.”

She smiled. “You’ll come visit?”

“Course I will.”

“And text?”

He raised a brow. “You won’t answer, but yeah.”

She laughed. He memorized it.

Then he walked out of her room. And for the first time since she was born, he left without her.

The One

She graduated on a hot, cloudless day.

The kind of heat that clung to the back of your neck and made dress shoes feel like punishment. But Oscar didn’t care. He stood in the crowd, sunglasses on, camera in hand, smiling like he was watching the sunrise.

She wore her cap slightly crooked. Medas  tucked into the collar of her gown. That same proud, unshakable grin she’d worn her whole life like she knew exactly who she was and wasn’t about to shrink for anyone.

He swore she looked taller up on that stage. Braver, too.

After the ceremony, she came bounding through the crowd, arms wide, tossing her cap somewhere behind her as she crashed into his chest.

Oscar caught her with a laugh and held on tight. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair.

“Even in this heat?” she teased, voice muffled by his shirt.

“Even if I melt into the pavement.”

Later that night, their house was filled, family packed into every corner, laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, cupcakes half-eaten and champagne corks missing. She looked radiant, floating between people like she belonged in every room.

Then she walked in with someone at her side.

He was tall. Pressed shirt. Neatly combed hair. Shoes that looked too clean for this house. He stood close, but not too close. Hands carefully folded in front of him, like he was afraid to touch anything without permission.

Oscar straightened instinctively.

“This is Jack,” she said, her voice light. Then, with a smirk, “I think he’s the one.”

Oscar blinked.

The one? She’d never said that before.

“I like the name,” she added, nudging Jack with her elbow.

Jack smiled nervously and offered his hand. “Sir. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to call me that.”

Jack chuckled, glancing down. “Right. Sorry, Sir.”

He didn’t make eye contact for more than two seconds at a time. But he said thank you when offered a drink. Helped her mom without being asked. Laughed, albeit awkwardly, at her cousin’s awful puns. And when Oscar’s dad started talking about old cars, Jack listened like it was the most important history lesson he’d ever heard.

When she wasn’t looking, Oscar caught him gently tugging her chair in so she could sit. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

Just thoughtful.

Later, Oscar stepped outside to get some air. The backyard was quiet now, soft light spilling from the kitchen window, music playing low inside.

Jack found him there, shifting on his feet like he didn’t quite know if he should interrupt.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” he said “I just wanted to say thank you. For welcoming me. I know… meeting the family isn’t easy, especially on a day like this.”

Oscar studied him.

The stiff posture. The polished shoes, now dusty from the yard. The way he stood up straight but looked down when he spoke. Professional. Polite. Nervous. Trying.

“And I also wanted to clear my intentions,” Jack added, voice more certain now. “I care about her. A lot. And I’m not here to waste her time.”

There was a pause. Oscar looked at him, really looked. The shoes scuffed from the yard. The shirt a little wrinkled now. Still standing up straight, still choosing his words with care. Nervous, but honest.

He didn’t say anything.

Just looked through the window again, at his daughter, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard, joy tucked into every corner of her.

Then he nodded.

“Good,” Oscar said. “That’s all I need.”

Jack let out a breath, relieved and a little stunned. “Thank you, sir. I mean Mr. Piastri. Sorry.”

Oscar cracked the smallest smile. “You’ll figure it out.”

He watched as Jack headed back inside, slipping beside her naturally, their hands brushing, still not holding, but getting closer.

Oscar stayed out a minute longer, watching through the glass.

She looked happy. Safe. Like someone who’d finally found her way home.

Maybe she had.

The Blessing

It had been a few years since Jack first sat in this kitchen: sweaty palms, dress shirt too stiff, calling him sir like he couldn’t help it.

Not much had changed.

Jack was still Jack. Still a little too polite, still a little too nervous around Oscar. But he had settled into himself more now. His hair wasn’t gelled to perfection, and he didn’t panic when the dog jumped on him. He laughed easier. Fit into the family noise like he belonged there.

But today he was quiet again.

He sat at the table with both hands folded in front of him, back straight, eyes flicking between Oscar and his wife like he was preparing for a formal boardroom pitch. The air was soft, late afternoon light spilling through the windows, mugs half-full on the table. Their daughter was out.

Jack had asked to come by. Said he had something important to talk about.

Oscar had a feeling he knew what.

Jack cleared his throat. “Thank you for having me. I, uh…” He paused. “I just wanted to say thank you. For welcoming me into your home. For trusting me with her.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. His wife smiled faintly.

“I care about her a lot. You know that.” Jack looked between them, more serious now. “And I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

Oscar waited.

“I’m here to ask for your blessing,” Jack said. “Before I propose.”

There was a silence, small, still, and full.

Oscar leaned back slightly in his chair. Studied him. “Big question.”

Jack nodded once, hands a little too tightly clasped now. “I know, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar glanced at his wife. She gave a tiny, knowing nod.

“She’s a lot like her mum,” Oscar said slowly. “Strong. Stubborn. Smarter than most people in the room.”

Jack smiled. “She is.”

“And she’s not someone you ever take lightly.”

Jack’s voice was quiet. “I don’t.”

Oscar watched him a moment longer, then finally gave the slightest nod.

“Alright, Jack,” he said. “You’ve got our blessing.”

Jack let out a breath, blinking a little like he hadn’t been sure he’d get that far. “Thank you, sir. I—I really appreciate it.”

Oscar’s wife reached across the table and gave Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re proud of her. And we’re glad she has someone who sees how special she is.”

Jack’s voice cracked just a little. “I do. I really do.”

As Jack stood to leave, jacket folded over one arm, Oscar walked him to the door.

“Jack,” he said quietly, just before the boy opened it.

Jack turned.

“You can drop the sir, you know.”

Jack gave a sheepish smile. “I’ll try, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar just shook his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Close enough.”

And with that, Jack left, heart thudding, a ring in his pocket, and a quiet kind of peace blooming in his chest.

Oscar stood at the door a moment longer, hand resting on the frame.

His little girl was really getting married.

And somehow, he was okay with it.

Wedding Shoes

Oscar’s phone buzzed once.

Then it rang, shrill and familiar.

He didn’t even look at the screen before answering. “Hey, bub.”

Her voice came through, a little breathless. “How do you feel about closed-toe heels?”

Oscar blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“For the wedding,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do I go with something classic? Or like, a block heel? Or maybe flats, since the ceremony’s outside…”

He leaned back in his chair, the warmth of the afternoon sun spilling through the kitchen window, one arm resting on the table.

It hit him quietly, without fanfare, without warning.

Once, when she was three, she cried because her light-up sneakers didn’t match the color of her hair clips. He’d spent forty-five minutes convincing her that Bluey would totally wear mismatched shoes.

Those sneakers had cost thirteen pounds and lit up every time she stomped on the ground like a dinosaur. He remembered the sound, the way her tiny feet would race across the floor, squeaky, chaotic, full of life.

And now she was asking him about wedding shoes.

There was a lump in his throat he didn’t quite expect.

“You there?” she asked, soft again.

He cleared his throat gently. “Yeah. Still here.”

“So? Closed-toe or open?”

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Whichever one lets you dance properly. You’ve got terrible balance in heels, remember?”

She laughed. “Rude.”

“True.”

There was a pause. Then her voice softened. “Thanks, Dad.”

“For what?”

“For still picking up on the first ring.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was, he always would. No matter what. No matter how far, how grown, how busy life got. If she called, he’d answer.

Always on the first ring.

And she knew that. Somehow, she still knew that.

“You’ll look beautiful,” he said finally. “Doesn’t matter what’s on your feet.”

She smiled through the phone. He could hear it.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bub.”

The call ended, but Oscar didn’t move. Not right away.

He just sat there, thinking about sneakers and wedding shoes, mashed bananas and wedding cakes, night lights and aisle lights.

She wasn’t little anymore.

But she still needed him.

And somehow, that was enough.

The Most Important Walk

The music had started. Soft, distant, barely there beneath the rustle of satin and the flutter of nerves.

Oscar stood beside her, just out of sight from the waiting aisle. His hand rested gently on hers, not leading, not pulling, just there. Like it always had been.

She adjusted her bouquet, breath coming out in small, uneven huffs. She looked radiant, hair pinned just the way her mum used to do it, dress flowing like water, eyes wide and shining.

But beneath the shimmer of highlighter and lace, she was still his little girl.

Oscar leaned in slightly.

“You okay?”

She gave a shaky smile. “Nervous.”

He nodded, soft. “That’s alright.”

Then he waited a beat.

And in the quiet before the doors opened, he gently asked, “Is this what you want?”

She looked up at him. Like she had so many times before. Like when she scraped her knee and didn’t want anyone else to clean it. Like when she forgot her lines in the Year 6 play and scanned the crowd just to find him. Like when she called wedding shoes and asked if he thought she was doing the right thing.

And now, here.

She nodded. Steady, certain. “Yeah. It is.”

Oscar’s throat tightened. He offered his arm. “Then let’s go.”

The doors opened slowly, light spilling in like the world was holding its breath.

Everyone turned.

And she stepped forward, not alone. Never alone.

Oscar walked beside her, not just down the aisle, but through every memory stitched into her stride. He could still hear the echo of her tiny feet running through the house. Still see the frosting smudged across her cheek on her first birthday. Still feel her fingers tugging his sleeve that one morning when she cried because a classmate ruined her superhero drawing.

Now her steps were steady.

And he only let her hand slip from his when it was time.

He kissed her forehead, whispered something only she would hear, something like I love you, something like you’ve got this, something like I’ll still pick up on the first ring.

Then he stepped back, hands in his pockets, sunglasses hiding everything he couldn’t say.

She turned to face the rest of her life.

And Oscar… He smiled.

Because she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[straykidsnerd255]

Hi, good evening/morning/goodnight to you! I’ve been reading your saja boys hcs bc how could I not? :) We needed more Saja scenes n dialogue, I really need to know their backstories.

So what else to fill that saja sized gap w the boys (separately) with a gn!s/o that has a funny laugh-and I’m talking wheezing n tears streaming. Either from memes or the guys saying something funny triggers a contagious laughing fit.

Need represent my wheezers

YESSS! I am definitely a wheezer when I laugh too hard. I hope you like and enjoy it! Thank you for requesting<3

Jinu:

You had been sitting at home waiting for your boyfriend Jinu to return from practice while scrolling through instagram reels when a rather funny video of your boyfriend appeared. You sat and watched it, thinking it was something that you had already seen but when it showed him doing some random goofy pose you had never seen before, you burst into a fight of laughter. You were wheezing on your knees when Jinu opened the door. His eyes widened and he rushed to your side. You gasped, tears falling down your face as you tried to calm your body down. As you slowly came back, your wheezing laughter finally slowed and you turned to Jinu. His eyes were wide, filled with alarm but you placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m ok Jinu. I just happened to see a rather funny video about you and started laughing so hard that I started wheezing and crying at the same time.” You said, taking his outstretched hand as he helped you stand back up. Jinu rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red from embarrassment. You smiled before wrapping your arms around his waist and laid your head on his chest. A small chuckle leaving his throat as his arms wrapped around you. He leaned close to you, his hair tickling your neck. “What video was it?” He asked, pulling away from the hug. You grinned and showed him your phone. His jaw dropped as he watched the video. 

You laughed at his reaction before taking his hands in yours. “Don’t worry Jinu. Your fans still love you and I for sure still love you. This silly little video isn’t going to stop me from loving you. If it stops other fans from loving you then they were never fans to begin with.” You said, leaning closer to him and pressing a kiss to his neck. He smiled, happy that you love him even when videos like this show up. He started scrolling through the comments and his eyes widened at all the people wanting more videos like this made. “My career is so over.” he muttered glaring in the direction you left when he heard your cackle.

Abby Saja:

You were currently waiting for the boys to finish their practice when you scrolled past a meme of Abs. You scrolled back to it and read it carefully before bursting into a fit of wheezy laughter. Tears fell down your face as you tried to calm your laughter but you fell off the couch laughing so hard that it came out in desperate gasps for air. You slammed your hand on the table before it slipped to the ground again as you wheezed. Abs was at your side the moment they entered the dressing room. He was yelling for his members to grab you some water before he was able to calm you down. You gasped for air like it was a lifeline. Abs placed his hand on your thigh, leaning closer in hopes that he could at least help calm you down. 

You placed a hand on his when you finally got your breathing under control. You took a deep breath, took the water Romance offered you and thanked him. You took a big swig of water before coughing a bit. “I’m ok Abs. I just saw something a fan made and it got me laughing so hard I nearly passed out.” You explained the meme to them, showed them the picture and watched as chaos erupted. Abs was blushing such a dark red you thought his head would pop off and the rest of the members were laughing so hard they also fell to the floor. 

You walked over to Abs and wrapped your arms around him, leaning your head against his back. You smiled when you felt his hand press to yours. “Sorry that I worried you. I promise I won’t laugh like that-” Before you could finish your sentence, Abs turned around and held your face in his hands so gently you melted. “I would rather you laugh like that then be sad. I love seeing you smile and laugh. Please don’t stop because of me reacting like you were dying. I love your laughs.” He said, leaning forward and kissing your nose making it your turn to blush.

Mystery Saja:

You were at home waiting for Mystery to come back home from a meeting when you rewatched their hot sauce challenge. You were scrolling through the comments when one caught your attention. As you read the comment, you started laughing so hard that your body forced a wheeze from deep in your chest. You felt tears running down your face as you laughed the hardest you had ever laughed before. You gripped your stomach as your laughing turned silent from how hard you were laughing. The only thing that was really heard was your wheezing. 

When the boys returned home, they saw you practically dying on the floor with how red your face was. Mystery started panicking and rushed to your side. He paused the video on the phone, having to get out of the comments to do so. He gently patted your face, watching as color returned and you gasped for air when the laughter died down. You opened your eyes as you took deep breaths. You noticed Mystery looking at you through his hair. You reached forward and tucked a little bit of his hair behind his ear so you could see his eyes. “Sorry.” You mumbled, placing your palm against his face, watching as he leaned into your touch. 

You told them what the comment had said and how when they found you, it was because you were laughing so hard at the comment that you kinda forgot how to breathe for a moment. Mystery stayed by your side as you both watched videos, mainly videos that would cause you to go into a full blown out laughing mess that you stop breathing because you would end up laughing so hard. You leaned your head on his shoulder and smiled when he took your hand in his and intertwined your fingers together. You snuggled closer, letting a happy huff of air leave your lips. 

Romance Saja:

You were scrolling through instagram when you noticed a meme someone did of Romance nearly dying after the hot sauce challenge with a caption that had you bursting into a fit of laughter. A knock sounded on your door but you were laughing so hard that you couldn’t even get up to answer the door. You fell to the ground causing whoever it was on the other side of the door to open said door like it was a hazard that needed to be removed. Romance stood there, watching as you hit the floor as wheezing laughter filled the air. 

Confused, he walked over to where your phone lay, reading the meme that was still on the phone. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened before he turned back to you. You had tears running down your face as you gasped for air, holding your stomach as your laughter continued to fuel itself. After a few seconds, you started to calm down, your laughter disappearing as your breathing slowly returned to normal. You stood from the ground, dusted off your shirt and smiled sweetly at Romance. 

He narrowed his eyes with his mouth parted slightly as he studied how fast you just came back from being a laughing mess on the floor just moments before. You sat on the couch and patted the spot next to you, watching your boyfriend slowly sit down next to you before wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close to him. “Are you feeling better now that you nearly laughed your soul away?” He asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You nodded, leaning against his shoulder and closing your eyes for a moment, basking in his warmth, and mahogany cologne. 

“Much better.”

Baby Saja:

He was so confused. He just returned home from a long training session and all he wanted to do was come home, take you and himself straight to bed to cuddle. He was so tired but when he pushed open the door, all he found was you on the floor, slamming your fist into the ground, tears in your eyes as your wheezed, cracked out laughter filled the air. What was on your phone that caused you to laugh this hard? He would never know as he didn’t want to see what you found so funny. (He would laugh too, who is he trying to fool)

He dropped to his knees, gently rubbing your back hoping that would bring you out of your laughing fit. When it did, he gently pulled you into his chest and closed his eyes, leaning his head on your head. He mumbled something that you couldn’t quite catch but, you shrugged it off and closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around him and nearly falling asleep in his hold if he didn’t move from the floor and take you up with him. He pulled away from the hug and held your face in his hands. “How about instead of passing out in the living room over a funny video, we go take a name?” He asked, hoping you would agree with him. 

You chuckled but nodded your head. You were rather tired and that laughing made you even more tired. You intertwined your fingers with his and you both made your way to your shared bedroom. You both changed into something comfortable and immediately jumped onto the bed. You practically melted into the sheets before curling into your boyfriend's side when he finally laid down. His arms wrapped around your body and pulled you close to his chest. You both passed out moments later, too tired to even say anything. When you both woke up, he asked you what you found that made you laugh so hard. You told him, and he glared at you, but he loves you, so he lets the meme about him making your laugh slide.

[faeritaboo]

🐚 The kidnapping 🐚 HS 🐚 CW: kidnapping, mdni

rafe, lost in his own little world of cocaine haze, barely noticed his next door neighbour. until one night when he crossed paths with you at a bonfire. rafe found himself attracted to your warm smile, kind eyes, and kind energy. a bonus being your body that your clothes hugged beautifully. rafe felt a spark, a connection. he liked you, genuinely liked you, surprising even to him. he soon found his thoughts constantly drifting back to you, always watching you tend to your garden while he snorted coke on his balcony

barry had been watching you for weeks, his eyes lingering a little too long each time their paths crossed. he saw the way you laughed, the way your eyes sparkled, the way you made others happy, and he knew he had to have you. he always had dark fantasies, twisted thoughts that he always kept hidden. he wanted nothing more than to break you and mold you into his perfect plaything. so when rafe came to him with a story about his new crush, he immediately knew what to do and how to take advantage of the situation

barry was always the one in charge, even if rafe didnt think so. so, with cocaine induced stupidity and under barrys twisted influence, rafe agreed to his friend's plan; kidnap the pretty little thing rafe had eyes on. they would take you, bring you back to barrys trailer, make you theirs, and make you dependent on them. rafe told himself it was for the best, that you would be safer with them, that he could protect you and that you would be happier. but even he knew it was wrong

rafe knew he had to be careful, had to find a way to get you alone, to create an opening for their not-so-great plan. He spent days watching you, learning your routines, then telling barry about them. and he noticed that you always went for a stroll in a secluded spot on a trail, on saturday, always around seven in the morning, before other people were around, every week. thats what they decided would be the perfect time to strike

rafe had been up before dawn, his mind racing with the plan he and barry had concocted the night prior. he knew he had to act fast, to catch you off guard and make his move before you had a chance to realize the danger you were in. rafe following you quietly as you walked through the trail

rounding a bend in the trail, you found herself face to face with rafe. startled, you took a step back, heart skipping a beat and gasp escaping your mouth as you took in his disheveled appearance and the wild, almost feverish and uncertain look in his eyes

“rafe, you scared me,” you muttered, looking up at him. “what are you doing out here so early?”

rafe offered you a strained smile, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “i could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his voice low and slightly hoarse. “i’ve seen you out here a couple times, ‘ya never noticed me though..” his words sounded slightly hesitant

you shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even as a wave of worry washed over you. “i usually come here, as a reset. this is one of my favourite trails.”

rafe nodded, taking a hesitant step closer to you, glancing around uncomfortably as he spoke. “there’s a hidden gem around, i like going there. would you.. wanna see?”

a bit of silence went on, you thinking. then he spoke again, trying to convince you and come off less weird. “been meaning to talk to you for awhile.. figured now would be a good time.”

you hesitated, unsure of whether to accept his offer. there was something off about his behaviour, the way he was looking everywhere but at you, the why he seemed uncomfortable that made you feel unsettled. you always felt comfortable around rafe, but this is different. but youre too nice

“okay,” you found herself saying, despite the warnings flashing in the back of your mind. kind smile forming on your face. “lead the way.”

rafes face split into a forced wide grin, a flash of conflict passing his features before he masked it. he turned to begin walking up the trail, motioning for you to follow. you fell into step beside him, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest

before you knew it, you guys had reached a small clearing, trees giving way to a stunning view of the ocean below. the sun was casting a golden glow across the water and painting the sky in shades of pink and orange

what happened next was a blur

you were being forced into a truck, a hand clamped over your mouth, protests muffled. rafe watched, heart heavy and stomach churning as his mind raced. just standing with the door open as he stared

you thrashed and struggled, but barrys grip was like iron. he dragged you backwards, away from the breathtaking view and towards a waiting pickup truck parked haphazardly off the side of the trail

you were being half-carried, half-dragged to the truck. barry ignored your muffled cries and the desperate beating of your heart and kicking of your legs. with a grunt of effort, barry successfully lifted you and shoved you into the stuffy, tight backseat of the truck

you scrambled to right yourself, hands scrabbling at the door handle as you desperately tried in vain to escape. even calling out “rafe!”

rafe let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and then over his face. eyes wide as he tried to ignore your screams. simply hurrying to the other side of the truck and hopping into the passenger side

“rafe!” you cried hopelessly hopeful, panic and fear mixed in your cry

rafe closed his eyes, sucking in a breath as he pulled at his hair slightly. hating the guilt and already set in guilt that was creeping in. not knowing what to do. “shut up! shut. up.!” he snapped when you called his name again. his words accentuated with his subconscious hand movements

your emotions were a whirlwind of terrified thoughts and emotions, your mind racing as you tried to process the shocking turn of events. ‘is this really happening?’ playing on repeat in your mind

1🐚 2🐚 3🐚

[winterarchives]

Blood, Sweat and Tears part l

Soulmate AU pairing - OT7 x reader , BTS x reader word count - 13.8k+ summary - You are an up and coming author for M-Buzz; Manhattan, New York’s popular and new news source, set with the task of interviewing the globally famous band, BTS. You also have a bit of a glitch in your system. While everyone else has a set of initials and a birth date to signify who their soulmate is, you have a set of 14 letters and 21 numbers, something unheard of and rather stigmatized; and something that confuses you, that is, until you meet the men you’re interviewing. warnings - cussing , eventual smut , MDNI , early writing (literal years ago) pls go gentle on me

Alright, you’d be the first to admit that there were wonderful advantages to the job you’d landed three years ago. You spoke 3 languages fluently, which made you the go-to person for Korean and Japanese interviews with a language barrier. You could meet celebrities that other ordinary American interviewers couldn’t truly connect with on your level, while saving your company a few bucks they’d otherwise spend to book an actual translator.

Other interviews with the bands, actors, and high-profile socialites would be limited to watered-down conversations held with those celebrities and their translators. So, yeah, you’d pretty much been given the highly prestigious press title the moment your employer had seen the “fluently speaks 3 languages” bullet point on your resume. 

“KPop and Japanese anime have blown up in America over the past few years!” She’d told you excitedly. “You’d be an amazing addition to our team.”  

And so you had started working your ass off immediately. Currently, you have interviews with Hideo Kojima, Hayao Miyazaki, Hajime Isayama, EXO, and BLACKPINK on your belt. You were looked up to in your work environment because of your dedication to the interviewing process. Plus, your income kept you comfortable. You were happy, for the most part. However, at times, you felt complacent. 

Sure, your job was amazing. Being able to speak 3 languages alone was a feat in and of itself, but at the end of the day, you felt lacking. Your social life had dwindled, something your family had been worried about since the second month of your working career, and although you thought it a nonissue at first, the loneliness built until it was something you could hardly stand to endure, but it was also inescapable.

You didn’t have the initials and birthdate of your soulmate etched in black ink on your left wrist, as everyone did at birth; instead, you had 14 letters and 28 numbers. The long sequence of characters had earned you confused looks from doctors at your yearly check-ups and a lack of social life. You’d had them memorised by heart. 

K.S.M.Y.J.H.K.N.P.J.K.T.J.J The stutter in the last two letters irked you to no end. And the numbers were a complete mind-fuck. 

12.4.92.3.9.93.2.18.94.9.12.94.10.13.95.12.30.95.9.1.97. What any of it meant was a fucking mystery to you and everyone around you. You were an enigma.

It wasn’t an existence you were keen on, and you know that it was a huge chunk of your family’s worrying. But you’d accepted long ago that you weren’t going to have a soulmate, that you’d either have to find someone else who was as misfortunate as you, or just settle with being alone save for one-offs and porn. It wasn’t like you weren’t living damn close to those truths now. 

You can still vaguely hear your mother chastising you for having such a full schedule. “You’ll never find your soulmate if the only thing you care about is your work,” she’d told you, thinking the overabundance of black on your wrist was a clerical error, and your lesser-than history of romance was a result of you not looking for them hard enough. It took everything in you not to break down at her harsh words, but you mustered a weak, “I’ve found them already, Mom, my work is my soulmate,” and left her townhouse. That was 6 months ago, and you’d not seen her since. You still stuck by your words, because even if you were lonely, you were beyond appreciative for the job you had, soulmate be damned. 

But sometimes the loneliness was deafening, and it left a question ringing in your head like a church bell. Was the writing really worth it?  

Friends from college couldn’t keep up with your hectic lifestyle of needing to be ready to board a plane at any given moment for an immediate press conference or high-profile interview your boss had scored you. You couldn’t have a pet out of fear of never being home to care for it, and your family couldn’t pause holidays because you’d have a layover flight that day. 

So, long story short, yes, your job was amazing and had definitely provided you with some of the best moments of your life (it’s not every day that you get to ask Hideo Kojima about Death Stranding,) but it’d also enhanced the evergrowing emptiness of your solitude, and piled on your shoulders round-the-clock work hours. 

“Y/N! Thank god you’re here,” your co-worker, Elle, greets you. She’d been the one person you could rely on the most since your first day. She’s a pretty girl, a few years younger than you, her colorful pencil skirts and chiffon button-ups always brightening your day as soon as you walk into the office. 

“Good morning to you, too, Elle.” You tell her, shocked when she quite literally hugs the breath out of your body. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” You ask her, stepping back to look into her eyes. 

“I had a few too many cups of coffee…” She smirks, “But, you’ll be proud of me! I got your interview with BLACKPINK edited, and it’ll be fresh on the press and on YouTube within the next few hours or so.” 

“That’s great! Thanks, Elle. You do need to be careful with your caffeine intake this early in the morning, though. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.” 

She cringes at the reminder, vividly recalling the day she’d forgotten to eat and passed out when she’d gotten a papercut opening her Secret Santa gift. It’d cost her a week’s pay in medical bills once she’d been released from the hospital with a few stitches she’d scored from landing on her face in the office’s rec room. 

“Point taken,” she grimaces. 

You chuckle, nudging her shoulder as you work your way into your office, Elle on your toes the whole time. Your focus drifts as she tells you about her late night and early morning, because this is routine for the two of you now. You’re both free to chat amongst yourselves if you’ve finished your current assignments, something you’re grateful for, until your boss either emails you or makes her way into your office to assign you your next task. 

“Y/N?” Elle asks you, dragging your jaded attention from the swirling of the hot chocolate she’s readied on your desk, back to her face. 

“Huh?” You ask drowsily. 

“I said, did you hear that the Bangtan Boys are going to do a mini-tour around Seoul, Daegu, and Busan before they go on a break?” She says, exasperated by your lack of interest in her earlier monologues. 

“I actually hadn’t heard of that, yet.” You reply lightly, interest piqued, “is anyone from our office covering the tour yet? I know Andrew speaks some Korean, albeit not as fluently as I do.” 

“I haven’t heard anything in the office yet,” she answers. “But, that leads to the question, er, well, favor I have to ask of you.” 

You eye her questioningly, already cautious. 

“It’s just, I know that you’re sometimes allowed to bring a tagalong when there’s big stories like this to cover, so I don’t know… I was wondering if maybe I could be your plus-one if you get the story?” 

“Ugh, Elle, you know we don’t really get to choose the stand-in reporters for those trips,” you groan.

“Andrew told me that when he’s been given big stories that he always takes Cam with him,” she whines. “And I’ve never been out of the country, let alone the continent. It’d be an amazing opportunity for me to be able to leave New York for once.” 

She pleads at you with her eyes, full pink lips puckered and trembling. 

“If- and I mean if,” you emphasize, seeing how her pout turns into a near-blinding smile, “if I get the story, because honestly, we don’t even know if there is one; then I might consider asking Mrs. Powell if you can assist me as a co-writer.”

“Yes!” Elle shrieks, jumping up and down, chiffon bouncing and blonde hair waving across the room wildly. “I knew I could count on you! God, you’re so awesome.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you huff, checking your email. “Powell wants me to write a follow-up on the BLACKPINK interview, so I’m going to start on that. I’ll find you around lunch so we can discuss what I summarize,” you tell her, “oh, and Elle?” You say, stopping her in the doorway of your office before she leaves. “Remind me to kick Andrew’s ass later for being such a mushroom.” 

Elle laughs, stepping out of your office with a skip in her step. 

You didn’t exactly hate Andrew, but you trusted him about as far as you could throw him. He was ruthless in his interviewing and even more so in his everyday life. Beyond that, you guys had the same working position, prospective head reporter for M-Buzz, an up-and-coming Manhattan news source, and both you and Andrew wanted the head reporting position that only one of you would get. 

Four hours, three cups of coffee, and two bathroom trips later, the follow-up is written; the 4,000 words glaring at you from the computer screen. You type in Powell’s email address and hit send, letting out a sigh as you watch the check mark change from grey to green. 

Your mind, the persistent bastard, decides to wander back towards the dreaded soulmate topic, and although you weren’t too keen on staying in the mindset, you can’t shake it. 

At 21 years old, you’d never met another individual with a lack of ‘the signature,’ as most Americans referred to it. You’d moved cross country a multitude of times, studying various current events that arose, and interviewing until your mind was numb, but you’d not once encountered anyone with the same blank canvas that your wrist housed. 

You’d seen the way some people would glance at your wrist, nosy tendencies flaring, and then the way they’d raise their brows in shock, looking to you like you were some sort of circus animal. The pity in their eyes was acidic and made you want to vomit. 

You’d also have witnessed the irritation that would swell in your chest when you saw people treating their soulmates poorly, or ignoring their existence altogether. 

Cam and Elle could deny it all they wanted, but they were, in fact, soulmates. No amount of repression and cold insolence would change fate. They couldn’t deny their cosmic attraction forever, just like you couldn’t deny your cosmic solitude. 

There’s a small knock on your door, and then Elle is peaking her wide-eyed face through a crack, looking sorry for interrupting your train of thought. 

“Mrs. Powell just asked for you and Andrew to go to her office,” she tells you.

“Wonderful,” you quip, standing up and straightening your pencil skirt, not at all excited at the uncomfortable situation you’d be in once you entered your boss’s office. 

“I really think it’s about BTS…” Elle says shyly, walking alongside you towards the elevator. 

“It most likely is. She’s probably going to have us kill each other for the story.” 

“You were always a scrapper,” your friend jokes. 

“Don’t give me too much credit, Elle. I grew up in Washington. The closest thing to a fight I’ve been in was trying to squeeze into a bus with ten other people during a rainstorm.” 

“I’ve seen how you get when you want a position,” she tells you as the elevator doors start to slide shut, “you’ll knock 'em dead.” 

Her face disappears behind the metal panels, and the elevator rises. 

You could go for the job, yank it out from under Andrew’s nose, and enjoy Seoul, you hadn’t been to before, and you did very much enjoy traveling. Or you could simply stay home and watch Friends reruns, edit another reporter’s papers, and drink champagne. You could buy some Ben and Jerry’s and take some sick days, go to a spa, and just relax. 

The latter wasn’t you, though. You were driven, adventurous, and properly bored with New York. You needed a change of scenery, even if it were only for a few weeks, and if you could take Elle, that’d only make Seoul more enjoyable. 

With your mind set, and the doors to the elevator opening upon arrival to the thirtieth floor, you step out and walk with purpose towards the office marked “Powell.” 

“Thanks for finally joining us, Y/N,” Andrew mutters as soon as you’ve stepped foot into the room. 

“Nice to see you, too, Andrew.” You smile, masking irritation with friendly courtesy. 

“Cool it, Klein,” Powell huffs, eyeing Andrew coldly. “Go ahead and have a seat, Y/N,” she motions towards the chair opposite where she’s sitting at her desk, and you take it, avoiding the glare Andrew sends your way as you sit to his left. 

“I’m sure you’ve both been bombarded with notifications throughout the day about the ‘Persona’ tour taking place in South Korea later this month?” She asks, smiling, when you both nod. “Great, well, I had Margaret over on the tech floor set us up with better alerting algorithms last month, and they’ve worked magic for us today. We managed to book a two-person reporting gig for the entirety of the tour-”

“You’re sending me with Y/N? Doesn’t that seem a little redundant, given we’re both going for the same job?” Andrew groans, running his hand over his pointed face.

“Let me finish, Andrew,” Powell snaps, “I was going to say that you guys could pick who, amongst yourselves, would go with an apprentice, but given your outburst, I am choosing to send Y/N. We’re sending a reporter to interview the band and review the tour, not fight amongst coworkers.” 

You hold back a laugh, shocked that you’d gotten the job without having to lift a finger. “But- I didn’t mean to” 

“But you did,” Powell states dryly. “And now Y/N will be going to Korea for three weeks while you continue covering the President’s tweets.” 

That, you do laugh at. “At least you’ll have a lot of content,” you joke. 

Andrew huffs, grabs his coffee from the end table between your chairs, and leaves the room swiftly, jaw locked and scowl present. 

“So,” Powell shifts her gaze from the slightly slammed office door to your still-shocked expression, “your trip is pretty much all set up, you leave in three days, and the tour starts in five. The hotels will be paid for, of course, I just need to know who you’d like to bring along with you and whether you’ll be needing a spare room or just one with two beds when we book your stays.” 

“Oh, just one room will be fine,” you tell her, “I’ll bring Elle along with me, she does a spectacular job of helping to revise my articles already.” 

“Sounds great, I’ll just let HR know who’s being sent and fill out some paperwork, and you guys should be set. Your first interview with BTS will be the night you land, so you’ll have to get situated in the hotel quickly. From there on, I’ll continue emailing and calling with updates and schedules. Pretty smooth sailing, all and all.” 

“Just how I like it,” you smile, shaking her offered hand and leaving the room. 

You don’t expect Andrew to be waiting for you at the elevator, but there he is, in all of his angry-man glory; face red and temper very obviously still flaring. 

“Andrew, I really don’t thi--”

“No, you listen here,” he stops you, voice low and threatening. “I’ve worked my fucking ass off to be where I am today and I will not have my career ruined by some up-and-coming 20 year old floozy. You hear me?” He shouts, finger waving in your face as sweat beads on his forehead. 

“I don’t understand why you even-” 

“I don’t care if you don’t understand! My point is, watch your fucking back and stay the hell out of my way.” He spits, pushing past you and towards the stairs on the opposite side of the hallway. 

What the fuck? 

“He said what?” Elle asks, shoving another forkful of ramen into her mouth.

“The man’s fucking insane,” you tell her, twisting your own noodles with your fork, “it’s not like I targeted him as soon as I walked into the office! I literally just sat there and listened. Didn’t have to utter a peep.” 

“I can’t believe he called you a floozy. Is he stuck in the ’60s?” She mocks. “Listen, I know you’re upset, and after a situation like that, no one can blame you… But, Y/N, look on the bright side. We’re going to have so much fun in South Korea. I can’t thank you enough for letting me come with you. I really can’t.”

“Buy me lunch once a week for the next two months and we’ll call it even,” you joke.

“Deal,” Elle replies instantly. “You’re the only person I know who will eat noodles every day with me and not get tired of them.”

“It’s good food,” you reply, “people are just ungrateful.” 

It’s almost as if you’ve blinked and you’re getting off the plane in Seoul. The last few days passed by in a blur as you and Elle attended a few meetings, going over company policies and general rules of thumb. No sexually explicit questions, no touching the interviewee, be on time for the interviews, dress appropriately, etc.

“It’s colorful here,” Elle exhales, stepping to your side as you wait for a taxi. “Kind of exhilarating.” 

“It’s pretty breathtaking,” you agree, smiling at a taxi driver who finally acknowledges the two of you and pulls to the curb. You give him the hotel address once he’s situated your luggage in the trunk, and you rest your back against the leather interior as the car begins to weave through traffic. 

“Where do you wanna go first?” Elle asks after nearly half an hour of silence, “We could go to a local restaurant? Cam told me about a few places he’s been to that have completely ruined American cuisine for him.” 

“Well, first we have an interview.” You placate her, “food, after. Maybe we could walk the streets later and sightsee?” 

“Mmm, fair enough.” Elle smiles. “Thank you, Y/N. No, I really mean it,” she says, shrugging off the interjection that’s ready to roll off your tongue. “I know people usually say thank you just to serve their own egos, but I really mean it. You’re a good friend, and I appreciate that.” 

You blush, not quite knowing how to respond. 

“We’re going to have a great time,” Elle adds, filling the silence, “this will be the best work trip either of us has ever been on, I swear it.” 

“Alright, you’re getting sappy,” you chuckle, nudging her shoulder. “Save it for when we reflect on the trip a few months down the line, huh?” 

“You’re not very emotive, are you?” She jokes. 

“Hey, I can be emotional. I just choose not to act on my emotions in front of other people. I promise you, inside- very deep inside my body, my psyche is curled in the fetal position and crying from just how you’ve moved me.” 

“Shut up,” she scoffs, shoving you lightly. Her eyes light up as she glances out of the passenger window from her back seat. “Is that it?” 

You follow her gaze to the gargantuan building ahead of the taxi, and your mouth gapes. “That’s it…” You breathe, completely taken aback by how luxurious the hotel looked. 

“Wow…” 

“You can say that again.” 

You pay the taxi driver and bow, thanking him in Korean. Elle is already out of the small vehicle, pulling her luggage out of the trunk with a few grunts. You couldn’t hold off your work forever, despite how nervous you were growing. You could do this. You knew you could. Turning to the nearest bellhop and signaling him over, you begin to pull your suitcase out of the trunk.

“We have roughly 2 hours before we’re supposed to be downtown to meet with BTS for the interview,” you tell her. “So that gives us an hour to get ready. Powell said Big Hit offered a driver to us during the tour.”

“A driver? But we’re interviewing them, not the other way around,” she replies, following you and the bellhop as he escorts you to the front desk inside the massive building to retrieve your key. 

“I guess they really appreciate American media covering them,” you tell her, “maybe they’re considering another U.S tour sooner rather than later,” you shrug. 

“Your keys, Miss L/N.” The bellhop tells you, handing you the golden objects on a ring. Room #901, that’d put you pretty high up. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, smiling widely. “Would you be able to lead the way and get our bags up there? We’re on a time crunch,” you tell him in his native tongue. He nods his agreement and grabs a silver luggage cart from behind the front desk. 

You’re shocked that M-Buzz has put you and Elle on the top floor, not quite expecting the obvious pampering. 

“This is just so exciting!” Elle chirps, nearly scaring the poor bellhop. You offered him an apology for her outburst and huff. “I mean, the top floor? Cam has never mentioned being treated to a top-floor suite.” 

“It’s not what I figured we’d be getting, that’s for sure.” You mumble, “Maybe there’s some sort of catch? An extra 50,000-word write-up? Deducted pay?” 

“Oh, give M-Buzz some credit, Y/N.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, I do, and I’m not complaining in the slightest. I just didn’t expect it. We’re only going to be in Seoul for a week or so anyway. We have two other major cities to go to after.” 

“You have a point,” Elle agrees, “but I don’t think they’d dock our pay. The write-up seems more realistic. But you have gifted fingers, it’ll be a breeze for you.” 

“Magic fingers?” You question her, cheeks blazing. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Y/N. Everyone around the office calls you Magic Fingers because of how quickly you can pull a five-star article out of your ass.” 

You send her a pointed glare, this time verbally apologizing to the bellhop for her crudeness. You only had ten floors to ascend, and then you’d be free from the claustrophobic confines of the elevator and the awkward social setting looming inside of it.

“I just write whatever pops into my head, I don’t overthink it…” You explain, feeling completely self-conscious, breathing out a sigh of relief when the elevator doors finally open, revealing a large hallway with only one door on either wall. 

“Penthouse 901,” the bellhop announces, shoving the key into the lock and pushing the door open for you and Elle.

“Holy crap,” Elle squeaks. 

“Thank you,” you tell the bellhop, handing him a 10,000 won tip, hoping it’ll cover the cost for Elle’s loose lips. He bows and exits the room, leaving you and Elle to gape at the extravagant room alone. 

“This is kind of amazing,” you whisper, eyeing the white marble floors and granite countertops in the massive kitchen. 

“Kind of amazing? It’s fucking incredible, Y/N,” Elle corrects you. “They even sent us a bottle of champagne.” 

“For a reporting job?” You wonder aloud, still not quite grasping the intricacy of the penthouse you were situated in. 

“Who knows?” Elle answers, “I’m not complaining.” 

You shake the slight unease you feel, and start to unpack your belongings, makeup bag, and toothbrush, some of the first things you grasp. “I’m going to find a bathroom in this castle and get ready. You should do the same,” you chide, pulling your hair into a loose ponytail. 

“Meet you back here in an hour?” Elle shouts, already at the opposite end of the mini-mansion. 

“Sounds good!” You holler, pushing open a door and gasping at the bedroom in front of you. Satin sheets, dark maroon walls, wall-length mirrors, and a massive television screen glaring at you with purpose. “Wow,” you whisper, openly admiring the intricacy of the carpet and bedding. “Later, Y/N,” you order yourself, refocusing your whirling mind on getting ready for the interview mere hours ahead of you.

You had drafted a multitude of questions for said interview while on the flight, thankful that Elle had drifted asleep for the entire duration you were in the air. God knows you would’ve gotten nothing done had your coworker been awake. 

Aside from clothing and a tad bit of makeup, you were ready. Beyond ready, in fact. So why were nerves still prickling at the back of your psyche and rendering you a shaking mess right now? 

You want to break down and have a good cry, but you know that’ll serve you no good. You have a job to do here, and you weren’t going to let M-Buzz and Elle down. Maybe if you did a great job you’d have more extravagant trips to look forward to, Elle included. 

You splash your face with water from the connecting bathroom, and look at your face in the mirror. Nerves definitely had done their work on you, your pupils were still slightly dilated from your strange near-panic attack and you had cold sweats.

Thankfully, you had packed your favorite lavender body oil, which always seemed to soothe your anxiety when huge work or life obstacles such as this clouded your mind. A pat of the scented liquid against your throat and wrists, a natural makeup look completed with a mauve lip, and your new black pencil skirt paired with your pastel pink blouse and a high bun had you feeling rejuvenated and even excited for the interview. You didn’t even trip once in your nude Miu Miu heels on your way from your bedroom to the living room. 

Elle waited, as she said she would, in the entryway of the luxurious penthouse. “I thought you said Powell was going to hook us up with a one-bedroom?” 

“She did,” you tell her, “can you please not use the phrase ‘hook us up with’ in a sentence, please?” You groan. “It sounds like you’re talking about us fucking the room.” 

“You are especially frisky today, Y/N what’s gotten into you?” She asks, wiggling her brows suggestively. 

“Nothing has gotten into me, Elle,” you shout, “I’m just excited to do the interview, that’s all. I wanna bring up astrology signs and stuff,” you explain, “it’s going to be fun!” 

“For you,” Elle quips, leading you out of the room and into the elevator. “Not everyone is as involved with astrology as you are, you know.” 

“I’m not involved with astrology,” you huff, “readers like to learn this stuff about their celebrity crushes. It’s not far-fetched,” you grumble. 

“I’m just teasing you,” she laughs, nudging you. “I’m sure the interview will be fun. I know you were plotting out questions and topics the entire flight.” 

“Wha-”

“You type loud,” she shrugs. “It’s good to be prepared, don’t be embarrassed.” 

You want to argue with her for the sake of your ego, but you know she was right. She’d embarrassed you, not necessarily a hard feat for her, given how well she’d come to know you. 

“Powell wants me to try and interview them in mainly English, but she said that if I think it’s easier to do it in Korean, that would work, too.” You tell Elle, kicking at the elevator floor as it continues its slow descent. “I don’t like it when she leaves me to make the big decisions.” 

“Oh, Y/N. You always do this.” Elle groans, rubbing her hand against her face.

“Do what?” You ask, slightly defensive.

“Psych yourself out before the interviews you do. You second-guess everything, and then the second we walk into the interviewing room, you completely shift. It’s like you were never worried in the first place, you just… go with the flow?” She explains, “it makes the worrying you do beforehand incredibly frustrating. Especially knowing how confident and driven you are outside of interviews and work.” 

“I’m sorry…” You say, sad that you’d made her even an inkling upset. 

“Don’t be, it’s very you. I’m not frustrated you experience it, just frustrated you don’t seem to credit yourself enough on how spectacular of a job you do all in all. And as far as the English or Korean topic goes, the guys have been learning more English from what I’ve learned, so they might surprise you and make the decision for you.” 

“I appreciate that,” you tell her, because truthfully, you do. “I’ll try my best not to be a mope the rest of the tour, I swear!” You hold out your pinky, grateful that she doesn’t leave you hanging as you lock in your promise. 

The elevator finally dings, and the two of you step out, crossing the lobby quickly and hopping into the black SUV that waits outside of the hotel with your name in the passenger window. The driver greets you, quickly explaining his job at Big Hit, which literally consists of driving interviewers and members of Big Hit to and from locations during tours and press conferences. 

“We appreciate you driving us,” you tell him in Korean, leaning towards the front seats so you can see him better, and noting his slight blush and the creases that form at the corners of his eyes as he takes your compliment. 

“We will be arriving at the Big Hit building in ten minutes,” he tells you, “it’s a pretty short drive.” 

“That’s great. We’ll make it on time, then.” You smile, repeating his statement in English for Elle as she watches the night scenery flitter by her outside of her window. 

“Do you think they’ll be as beautiful as they are on screen in person?” Elle asks.

“More than likely,” you answer her, “but we aren’t here to pine over them. You’ve got a soulmate back home to worry about,” you chastise her.

“Yeah, but you don’t.” She replies dryly after a few minutes pass, “and I am still single, you know.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave her off, “you and Cam have both made that abundantly clear.” 

“Shut up,” she mumbles, pulling her cardigan tighter around her body while she sulks. “It’d be weird if we got together.” 

“Why?” You ask her, interest piqued, “Because you work together? Don’t give me that.” 

“No, because I dated his brother in high school.” 

You were not expecting that. Whatsoever. 

“You dated his brother?” You ask incredulously. 

“Yes, his brother. Adam.” She snaps. “Didn’t end all too well.” 

“I’m sorry, Elle,” you tell her honestly, “I didn’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t joke about it.” 

“It’s okay, there are reasons Cam and I don’t bring it up.” She shrugs. “Oh, look!” She points, and you follow her finger, seeing the mostly-glass-constructed building that’s lit up down the expansive driveway you’ve turned onto. 

“That’s a lot of windows.” 

“Nice assessment.” Elle laughs. 

“Thanks. It was exhausting to make.” You joke back, pulling your notebook you kept with you during interviews, out of your purse. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to meet them,” Elle smiles, “I’ve been listening to them since 2 Cool 4 Skool was released.” 

“I listened to Wings when it was released, but aside from that, research is my extent of BTS knowledge.” You tell her. 

“Wait, what?” She asks, taken aback.

“I just kinda stopped listening to music and paying it any attention after my dad passed away in high school.” You shrug. “They released that in my senior year, so I gave it a listen. It was good, but I don’t know. I didn’t want to listen to music like I did when my dad was around, I guess.” 

The car comes to a stop before Elle can reply, and your driver steps out to open your door. You bow, thanking him and heading towards the Big Hit worker who waits for you and Elle at the front door to the Big Hit establishment. 

“Y/N?” The young woman asks. 

“That is me.” You answer kindly, shaking her offered hand. 

“The boys are waiting for you and your co-writer in the main room. I am Mai, and I will be guiding you there and staying on hand for any questions you may have during the interview.” She tells you.

“That’s wonderful! Thank you.” You answer her, following her and signaling for Elle to do the same as she leads you over the threshold and into the marvelous entryway of the building.

“This way,” she directs you, stepping down a small flight of stairs and into a ridiculously well-lit room, every piece of furniture and decor white, save for the three chairs and two sofas that are burgundy. 

You can feel sets of eyes on you as you enter the room, but you wait until you’re sat in the lounge chair that Mai directs you to stand in front of to raise your chin and look the boys in the eyes. 

To say they’re gorgeous is quite possibly a disservice to them. They’re ethereal, otherworldly. 

“Hello,” you address them, your voice surprisingly steady given your inward disarray from simply looking at them. “My name is Y/N L/N, I’m a reporter from M-Buzz, an up-and-coming news source in Manhattan, New York.” 

Some of the boys are glancing at you with confused expressions on their faces, and you can swear that two of them look at you with complete shock and bewilderment. You save yourself a lengthy self-analysis and repeat your introduction to them in Korean.

“Woah! Are you fluent in Korean?” One with a giant smile, black hair, a yellow Gucci crewneck, and an exuberant voice asks you. 

“Hoseok, we haven’t even introduced ourselves,” another rebukes the man who must be Hoseok, his voice a velvety, rich sound that nearly has you blushing. 

“I’m so sorry!” Hoseok rushes, bowing to you, “My name is Jung Hoseok, or JHope! It’s nice to meet you.” 

You smile gently at him, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Hoseok.” 

“I’m Kim Namjoon, or RM,” the one with the rich voice tells you, bowing as Hoseok did. He’s very well defined and the tallest of the bunch. His lips are drawn up in a smile, but you can tell that they’re shapely. You absentmindedly notice his hands, the size of them, and the muscles that shift in his arms as he plays with his hands in his lap. 

“Don’t keep her all to yourselves,” another voice rings out. You glance at the owner of the new voice, pleased with what you see, though you’d never say that aloud. His lips are full, eyes bright, and hair a butterscotch blond. “I’m Kim Seokjin, but ARMY calls me Jin, or Worldwide Handsome.” 

You smile, returning his bow. 

“I’m Kim Taehyung!” A man with a bandana tied across his forehead to keep back his chocolate brown hair smiles, eyes bright and boxy-smile infectious. “ARMY calls me V.” 

“I’m Jeon Jungkook!” The muscular figure next to Taehyung introduces himself, his smile wide and cheeks flushed as you shift your gaze to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” He smiles even wider, a feat you thought impossible. 

“I’m Park Jimin!” The next introduces himself, his smile sweet, but something lying beneath his eyes tells you that sweet is something he can be far from. His hair is a light pastel pink, his eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, bowing. You recognize that he’d been one of the men to look at you in shock.

You look to the last figure, sensing his eyes still on you. They are. He looks to you with the same expression Jimin had prior to the introductions, eyes serious as they take you in. “Min Yoongi,” he says simply, nodding his head towards you. 

You smile at him, slightly uncomfortable with the way he and Jimin seem to be fixated on you. 

“It’s nice to meet all of you. This is my co-writer, Elle.” You motion towards your protege. “She doesn’t speak Korean.” You explain. 

“Ah,” Namjoon speaks up, “they aren’t all fluent in speaking English yet, but they’ve been practicing and understand most of it. We can do the interview in English and then translate what needs to be translated into Korean. If that works?” 

“That’s great!” You answer him, breaking into English to explain the conversation to Elle. You smile when the guys all introduce themselves to her in English. The beginning of the interview goes about how all interviews ever go. 

The cameras are set up, you redo your introductions, and you ask the basic questions. Favorite colors, favorite songs on their current album, favorite songs of theirs in general, celeb crushes, etc. 

You’re excited when the first thirty minutes pass and the interview opens up to the part you’re most hyped for. Astrology. This had been fun to come up with. 

“So, for this next part of the interview, I’d like for us to talk about our astrology signs in order from oldest to youngest. The fans are really excited about this.” 

“Dinosaur Jin!” Taehyung shouts, earning guffaws of laughter from everyone but Jin. 

“You won’t be laughing when you’re 26 and exhausted,” he pouts. 

“So, Jin-hyung is the oldest. When’s your birthday?” You ask, preparing your notepad. 

“December 4, 1992.” He tells you, and your brain momentarily comes to a stop. 12.4.92 plays on a loop in your mind. “That makes you a Sagittarius,” you tell him, “your sign is an archer! Your element is fire, your birthstone is topaz, and your ruling planet is Jupiter, the biggest one.” 

“As it should be.” He quips, wiggling his eyebrows at his bandmates. 

“Who’s next?” You ask, nerves building. 

“Suga!” and “Yoongi” are immediately shouted out, and the man in question tears his eyes from you to look at his members. 

“Huh?” He asks.

“You weren’t paying attention again, hyung! You have to tell Y/N when your birthday is,” Mai interjects from her director’s chair.

“Oh, sorry.” Yoongi mumbles, turning back to face you, gaze heated. “My birthday is March 9, 1993.” 

You freeze, more of the code on your mind ringing in your ears. 3.9.93. 

“That makes you, uh…” You trail off, thinking. “Pisces! That’s it. Yeah, your sign is two koi, your element is water, your birthstone is amethyst, and your ruling planet is Neptune!” 

“Cool,” he answers emotionlessly, still gazing at you, looking nothing short of perplexed. 

“Next?” You call.

“Hoseok!” Namjoon tells you, looking at his friend proudly.

“My birthday is February 18, 1994! I think I was already told that I’m an Aquarius!” He explains happily. 

You’d love to reply with enthusiasm, but the numbers are rolling in your mind, and now you’re tying the letters into them as well. Jin’s birthday was the first set of numbers on your wrist, but his initials were S.K? Wait, no. If you used Korean, as you should, his initials were K.S.

Your feet lift you out of your seat and out of the building without a second thought, and you race for the car, already asking the driver to take you back to your hotel immediately. He looks concerned, but acquiesces, pulling out of the driveway swiftly. In your haste, you’d left your notebook and Elle, but you’d shoot her a text or call her once you got back to the penthouse. You’d needed to do some research and figure out if you were right on this.

Because there was no way in hell that BTS, in its entirety, was your soulmate(s).

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Kim Seokjin. December 4, 1992. The name and birthdate correspond perfectly with the first set of initials and date. You could chalk it up to coincidence, but looking more into it had your heart threatening to leap from your throat. 

Min Yoongi. M.Y. The second set of initials, another match. March 9, 1993. Another flutter rose in your chest.

Jung Hoseok. J.H. February 18, 1994.

Kim Namjoon. K.N. September 12, 1994. 

Park Jimin. P.J. October 13, 1995. 

Kim Taehyung. K.T. December 30, 1995. 

And Jeon Jungkook. J.J. The stutter at the end of your frustratingly long list of numbers. September 1, 1997. 

You’d need a massive bottle of vodka to wash down the events of this evening. The Big Hit driver, Shei, you’d learned his name on the drive back to the hotel, had asked you numerous times what was happening. You couldn’t blame him; you’d essentially shoved him back into the SUV and ordered him to take you back to the hotel as if your life depended on it. 

He didn’t hesitate; you’d figured that wasn’t in his code of conduct. He obliged immediately, peeling out of the Big Hit Entertainment driveway without a care to give. 

He did want answers, as any person under the amount of stress and complete confusion you’d forced onto his shoulders would be. But how were you supposed to explain that during the most pivotal and important interview in your career to date, you’d discovered and found that not only did you have a soulmate, you had seven! And to make a confusing situation even more confusing, all of your soulmates made up one of the most sensational boy groups ever? Shei would probably make a U-turn on the freeway and take you to a psychiatrist, which, now that you think about it, could be helpful. 

“You left me!” Elle shouts through the phone, “I had to wing the rest of the interview, and the boys all got really quiet after we finished the astrology skit!” 

“Wait- finished it? How?” You question her, momentarily forgetting about the inner soliloquy. 

“You left your notebook in your chair! I told them about your horoscope and then mine.” She huffs. “That’s not what matters, though! Don’t try and get me sidetracked. You left me alone, and I didn’t know what to do! I just listed out your questions like a robot!” 

“You told them my horoscope?” You choke out, breathing becoming more difficult with each passing second, she doesn’t answer.

“What the fuck, Y/N? Weren’t you going to? The notes said to compare and contrast our horoscopes with theirs!” 

You mentally slap yourself, angry with yourself that you’d forgotten your notebook and that you hadn’t prepped Elle better, for her own sake, before the interview.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear…” You sigh. “I just… I had to come back to the hotel.”

“Why?” Elle argues, and you feel the bitter pang of guilt well in your chest. She’d never spoken to you so harshly, and what hurts more is that you know she’s not in the wrong. You were unprofessional. “What was so important that you left me and BTS hanging? You know, we’re going to have to speak to HR about this?” 

Fuck. You really didn’t think your actions through at all.

“I can speak to HR,” you reassure her. “There’s no excuse for leaving the interview like that. I know that much. I just- I don’t know! Have you ever had a fight or flight instinct kick in?” 

“What? No?” Elle answers. “I don’t understand what that has to do wi-”

“I had to leave, Elle.” You explain, exhaustion and jet lag sinking in and catching up with you. “I just-I went into a weird shock and I needed to leave.” 

Elle remains silent for a few minutes, and you almost check the call to make sure she hasn’t hung up on you. “Okay…” she sighs. 

“Thank you-”

“No, no, no. Don’t shove the thank you’s onto me right now. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, still. I’m not completely stupid or oblivious, Y/N.” You can hear her grimace through the phone line. “I saw the way that the guys froze up when I told them your birthday.” 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“And I know for a fact that Yoongi and Jimin looked at you like you’d shocked them with tasers when you gave them your name!” 

“Elle-”

“No! Don’t ‘Elle,’ me. Explain to me what’s going on!” 

You grip the phone tightly against your ear, afraid to say what you know is most likely the truth. The words are about to slip out of your mouth, but a sob emerges instead, shocking you and most likely scaring Elle.

“I just- there’s so much going on and I don’t know what to do.” You stammer out, shaking on the loveseat you’re curled into. “I can’t even begin to tell you what’s going through my mind right now.” 

“Holy shit, it’s that bad? Did one of them hurt you?” She asks, and you can vaguely hear her asking, no, more like ordering, someone to drive her to the hotel.

“No!” You shout, “No! They didn’t hurt me. I’ve never met any of them before.” 

“You swear?” She asks, voice slightly wobbly with worry. 

“I swear on my life,” you reply instantly. “It’s just way too much to explain over the phone, can’t I just tell you when you get back?” 

She hesitantly obliges, but forces you into staying on the line with her until she gets off the hotel elevator onto your floor. You can tell she’s been worrying her ass off when she walks into the living room of the penthouse, eyes wide, pupils dilated and breathing labored. 

“Now,” she breathes loudly, “care to explain what the actual hell is going on?” 

You scooch over, patting the cushion next to you, and Elle sits down, gaze worrying at your teary eyes and confused face. 

You bite your bottom lip, wondering if showing her would be easier than explaining. You know she’d seen the lengthy piece of ink on your wrist before at work, but you’d explained to her that you were just an error in the universe’s system. Certainly, no one in existence, even someone with the largest imagination, would deduce that you had seven famous soulmates. 

“Just- look.” You breathe out, deciding on ‘fuck it,’ and shoving your armsleeve up to your elbow. You twist your wrist, giving Elle a very clear view of the long list of numbers and letters. She takes her time, eyeing all of the black print before looking at you, still confused. 

“Kim Seokjin,” you point towards the first set of initials, “born on December 4, 1992.” You point to the corresponding date. She knits her brows together, refocusing on the puzzle on your arm.

“Min Yoongi,” you point again, “March 9, 1993.” 

“Jung Hoseok,” she whispers in awe. “Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook… Holy shit.” 

“And now you see my dilemma.” You conclude, cocooning further into the giant hoodie you’d shrugged into once you got back to the suite. “I always thought that this,” you wave your left arm around dramatically, “was just a sign that I was pretty much condemned to isolation. But, nope! I’ve got seven fucking soulmates and they’re all ridiculously famous. How the hell is any of that supposed to work?” 

“Wait,” Elle stops your monologue, “does this mean that they’re all each other’s soulmates? Or is it just your initials and birthdate on their wrists? Or…” she starts, “maybe nothing of yours is on their wrists.” 

“Well-”

“No! Because Jimin and Yoongi looked like two fish out of water when you told them your name, and the rest of them looked the same after I’d told them your birthday.” She explains. 

“So we can assume that my initials are on their arms?” You question aloud. “I don’t know if I want to jump to that conclusion yet.” You huff, “This all just seems so… ridiculous? I don’t understand how I’d end up with BTS as my soulmate, or is it soulmates? I didn’t think you could even have more than one!” 

“It’s not unheard of,” Elle tells you. “My great-grandmother had both her first husband’s and second husband’s initials and birthdates.” 

“Yeah, but those are two people,” you say, remembering when she’d told you of her great-grandmother. It’d been on a work trip some months back, if you remember correctly. “I have seven people tattooed across my wrist. And I didn’t plan on marrying seven times.” 

“Maybe you don’t have to.” Elle reasons, “We don’t know how their relationship works. We don’t know if they’re just working together or if they’re something more. We don’t know how many initials they have on their arms. They cover them with makeup before every public appearance they make.” 

“I guess you’re right…” You grumble. “I just don’t understand. Why me?” You ask no one in particular. 

“Maybe you’ve got enough moxie for seven guys,” Elle jokes, nudging you playfully. “C’mon, Y/N. You’re hot! A complete catch. Why shouldn’t you have seven devastatingly attractive men pining for your affections?” 

You roll your eyes, groaning at the thought of seven fully grown men trying to get your attention. “It’s a headache waiting to happen,” you tell her, rubbing your temples. 

Both of you jump when Elle’s phone rings. You look at her, confusion running amok through your mind. She shrugs, answering the call with a smooth ‘hello.’ 

“Oh! Hi!” Elle chirps, mouthing ‘Big Hit’ to you. “Ah, that’s so generous of them!” She smiles, “Yes, of course. Nerves can get to anyone,” she points a glance at you. “Tomorrow? That works!” Pause. “Thank you so much, I can’t express how much we appreciate this opportunity.” 

She taps off the call, turning to you immediately with a blinding smile. 

“The boys worked their magic and have told Big Hit not to file a complaint over your work manners,” she laughs, “and they’d like to meet up again tomorrow for a rerun. At a restaurant they’re having rented out!” She squeals.

“They’re renting out a restaurant?” You cough out, completely taken aback. “And they stopped a formal complaint from being filed?”

“They’re your knights in shining Gucci tuxedos.” Elle laughs.  

“Not funny…” You snap. “That’s too much to expect from them…” you sigh.

“You didn’t expect anything,” Elle reasons, “they’re being nice, and honestly? They might be trying to break the ice.” 

“What ice?” You groan, offended at her cliché wording.

“You know, the awkwardness that today probably blew up like a helium balloon. You did literally sprint out of the interview after Hoseok mentioned being an Aquarius.” 

You blush crimson at the reminder, “Thanks for that.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who turned into Usain Bolt during an astrology reading. Not me.” 

“Fuck off!” You shout, throwing a couch pillow at her and hitting her directly in the face.

“Uncalled for,” she whines, hitting you back with it. “You have to go see them.” 

“No, I don’t!” You argue, “I have options. I could flee the country, or the continent! Go home, pack my little townhouse, and move to Alaska.” 

“Alaska?” Elle asks, exasperated. “Really?” 

“It’s far enough away.” You shrug.

“Don’t pull this! You should at least meet with them and see what they think of everything. I’m sure they’re as confused as you are.” Elle chides. 

“Fine!” You shout, standing from the couch and heading for your bedroom, “but don’t be shocked if I’m in a shitty mood in the morning!” 

You hear her laughing as you seclude yourself into your room, the events from the day rendering you beyond exhausted. You let out a big sigh, climbing into your bed and under the covers. You’d be meeting up with the boys for the second time within 24 hours tomorrow. 

You honestly couldn’t tell whether you were excited at the nearing reunion, or completely fucking terrified.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You bolt straight up, cold sweat dripping off your body. You’re confused initially, remembering very vividly how you were drowning a second ago. It takes a few minutes for your body and mind to adjust, the realization that you were dreaming slowly resounding in your mind, slowing your breathing, and calming your racing heartbeat. Your fingers loosen their vice-like hold on the silken sheets beneath your trembling body.

You were in Seoul, and you’d landed, you glance at the clock on the bedside table, roughly 7 hours ago. The number ‘7’ lights up in bold script behind your eyelids. 7 soulmates. BTS.

Your mind whirls through the damn near delusional happenings of the day before, trying to piece together some sort of explanation or resolution to your dilemma, but you come up empty handed. You scoop your phone off the bedside table, immediately opening ‘Google’ and typing in what you assume you should type given your… predicament. 

‘What does it mean to have more than one soulmate?’ glares at you, the brightness of the phone screen only adding to the discomfort you feel when researching such a topic at 5 AM. You turn the blinding graphics down, making a sound you can only compare to a car engine failing to start, as the only search results that pop up are for people who have anywhere from 2-4 sets of initials and birthdates. 

Okay, having 4 was probably frightening, too. You couldn’t be too harsh on Google or the human race for not having dealt with your specific situation. 7 soulmates? You’d never even considered the possibility of such a pairing. 

The same questions Elle had the night before race through your mind as you sit in the hotel bed, at 5 AM, in Seoul, alone.

What if they didn’t have your initials on their arms? What if not all of them had your initials on their arms? What if they were going to make you choose between them?

You felt sick. Sick to your stomach. Not wanting to soil the expensive bed sheets in your room, you rush to the connected bathroom, kneeling pitifully in front of the toilet and emptying your stomach into the porcelain bowl and water below. 

You rest against the cool tile of the floor once the heaving has stopped, hair sticking to your forehead, and your head aching. You reach lamely for a courtesy bathrobe that’s tied to the bathroom door, wrapping it around you like a blanket, and use a pile of hand towels as a makeshift pillow, before falling asleep on the bathroom floor. 

“Are you okay?” Elle shakes you awake, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail, and eyes wide and worried as she looks at you.

“M’fine.” You grumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Just had a bad dream.” 

“So you fell asleep in the bathroom?” She asks you, confused.

“No, I felt sick when I remembered what happened last night…” You breathe out. 

“Ah,” Elle sighs, “yeah, I can’t imagine what’s going through your head right now.” 

“Too much,” you answer her, slowly sitting up. 

“I’ll make you some breakfast!” She chirps. “That gives you time to get ready for the meeting with the boys later!” 

“Shit, I almost forgot about that. Why’d you have to remind me?” You groan, standing up and grabbing your toothbrush. 

“You need to at least talk to them, Y/N. They saved our asses from possible suspension at work and they clearly want to speak to you about the whole… situation.” She mumbles. “Plus, maybe they’ll tell you some stuff we can use in our articles.” 

“Tell me?” You question her, toothpaste spilling out of your mouth and onto your pajamas. “You’re going with me!” 

“Uh, no. I’m not.” Elle shrugs at your shocked expression, “I don’t need to be there, and frankly, I shouldn’t be there. They asked to meet with you, they didn’t ask for me by name as well; and there’s some pretty, er, intimate things they might want to ask you.”

“What?!” You choke, the toothbrush falling from between your lips and into the sink. 

“I don’t mean it like that,” she laughs. “Although that’d make for an interesting read.” She jokes, “I mean, they might want to get to know you personally. Me being there would make things incredibly awkward.” 

“Can’t you at least wait for me close by? You could be my savior if I need to get out of there quickly…” You explain, spitting your toothpaste into the sink and rinsing your mouth. 

She looks ready to protest, but you silence her by placing your hand over her mouth. “I brought you on this trip with me, Elle. Not as a coworker, but as a friend. It’d mean more to me than I could possibly begin to explain if you’d be on standby for me while I’m talking to them.” 

She rolls her eyes at you, but nods her head in agreement. “You owe me, big time.” She scoffs, “Now take a shower, and I’ll make you some breakfast.” 

The woman is true to her word. Once you’re out of the shower, smelling fresh, and dressed decently enough (a cream colored sweater and a new pair of tight jeans you bought before the trip), she places a massive plate of waffles in front of you. 

“Eat.” She orders, sitting next to you at the kitchen bar, and digging into her own plate.

“I’m nervous,” you explain, poking at your food, but taking a large bite when she eyes you. 

“I don’t blame you at all. Just try not to hyperfocus. Their wanting to meet with you and helping us avoid trouble yesterday speaks volumes. They more than likely just want to talk. Nothing extreme.” 

You nod at her reasoning, thankful that she’s there to at least try and keep you level-headed. 

“I’ll be just a few blocks down,” Elle tells you, the Big Hit driver, Shei, had put up the partition in the SUV, allowing the two of you what little privacy you could have.

“Thank you,” you tell her earnestly, meeting her friendly gaze.

“You’ll be fine,” she reassures you, “they’re really nice guys from what I saw last night.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I feel so stupid.” You groan, curling in on yourself in embarrassment. 

“So you don’t want to hear about how worried they were when you split?” She asks you. You peek through the sleeve of your hoodie, interest rising. “Ah, looks like I’ll have to explain later.” She smiles, “We’re here.” 

You drift your gaze out the window, noting the bodyguards and Big Hit employees trying to blend in with the outside world. The restaurant, as previously discussed, has clearly been rented out. Upon seeing the SUV, one of the Big Hit employees, a woman you haven’t met, sends a signal to Shei. He seems to understand immediately and turns into a nearby alleyway. It takes you a moment to realize that you’d be entering through the back of the eatery. 

“I feel like a sack of drug paraphernalia.” You mope, getting unbuckled and ready to squirm your way out of your seat. You turn to Elle, nerves bubbling. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m done here.” You tell her, meaning every word. 

“Sure, sure. Just get in there before a fan sees you and bombards you.” She laughs, nudging you out of the door that Shei has opened for you. 

“Thanks,” you mumble to him, allowing another employee to lead you through the back door. The restaurant itself smells absolutely amazing, you couldn’t even begin to fathom how amazing the food would taste once it touches your taste buds. A few kitchen workers bow to you, and you return the kind gesture, feeling extremely out of place in the pristine kitchen. 

Soon enough, tile floors turn to wooden panels, and you look up to meet some of the eyes you’d run from the night before. Namjoon’s gaze is gentle on you, Jin’s is approving, taking in your figure as you stand before him. Taehyung and Jungkook are too busy playing some sort of napkin game they’ve created to acknowledge your entrance. Hoseok waves enthusiastically, a massive grin split across his bright face. 

Jimin, beautiful as ever, smiles his eye-crinkling smile that has your stomach doing cartwheels within the confines of your body. Yoongi’s eyes are serious on yours, hands fidgeting atop the table they sit at; his hair is hidden beneath a beanie that makes him look more boyish than he did yesterday. 

“Er- hi.” You say awkwardly, waving slightly at the men once you stand in front of their table. 

“Ah!” Jungkook jumps, dropping the napkin-ball once your voice hits his ears. 

“Ha!” Taehyung whoops, jumping in his seat excitedly, “you lost, Kookie!” 

“Can’t you two be normal for once?” Jin asks, shaking his head disapprovingly, but affectionately, at the two youngest members. 

“That’s a ridiculous request, hyung.” Jimin smiles, nudging Jungkook lightly. “Besides, weren’t you playing table football with Kookie and V last week?” 

Jin blushes a rosy red, clearly embarrassed he’d been outed. 

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, not quite understanding your sudden need to alleviate his discomfort, “I still play Nintendogs on my DS.” 

Jin raises his eyebrows at you, along with most of the members, save for Yoongi, who still looks at you with a nervous expression. 

“Isn’t that the game where you can have a Shiba?” Taehyung smiles, “I’ve always wanted one.” 

“That’s the one,” you reply, feeling your own embarrassment flare up as the ridiculously attractive men all keep their gazes on you.

“My friends in school would play those games all of the time,” Jimin smiles, pulling a chair at the head of the table out for you before returning to his seat. “Do you like to play games, Y/N?” He smiles a toothy smile, and if you weren’t a reporter whose life consisted of reading subliminal messages, you wouldn’t have caught the sensual innuendo beyond the question.

“Jimin-ah, let’s not talk about games right now,” Yoongi speaks up, flickering his impassive glance from you, to Jimin, to you again. 

“Yoongi is right,” Namjoon nods. “We were worried last night that you wouldn’t show up.” He explains as you take your seat, keeping your hands in your lap so you don’t fidget too much or too obviously. “Some of us were worried we’d scared you off before we’d even had the chance to properly introduce ourselves. It’s safe to say we’re relieved you’re here.” 

You smile, somewhat consoled, knowing that they’d been nervous, too.

“Is there anything you’d like to eat?” Jin asks, “We’ve ordered 8 servings of rice and vegetable stir-fry already. The chef said it’d be a half hour or so.” 

“Rice and stir-fry sounds great,” you answer him, “could I get a cup of water?” You ask, your throat feeling dry from your ebbing nerves. 

Jin nods his head and goes to retrieve a pitcher of water and some glasses from the kitchen. He pours your drink gingerly, long fingers holding the pitcher with exceptional care.

“From your exit during the interview, we’re assuming you know why we invited you?” Namjoon asks, eyes kindly analyzing your posture.

“I, uh- yeah. I assume it’s about this…” You lift your left hand atop the table and push back the cream-colored fabric, revealing the numbers and letters that haunted you your entire life.

Two of the three maknaes smile once they eye the black ink on your wrist. Taehyung and Jimin looked to be far more comfortable in the situation than Jungkook, who still resembled a deer caught in the headlights. 

Hoseok makes a noise similar to a pelican, rounding the table and showing you his wrist. The letters and numbers are all the same as yours, save for one. Where you had his initials and birthdate, he had yours. 

“Show her,” Hoseok chastises his team, waiting for them all to mimic his actions. 

They do. You’re shocked as you realize with finality that you had 7 soulmates, and so did they. 

Whereas most people had another half, or third, and rarely a fourth, of their soul waiting for them inside someone else, you and the seven men in front of you had each other.

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting you,” Taehyung smiles, hugging you to him. 

“Taehyung-ah, give her a minute.” Jin orders. 

You’re thankful he does. You weren’t disappointed in the men huddled around your dining chair, far from it, in fact. You did, however, feel the room closing in on you. 

“I just need a second…” You explain, rising to your feet, “Excuse me.” You bow to them, excusing yourself to the bathroom. 

Hardly recognizing the pale woman who stares back at you in the mirror, you douse your face with cold water from the sink, appreciating the relief it provides your heated and muted skin. You give yourself a while, not wanting to overexert your emotions and head back into the room quite yet. 

The air is cooler in the bathroom, anyway, and easier for you to breathe. You pull your phone from your back pocket, ready to text Elle and ask her to pick you up, but you glance at yourself in the mirror again, seeing the way that color is returning to your face and your breathing has regulated itself. You could do this.

Shoving your phone back in the confines of your jeans, you push the bathroom door open. The boys wait for you at the table, all of them quiet and anticipating your return. Taehyung catches your eye, his expression regretful and dejected. 

“I’m sorry I hugged you like that,” he tells you, voice radiating his honesty like a heater, “I just got so excited to finally know that you were real.” He explains, “The thought of you being uncomfortable didn’t occur to me. I’m so used to having the hyungs around, and being able to express everything that I forgot you didn’t have any of us to express yourself to growing up.” 

“It’s okay, Taehyung,” you tell him, meaning the words from the bottom of your heart. “I just get very anxious when new things blindside me.” 

He smiles at your acceptance of his apology, boxy features warming your heart. 

“So, how long have you all known about this?” You ask, pointing to your wrist.

“Since we banded together,” Namjoon answers. “It’s actually one of the main reasons we decided to debut.” He shrugs, “When I met Yoongi-hyung at a BigHit meeting and he saw my wrist, it was like I wasn’t alone anymore.” 

Yoongi smiles a gummy smile, looking at Namjoon. “I felt the same way,” he agrees, “growing up was difficult. I was ashamed of my marks and hid them. I thought they meant I’d never have a successful relationship. But when I saw Joon at the meeting, and he had his sleeves rolled up without a care to give… I just saw my initials and the rest we share, and I didn’t feel empty anymore. There was someone I could connect to.” 

“And then Hoseok showed up, loud and energetic,” Namjoon laughs. The man in question smiles, blush creeping its way onto his face. “We were both shocked,” he signals to Yoongi. “The chances of us meeting each other were slim enough, but a third showing up? It was crazy.” 

“You guys would have been lost without me,” Hoseok groans, “you’re both so messy.” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, and Namjoon laughs. “Once Jin signed on, we kind of just let the rest play out. Figured that if luck stayed on our side, we wouldn’t need to look for ourselves.” Namjoon explains. “It was pretty smooth sailing for a while. Jungkook signed on, and then V. Jimin was last.” Jimin smiles at the mention of his name. “We only had one more person to wait for.” 

“After ‘Wings’ was released, we kind of lost hope,” Jin adds. “We thought maybe you weren’t real. We’d met people with your initials, but when we asked when their birthdays were, we got nothing.” 

You nod your head, “I grew up in Washington, went to college in California, and then moved to New York for work.” You tell them, grateful that they provide you with their undivided attention. “You know where I work, so there’s no need to explain that. There’s actually not much to explain, really. I move around a lot for reporting gigs, so I don’t have time for friends and stuff.” 

They look saddened by that, and your heart pangs in response. “It’s okay,” you reassure, “my life has been full of amazing experiences and opportunities because of my work.” 

“It sounds like it’s held you back, too…” Jungkook says, voice heavy with concern. 

“Only socially.” You reply, “I have a decent home and enough money to keep me going.” 

“Have you dated?” Jimin asks.

“Jimin-ah!” Jin scolds him, flicking his forehead. 

“It’s okay!” You tell him, “It’s a fair question. I haven’t seriously dated anyone. I’ve casually dated, though.” You explain. “Once it turns towards serious conversations and ‘what are we’s,’ I book it.” 

Jimin thinks over your answer, enamored by the casual way you gave it. 

“If we had known, we would have reached out,” Namjoon confesses, turning the conversation back towards the elephant in the room.

“If anything, I’m to blame,” you laugh. “You guys are globally famous, your names are everywhere, so are your birth dates. If I had paid more attention, we might have met sooner…” You trail off.

“Don’t blame yourself!” Hoseok consoles you, eyes unwavering as they convey his sincerity to you. “We’re meeting each other now, and that’s good enough for us.” 

You smile at his reassurance, appreciating how wholesome and bright he truly is with finality. 

“Thank you, Hoseok.” You tell him gently. 

He nearly transforms into the heart-eye emoji at you saying his name, his features softening immensely and leaving a dopey grin on his face. Jimin pats Hoseok’s shoulder, shining his crinkly-eyed smile at the older man.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Yoongi asks, big brown eyes looking at yours with concern, the first discernible emotion you’ve seen on him since entering the room. It nearly knocks the wind out of you. The softness of his face mixed with the molten emotion beyond his eyes renders you wordless. 

“Erm-” you gape. “I, uh- I’m definitely still shocked, but I feel more at ease now,” you manage to push the words out of your mouth. “It’s way more comforting knowing that I’m not just a glitch in the system.” 

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“I always thought that I was meant to be alone,” you shrug. 

“But you have the mark,” he cocks his head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen someone with my extent of it.” You explain, “typically people have one or two initials and birth dates on their wrist. I have seven. I figured that maybe I was just a reject.” 

He looks saddened by your explanation, “Well, you’re not.” 

“Yeah, Y/N! You’re not alone.” Jimin smiles. 

“You have us,” Taehyung adds, putting an arm around Jimin and Jungkook each.

“I also live in America,” you remind them, sipping at the water Jin had poured you earlier. “I can’t just leave my job and my home to come to Korea.” 

“Would you ever be open to the idea?” Namjoon asks.

You sit on the question for a minute, deliberating in your mind the pros and cons. The cons were intimidating. You would have to leave the job you worked so hard for, you’d leave behind your family, you’d leave behind Elle, and you’d be starting all over on a new continent. The pros, however… You could rebuild, make a new family because you weren’t around your biological family much anyway, you could still visit Elle and FaceTime her every day…

But you were getting ahead of yourself.

“I might consider it some day,” you answer Namjoon, noting the relief that fills every single member’s eyes. “But that’d be down the road a ways,” you add, “it’s not something I could just do at the drop of a hat.” 

The men nod, understanding and appreciating your answer. You don’t bother asking them the same, you know their love for their country and the people in it. It was visceral, unwavering, and stronger than any fan-artist connection you’d seen, ever. It’d be selfish to ask them to leave their livelihoods. They could still make music in America, but the emotions behind the music? The reason for making it? The heart of BTS would always remain in Korea. 

“We have another question to ask,” Jimin speaks up. You look at him and nod, giving him the go-ahead. “Well, you see, we were wondering if any of the initials on your wrist look different to you? Like maybe one seems thicker or darker?” He asks.

You furrow your brows, confused, but raise your left sleeve again and really look at the bold lettering. The food arrives as you examine your wrist, the waiter delicately placing your meal on the table in front of you.

Sure enough, a lettered pairing does stick out from the rest. You’re at a complete loss as to why you hadn’t noticed it before. You’d spent hours upon hours of your life glaring at the ink. How were you only just realizing the imperfection permanently etched atop your skin now that Jimin mentioned it? 

“Yeah…” You breathe out, looking at Jimin's waiting gaze. “I’ve never noticed it before.” 

“It’s pretty microscopic,” Namjoon explains. “It’s only really noticeable once someone addresses it.”

“That’s strange…” You murmur, looking back at your wrist. The letters only seem to have grown bolder, nearly looking italicised now that more time has passed. “It looks more bold now…” You explain, meeting the eyes of the man the bulkier text belongs to. 

He looks back at you, eyes softening as they look into yours. 

“Are mine thicker for you?” You ask him. 

“They are.” He replies. 

“What does it mean?” You ask Namjoon. 

“Well, we hunted down a woman in Daegu, she calls herself a ‘reader.’ She was pretty difficult to find, but Big Hit helped us. She specializes in the marks, has books upon books on them. She told us that there have only been a handful of cases like ours,” he tells you, “and that the bold initials are present every time. She said that the bold initials signify the strongest bond within the soulmates. For me, my strongest bond is with Hoseok.” He looks to the cheery man beside him. “As his is mine.” 

“What does that mean for you and the others?” You ask him, taking a bite of your stir-fry. 

“We’re all still soulmates,” he answers. “Nothing will ever change that. Hoseok and I just connected on a deeper level. It doesn’t mean we’re more intimate with each other, it doesn’t even mean we love each other more than we love any of you,” he motions towards everyone at the table. “It just means we’re closest with each other on a spiritual level. He’s like my twin flame. I think that’s what Americans call it sometimes.” 

You’re not unfamiliar with the terminology, but you never considered it true. You thought it was just an excuse for people to seek other relationships when they had a soulmate, or an excuse for some soulmates to be excessively smitten with each other. 

“Do you all have twin flames?” You ask the remaining members. They all nod. 

“Mine is Kookie,” Tae smiles. 

“And mine is V,” Jungkook replies. 

“Mine is Jimin,” Jin tells you. Jimin nods, “and mine is Jin,” he adds. 

“And you’re mine,” Yoongi tells you, eyes still soft and warm on yours. You flush under his direct gaze, turning into a melting pot of emotions. 

“How long have my initials been bold?” You ask him, voice wavering from the force of emotion that’s threatening to crack you open. 

“Since our debut,” he replies, taking a drink of his water. Full lips pressing against the fogged glass of the cup sinfully. He takes your ogling as a mere loss for words, “you’re here now, though. That’s all that matters.” 

You snap out of your reverie and realize that had you not been smitten by the way he drank his water, you most definitely would have been apologizing for taking so long to show up. 

“Even so, I’m still sorry for taking years to find you guys.” You tell them all, tearing your gaze from Yoongi’s soul-stirring one to address the rest of the members, your soulmates. “I do have a question, and I don’t want it to come off as rude.” 

“I’m sure it won’t,” Namjoon reassures you.

“Well, I was just wondering why you guys hide your marks? Elle said you guys cover them for interviews and public outings.” 

“We do,” he answers, “we didn’t want to go public with anything unless we had to, at least, not until you were here. We didn’t want to make any decisions unless we all had a say in them, especially given our careers.” 

You nod thoughtfully, appreciating his answer and the meaning behind it.

“That’s thoughtful of you all,” you say, smiling as you look to each of them. “Thank you.” 

They smile back. 

“If you guys want to go public with it, I’m fine with that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” You explain.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, eyes and voice full of concern.

“We could cover your initials for now,” Jin suggests, “you are the youngest of us, so it wouldn’t be a hassle. And we could uncover it once everything’s more secure? For instance, if you move here?” 

You run over the option in your head, seeing no direct harm that could come from doing so. 

“That might be a better option,” you agree, “would that make you uncomfortable, Yoongi?” You ask him, concerned that it might cause your twin flame even an ounce of discomfort. 

“No,” he answers, and you can tell from the look in his eyes that he means it. “As long as you’re safe and happy, we’re fine with doing whatever we need to.” 

You melt at his words, finding immense comfort in them. It’d only been an hour of you being with them, and you’re already feeling an immense relief. Was this what it felt like to be around your soulmates? Was this what you’d been missing out on? 

You couldn’t even begin to fathom the difficulty Elle and Cam had when they were around each other. BTS had been in your company for not even a day, and you could already feel a gravitational pull towards them, anchoring you to them in a way that left you feeling complete. 

“Thank you,” you tell Yoongi, grinning at the flush that spreads across his full cheeks at your praise. “Thank you, all.” You tell the rest of them, your appreciation seeping through your very pores. “I can’t begin to express to you how much it means to me knowing you all support me so much already.” 

They smile at you, taken by your words. You can feel the mood in the room lift substantially, and you thank the heavens above for allowing this brunch to go so much better than originally planned. 

The rest of the food is devoured quickly by the eight of you, and it feels like all of 10 minutes have passed before the food is gone, and Elle is calling you nonstop. You reluctantly tell them you have to go, heart aching at the drop in their expressions at your announcement. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow! At the show!” You tell them, texting Elle to have Shei come get you. Their expressions brighten slightly, but you can still see that they don’t want you to go.

“How about this? I’ll give you guys my personal number, and we can start a group chat. Plan some hangouts and see where that takes us?” 

They nod enthusiastically, pulling their phones out and quickly inputting your information into their contact lists. You can feel your phone vibrating in your back pocket at least 10 times as you say your goodbyes and thanks. 

You bow to them, following the waiter out of the restaurant through the kitchen and into the back alleyway. Elle and Shei are waiting in the SUV, and Elle pounces on you as soon as you step foot into the large vehicle. 

“You are telling me everything when we get back to the hotel.” She orders, you’re about to object, but she covers your mouth with her hand, “Nope. That’s my payment for not getting a single update from you in two and a half hours.” 

You roll your eyes and mumble a ‘whatever,’ but her hand blocks out any sense you might have made. She laughs at you, finally pulling her hand away. 

“Did you have a good time at least?” She asks.

“It actually went really well.” You answer, blush rising. You turn towards your window, watching the scenery pass by, when you receive another text. 

You pull out your phone, unlocking the screen and entering your texting app. 

8 unread conversations greet your eyes. 7 singular text chains, and one group text. 

The first text you’d received in the restaurant is a simple ‘hi’ that’s signed ‘Jungkook.’ 

The next is longer. 

‘Hello, jagiya! It’s Taehyung!’ A purple heart sits at the end of the sentence. 

‘Worldwide Handsome here, checking in on his beautiful soulmate. Xxx Jin’ The next reads.

‘Y/Nie! It’s Hoseok! Text us when you get to your hotel safely! We had fun today :)’ 

‘Hello, Jagi!!!! Jimin here ;) We miss u already xxx’

‘Hi, Y/N. It’s Namjoon. Make sure to save our numbers so you don’t think we’re strangers texting you all the time. I’ll set up a group chat after I send this. :-)’ 

‘Hey, it’s Yoongi. Your twin flame.’ You smile at that, noting that he’s sent another since then. ‘You obviously know that, please disregard that message… oh, and check the group chat.’

You do as you’re told, and smile at your phone. There are introductions, but what sticks out most to you is the picture of you and Yoongi gazing at each other at the table. Judging by the angle, Jungkook or Taehyung must have taken it. It’s flattering and captures the ambience of the early afternoon. 

You hug your phone to your chest, emotion flowing through you hotly. You reply to the texts and follow Namjoon’s advice and save their numbers. The group chat goes crazy after you reply, Taehyung and Jin spamming it with animated gifs, and Jimin sending a few selfies. 

You don’t miss the pointed glance Elle sends your way as she watches your face dance with happy emotions during the car ride home. 

Typically, you’d snap at her in embarrassment, but the happiness and complete full-feeling you’re experiencing now prevent you from feeling anything short of euphoric.