#And there was a sign that had the same words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ducktoo · 1 day ago

Text

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

#kpop #ive x male reader #ive x reader #ive wonyoung #wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #jang wonyoung #ive wonyoung x reader #ive fluff #ive angst #izone #izone wonyoung #izone x reader

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satellite-evans · 15 hours ago

Text

sweet nothing

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando often finds himself running home to your sweet nothings <3

Word count: 1.2k+

Warnings: tooth aching fluff, self doubt, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

I know I know, another Taylor Swift based song, but honestly I could not help myself lol hope you guys enjoy xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Lando knew the world would always ask more of him.

More speed, more podiums, more perfection.

It was never enough—no matter how hard he pushed, how flawlessly he executed each lap, how many times he stood on the podium drenched in champagne. There was always another race, another challenge, another voice questioning if he could be better, faster, stronger.

He had spent his life chasing milliseconds, his every move analyzed under a microscope. Every qualifying session, every tire strategy, every split-second decision picked apart by experts, fans, and critics alike. The cameras never stopped flashing, the media never stopped pressing, and the world never stopped waiting—waiting for him to falter, to crack under the pressure, to prove he was human after all.

It was exhilarating, yes. But exhausting all the same.

Some days, the weight of expectation settled so heavily on his shoulders that he felt like he might collapse under it. Some nights, even victory felt hollow, lost in the endless cycle of needing to prove himself over and over again.

But when he came home to you, none of it mattered.

Because you asked for nothing.

No questions about strategy, no discussions about points or standings, no expectations he had to meet. Just you—curled up on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, waiting for him with that familiar, soft smile that made his entire world slow down.

The moment he stepped through the door, the noise of the outside world faded into silence. The cameras, the flashing lights, the headlines—they ceased to exist. Here, he wasn’t Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver, the rising star, the man under constant scrutiny. He was simply Lando.

“Long day?” you asked softly, setting your book aside as he crossed the room.

He didn’t answer right away—just let out a slow, heavy sigh as he dropped onto the couch beside you, his body sinking into the cushions as though the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. His eyes, usually alight with adrenaline and mischief, were clouded with exhaustion, the telltale signs of another grueling day etched into the tension in his jaw and the furrow of his brow.

You didn’t need to ask for details. You already knew.

Without hesitation, you opened your arms, wordlessly offering him the one thing he could never find anywhere else—solace. And the moment he leaned into you, his body pressing against yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck, he let out another sigh, this time softer, more relieved. The kind of sigh that told you he had been holding his breath all day.

Your fingers found their way into his curls, threading through them with slow, soothing strokes. The steady rhythm of your touch was his anchor, grounding him in a way nothing else could. Not the roar of the engine, not the rush of a podium finish, not the validation of the world’s applause. Just this. Just you.

“Talk to me,” you murmured, your voice a gentle invitation, not a demand.

But he didn’t need to. Because with you, silence was never empty—it was full. Full of unspoken love, of quiet understanding, of a peace he could never quite put into words.

You never asked about his lap times or his championship standings. You didn’t care about the noise of the world outside these four walls—the pressure, the scrutiny, the endless cycle of proving himself again and again. All you ever asked of him was to simply be. To exist without expectation. To rest without guilt. To love and be loved in return.

He shifted slightly, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. A silent thank you. A silent I love you. A silent I need this more than you know.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing against his skin like a promise.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

Lando exhaled a quiet laugh, the kind of soft, sleepy sound that only you ever got to hear. It wasn’t the boisterous, camera-ready chuckle the world knew—it was something smaller, something sweeter, something just for you. He tightened his arms around you, burying his face deeper into the curve of your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Like home wasn’t a place but a person.

You.

As the evening stretched on, neither of you moved much, perfectly content in the quiet, tangled mess of limbs and warmth that you’d melted into. The television hummed softly in the background, flickering light dancing against the walls, but neither of you paid it much attention. The real comfort was here, in the way his fingertips traced absentminded patterns against your arm, featherlight and soothing. A subconscious habit—like he needed to remind himself that you were real, that you were here, that this moment belonged to him and no one else.

Every once in a while, he would sigh, a deep, contented sound that made your heart swell. You knew this was rare—Lando allowing himself to simply be. No overanalyzing, no worrying about tomorrow’s practice sessions or race strategies, no weight of expectation crushing his shoulders. Just this. Just love, wrapped up in a lazy, sleepy embrace that neither of you wanted to break.

After a while, you nudged a small box on the coffee table toward him. “I brought your favorite.”

He peeked up, blinking at you sleepily before glancing at the box, the familiar packaging instantly recognizable. His tired features softened, his lips curving into the kind of smile that made your chest feel like it was wrapped in sunshine.

“You always know what I need,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, like he was too at peace to speak any louder.

You grinned, nudging your nose against his in a playful Eskimo kiss. “That’s my job.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head at you in that affectionate way that made your heart flip. His arms tightened around you, his nose brushing against your cheek, his lips ghosting over your skin with the gentlest, most reverent touch. “Best job in the world.”

And he meant it.

Because what could possibly be better than this? Than coming home to you, to the way you just knew—when he needed quiet, when he needed a distraction, when he needed to be held without saying a word. Than feeling this overwhelming, all-consuming love in the simplest, softest of moments, wrapped up in your warmth, your laughter, your everything.

Eventually, he let himself sink further into you, his head resting against your shoulder, his fingers curling lazily into the fabric of your shirt as his breathing evened out. You felt the way his muscles fully relaxed, the last of his tension melting away, like you were the only safe harbor in a world that constantly asked more of him.

And you were.

The world outside could wait. The pressure, the expectations, the endless cycle of proving himself—it could all wait.

Because right now, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Home.

And for the first time that day, he felt like he could finally breathe.

Because in a world that always demanded more, you were the one thing that never did.

And that, he knew, was everything.

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hoonieyun · 2 days ago

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why... ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

a year long situationship that led you to key your ex's car gets resurfaced when the two of you attend a popular youtube show

sim jaeyun x reader

genre: angst, heartbreak, exes reunited

warnings: profanity, toxic relationship, mentions of drinking, lying to your partner, mentions of insecurities, 18+ not proofread lol

masterlist - wc: 4170

your mind was occupied with the hundreds of questions you wanted to ask jake, most of which were rhetorical questions where you just found the opportunity to cuss him out for the way he treated you, but you knew that the staff on set probably woulnd’t let you do that.

so you tried to focus on the questions that would lead you to getting the answers you wanted. why he treated you the way he did when his words would be the exact opposite. this year long rollercoaster of situationship with jake not only brought you to the highests of highs but also the lowests of lows.

rollercoaster was an understatement on how unpredictable, unstable, and emotional the last year has been.

jake played with your emotions and as hard as you tried to get off that ride, you were strapped in.

when you saw that this youtube series was doing a casting call for ex-couples, you jumped at the opportunity to send in an application for you and jake; and when the two of you got accepted, you told jake that he needed to go somewhere with you for a recording, explaining that it was something you had signed them up for before they broke up and he just forgot about it because he never listens to you.

to which he responded with a smart comment about how you just think he never listens but “he does”, you rolled your eyes at him and told him the details. that was a month ago and now here you were sitting in your car at the recording studio lot, trying to hype yourself up to face the boy you had an unofficial official relationship with for the last year.

three months isn’t a lot time for some healing to have made its way to you since the breakup, if you could even call it that because you ended up just ghosting him, but you figured that since you were here now, there was no point in backing out and you’d finally be able to ask jake the burning questions you’ve been storing inside of you.

when you walked inside, a nice staff member tells you how the filming was going to be done and it was quite simple. you’d introduce yourselves and the interviewer would ask the two of you questions, in hopes for you to get the answers you may be looking for.

although you wanted to ask jake your own questions, you thought it was only fair that they came up with the questions themselves to avoid any drama or unwanted conflict to occur.

after a few minutes of waiting inside of the green room, the same staff member pops their head into the room to let you know that your episode would start recording soon. they have you stand on a marker on the right side of the room, a wall separating you from the main set where you can hear jake speaking and introducing himself. his australian accent is as thick as ever, trying your best to bite back a smile when you hear his laugh.

when he’s finished, you’re instructed to walk to the x on the floor and introduce yourself, much like how jake had just done. as you walk onto the set, you see jake sitting there, his head rising to look in your direction and a smirk is instantly plastered onto his face; like he found it so amusing to see you. or was it arrogance? or maybe it was desire?

either way, the look he gave you was one of yearning.

“hi, my name is yn and today i’m going to being doing an interview with my ex.” you notice jake sitffen at your side when those words leave your mouth; now just realizing that he wasn’t fully aware of what this video was even for as you only told him to show up and the staff member that he was assigned did a poor job of giving enough detail on the filming that he wasn’t able to put two and two together.

jake is about to speak up and ask about what you had just said because he didn’t know that that’s what this video was for but he’s interrupted by the producer behind the camera telling the two of you to do a bit of catching up before he asks you the first question.

“you look good, as always.” jake compliments, the smirk still on his face as he looks you up and down, brushing his hand through his hair: a classic jake flirting tactic.

you mutter a small thank you before responding, “you look.. fine.” you say, trying to sound as bitter as you could when deep down you were fighting the urge to fall for his tricks. you could’ve sworn he’s only gotten more handsome since the last time you saw him three months ago.

“only fine?” he teases and you roll your eyes before giving and saying that he also looked good, to which jake smiles even wider and let’s out a laugh that rung like an angelic harp in your head. “you know, you didn’t tell me this was a video about exes..” jake brings up and you give him a sheepish grin followed by a shrug as you’ve clearly been caught.

you tell him that it must’ve slipped your mind and when he gives you a look that tells you that he doesn’t believe you, you go on to explain that you wanted answers from him and thought that this was the best way to do it without the pressures of being alone in a close proximity to jake.

“why, do i have that effect on you?” he teases again and you roll your eyes, choosing not to answer that but it was okay for you jake because he knew the answer to that already.

“alright, so how long did you guys date?”

you were hesitant to answer becoause you wanted jake to answer first. you knew that he barely saw what the two of you had as “dating” but you wanted to see how he’d answer so that you could answer accordingly.

“a year.” he simply says and it’s probably the first time that jake has ever considered it “dating”

you’re about to answer but jake interjects, “if you could call it that. it was more like a situationship.” he continues.

there it is.

“yeah, a year.” you ask, your energy instantly reaching a low as your hopes of jake seeing you more than a situationship goes down the drain. you knew it was too good to be true, and you’re now beginning to regret even going on this show in the first place.

what was your first date?

you decide that you were going to wait for jake to answer again because you knew that he’d get this question wrong. he always did whenever you and your friends would ask about the two of you. he’d always say…

“it was at a late night bbq”

wrong.

jake turns his head to look at you, a proud expression on his face like he was look to your for validation, expecting you to be smiling and nodding at his answer, but you weren’t and his smile instantly fades when he sees the slight frown on your face.

“that’s wrong, jake. our first date was actually at your jobs luncheon because you forgot you double booked that day so we had to go to your work even instead of our actual first date which was supposed to be fishing at the pier.” you explained, your face still as a stone as you looked into the camera as if you were hoping your expression would transfer your feeling to the viewers watching this video.

like you wanted them to feel how annoyed you were that he got that question wrong and always got that question wrong for the last year.

“oh, right. i always forget that, huh?” he says, shyly scratching the back of his head and all you could do was quickly raise your eyebrows and give him a tightlipped smile; to which jake takes notice over the fact that you weren’t enjoying any of this. which he found strange considering this was your idea.

jake then begins to wonder what all of this was even for. you clearly weren’t having a good time, he didn’t really want to be here, and if he was being honest, none of this was any of these people’s business. what the two of you had was something that only mattered to the two of you, no one else.

who said i love you first?

“neither of us, like he said, it wasn't that type of relationship.” you jumped up, answering before jake could because you were getting frustrated at everything, especially at the fact that after you tried so hard to think that what you and jake had for the last year could’ve been more, you’re only meeting the harsh truth and that wa the fact that what you two had was close to nothing.

“actually, that’s not true. you probably don’t remember because you had a lot to drink that night but during heeseung’s birthday party last year, you got really drunk and i took you home to take care of you and before you fell asleep we had a heartfelt talk about what we are.

you were rambling so much about how you didn’t want me to leave you and that you wanted me to sleep over and stay the night; and so i did.

we fell asleep in your bed but not before i told you that i loved you but i guess you had fallen asleep a lot sooner because you hadn’t heard anything i said. all you responded with was a snore.” he says, the last part being a joke to somewhat lighten up the somber mood that his story brought.

he was right though, you didn’t remember this night. you knew that you got pretty trashed at heeseung’s party but you don’t remember jake ever telling you that he loved you.

that you definitely would’ve remember because it would’ve changed the way things are right now.

“are you being serious?” you whisper and jake nods, “of course, i am.” he adds.

“why did you say it? and why did you never tell me the next morning.” you probe, confused at the fact that you wanted answers but were receiving questions instead.

“i’m not sure. i think i got scared. that i was catching feelings for you but i had been so focused on keeping us casual that i thought i’d scare you away if i brought it up. i mean we were only seeing each other for about 4 months at that time so i don’t know if telling you that i loved you was a good idea…” jake explains and you’re shaking your head in disbelief.

“jake? the reason i ghosted you was because i wanted something more than casual and you didn’t. you’re not about to spin this onto me and make it seem like i’m the one who wasn’t ready for something serious.

and if this was around the time of heeseung’s birthday then it was after the fight we had and why i was drinking so much that night. i was angry that you weren’t telling me how you felt about because you were clearly jealous that i wanted to go to heeseung party and insisted that you came even though you didn’t want me going to another guy’s party.

we fought before we got to the party because you were acting jealous and like we were official when in reality you tiptoed around the fact and never wanted to put a label on us. so no, of course i’m not going to remember that because all i had in my head that night was the fact that you probably would never love me based on how you saw what we had.”

you didn’t mean to unload on jake like that but the words just kept coming out and by the end of it you’re wiping a tear from your cheek and catching your breath as you realize you were talking so fast without any pauses to take a breath.

jake looked at you with an apologetic expression, like he didn’t know this was how you felt when you knew that he was aware before for the last half of your situationship, you were fighting once a month about it and eventually it got so bad to the point you just completely walked away with a notice. some would say, including you, that you ghosted jake but the only ghost was jake as he was left behind, left to linger without a general purpose as he was surrounded with the memory of the past and what could’ve been.

what was the cause of your breakup?

you look up at jake to see if he was going to answer but he’s just looking at you because if jake was being honest, with all of the fights and arguments that the two of you had, he couldn’t tell you with 100% confidence why the two of you broke up.

to be fair, you were the one that walked away.

you cleared your throat before slightly turning to the camera, “i told jake that i wanted something more and that i was done being casual, i asked that dreaded question that a lot of people who are in the our situationship try to avoid ‘what are we?’ and didn’t go well. it led to yet another argument, i think it was like our 3rd one andi we were only halfway through the month.

i got sick and tired of feeling like i wasn’t wanted or desired or that i was incapable of receiving the love that i deserved. don’t get me wrong, jake was sweet and he made sure i felt like i was cared for but when it came down to the nitty gritty, he didn’t have an answer on what we were when i did…

so i left. sure, it was wrong of me to just outright ghost him but to me it was the right thing to do because why was i going to continue pursuing someone that not only couldn’t see eye to eye with me but didn’t see me the way i saw him..” you try not to look over at jake but when he starts to speak, your eyes naturally gravitate towards his direction.

“i would agree, but i think you’re forgetting the part where i said just now that i was scared. i did love you, hell, i still love you but i don’t know if you’d ever see me that way again. i’m sorry that i made you feel unloved because i was too weak to deal with my own insecurities that i was unknowingly projecting onto you.

i should’ve never been afraid to profess my love to you because you deserve someone who would love you and be proud to be loved by you.”

jake’s words have always held weight with you. you loved knowing input on things even when they were small and not the most important.

what should you have for dinner? let’s ask jake.

do these shoes match your coat? let’s ask jake.

does this hairstyle suit you? let’s ask jake.

should you reach out to that friend you haven’t spoken to in years? let’s ask jake.

jake had become someone you could turn to when it came to helping you make decisions because you valued what he had to say, he was smart and socially adept; way more than you, but when it came to you it seemed like jake would lose all of his ability to articulate his words. stumbling or rambling nonsense until he would just tell you to forget about it altogether.

so why is it that right now, in this very moment, jake was able to clearly and verbally express how he felt then and now, when it’s all too late. why couldn’t he have shared this with you when it mattered most, when you needed him to yell at the top of his lungs what you needed to hear, when you wanted nothing more than for him to provide some security for you by whispering into your ear the words he was saying now. it would’ve saved you all of the heartbreak, pain, and inner battle you had gone through the last three months with feeling like maybe it was your fault.

maybe you were too overbearing with jake or maybe you had crossed that line a situationship should never cross. maybe you took everything way more seriously than you needed when the key word was: casual.

but you knew it wasn’t you and it wasn’t just your pride talking. you knew that what you and jake had was more than casual, more than a situationship, and more than what he made it out to be.

is there anything the two of you have wanted to say to the other that you haven’t?

your eyes are fixated onto the scuffed floor of studio, afraid that if you were to speak right away that you may something you regret, and although you wanted nothing more to finally tell jake how you really feel, burning passion and anger and all, you decided to hold back for a moment and think about what you should say opposed to what your emotions wanted to say.

“for me…” jake starts

“i’ve always wanted to tell you that i see you more than how i’ve treated you. i know it’s not much now considering where we are in each other’s life but i wish i would’ve told you that i loved you before you fell asleep.

i wish that i told you that i loved you when you woke up the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that one, maybe even the days before the first time i said it .

i wish i showed you how much i actually loved you instead of letting fear cloud my judgement and drive me away from how i truly felt. i did love you, yn. i still love you and i’m sorry that this is all coming out at the wrong time.

i’m sorry i couldn’t give that to you when you had asked for it.”

tears fall down your face and you’re not sure if you’re crying because of sadness or anger. you were sad because this was what you finally wanted to hear. jake take accountability for how he treated you and say it from his own mouth that he knew what he did wrong and knew what he should’ve done– but you were angry because it didn’t make you feel the way you had thought it would.

you expected to be angry, thrashing, and bitter at jake once you finally got his answer, but now all you felt was tenderness. the way jake radiated with guilt you could tell he was being genuine and it played with your mind because you wanted nothing more than to be angry but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

jake hands you a tissue before you answer, wiping your tears with sniffles as you try to gather yourself, looking up at jake who’s eyes have gotten slightly red. “i’ve always wanted to tell you how much you hurt me. i know whenever we fought that it would just be us yelling back and forth, trying to throw the blame but never fully expressing what we felt.

and i feel like that was something i should’ve done and maybe it would’ve helped you be able to express your own feelings. obviously we’re adults, we don’t need to coddle one another but i can’t help but think that maybe if i was more compassionate and less acussatory then maybe things would’ve worked out. that maybe if i encouraged myself to speak with empathy instead of anger then you would’ve done the same.”

do you regret breaking up?

jake instantly says yes, like he knew this question was coming and although you don’t respond right away, jake’s demeanor doesn’t falter as he stood beside his answer.

“i don’t know..” was all you could say and for a second sadness flashes in jake’s eyes but it’s soon replaced with a look of kindness as he knows your answer wasn’t meant to hurt him but was rooted in the history of you both.

would you two get back together?

this time jake doesn’t jump up at the answer, he waits for a moment even though he already knows what he wants to say because he wanted to hear you first. you bite your bottom lip as you think about how you wanted to answer the question because you weren’t even sure yourself what the answer could be.

would saying yes lead to something better? or would it just bring you back into a pattern and create a cycle.

what if you said no and you would’ve never known that your future with jake was brighter than your past.

“yes.” jake says and your head is snapping upwards to look up at him, surprise clearly spread across your face. “i was so happy she reached out to me about this video, i hadn’t heard from her for three months so i was happy to see her contact appear on my phone. i’d want to get together and start over in a heartbeat.” jake adds.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

“thank you both for coming to film today, it was very nice to have you both. feel free to grab some refreshments before heading out, we’ll have our assistant do some offboarding paperwork with you. thank you, take care.” the producer says and you gather your things, hopping off the stool and heading outside; not even caring that you didn’t do the paperwork they said you’d have to do before leaving.

you’re fiddling with your keys when jake runs out, chasing after you.

“wait, yn! you’re just leaving?” he asks, jogging over to you, slightly out of breath. the sun has long set but the moon in the sky shined a light onto jake that made him look majestic. like something out of someone’s dreams or the pages of a fantasy book. he looked unreal.

“yes? the recording is done, i’m leaving.” you say bitterly as you finally get the key into the slot, opening the door but jake stops it from fully swinging open. “jake, let go.” you say with an eye roll and he stays put.

“did you really mean that?” he asks, eyes pleading for an answer to the last thing you had said when answering the question about getting together.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

“no, i wouldn’t get back together. it would show that i don’t respect myself if i got back together with someone who didn’t respect me enough when we were dating. i deserve better than that.”

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

those words echo inside both of your heads, jake forced to think about how it would haunt him knowing the way he made you feel while your own words lingered in your mind as you tried to convince yourself you meant what you said but deep down you only said it because it was you being scared.

the same exact way that jake was scared.

“yes, i meant it, jake. i deserve better.” you say, your voice slightly trembles and you hope that jake didn’t hear it. he’s just staring into your eyes, looking for any sign that you’re lying, that you want to try and start over, but when he isn’t able to find what he’s looking for in your eyes, his head falls with a slight sniffle.

“okay… i respect your decision. take care of yourself, ok? i hope you find the one who will treat you the way you deserve. i’m sorry i couldn’t show you that i could’ve been that person.” and his grip on your car door loosens, the door slightly swinging open as you watch him walk away. his back turned towards you as he walked off, his arm moving to his eyes to wipe his tears as he walked to his own car.

maybe, you shouldn’t have lied and just told him that you did want to start over.

but you couldn’t risk your own happiness on “maybe”. you needed a definitive and solid answer; and you didn’t get that today no matter how many times jake apologized, told you that he wanted to start over, told you wanted you wanted to hear.

none of it translated the way you thought it would because you came in here hating jake but now you’re walking out hating the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to be honest with him the way you wanted him to be honest with you all those months ago.

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heliosunny · 2 days ago

Note

What if lucky egg with Cealus + Stelle as twins / 2-in-1 combo (although I just found out you gave the girls their own series of sorts so idk if this works) or maybe there are others that can be a wambo combo of 2-in-1 disaster

I thought about this, and even considered making one for Robin and Sunday since I think someone will ask eventually. Maybe I'll have a seperate fic for them x reader. But here is:

Yan!CAELUS x Reader x Yan!STELLE

The garbage dump wasn’t the most glamorous place to scavenge, but you had always believed in second chances. What others discarded, you saw as potential. A chair missing a leg could be fixed. A rusted lamp might just need rewiring.

And today, you found something, or rather-someone, far more unexpected.

Two figures lay slumped amidst the wreckage, their bodies still, almost lifeless. At first, you mistook them for broken mannequins. Their skin was too flawless beneath the layers of dirt and bruises, their limbs unnaturally still. But as you stepped closer, you saw it—the slow rise and fall of their chests.

Your heart lurched as you knelt beside them, brushing away debris. They were young, their silver hair matted with grime. A boy and a girl—twins? Their identical golden eyes flickered open at your touch, unfocused and glassy.

“…Hey” you murmured. “Can you hear me?”

The girl blinked sluggishly while the boy stared at you in eerie silence.

What were they doing here? Why had no one come for them? The sight of them abandoned like this sent a pang of anger through you. No one deserved to be thrown away.

You chewed your lip, debating what to do. The smart thing would be to call someone, maybe the authorities. But something about the way they looked at you, so empty yet searching, made you hesitate.

With a sigh, you made your choice.

"Alright, let's get you out of here" you said, offering your hands.

The moment you did, they moved. Their fingers curled around yours, too tightly for mere exhaustion. Their gazes locked onto you, too intense for simple gratitude. And as you led them away from the ruins of their past, you failed to notice the way their grip refused to loosen.

The walk home was unsettling.

You had taken in strays before—wounded animals, abandoned junk, things most people wouldn’t bother with. But never people. Never like this.

Caelus and Stelle walked in eerie silence, the only thing they told you was their name, their golden eyes fixated on you the entire way. They barely reacted to anything around them. No questions, no complaints, not even a sign of discomfort despite their tattered clothes and dirt-streaked skin.

Most people would have stumbled, wavered, maybe even clung to you for support. But they followed your every step without hesitation, as if they had known you for years instead of mere minutes.

Still, they needed help. That was all that mattered.

When you reached your small, cluttered home, you pushed the door open and stepped aside. “Come in. I’ll get you both cleaned up.”

They entered without a word.

Inside, the place was far from pristine, but it was yours. A mix of salvaged furniture and makeshift repairs, old things given new life. You had always loved fixing things—maybe, in some foolish way, you thought you could fix them too.

“Bathroom’s that way.” You pointed down the hall. “There’s a shower. I’ll get you some clothes.”

Caelus and Stelle exchanged glances. Then, without warning, Stelle reached forward and hugged you.

“…Thank you” she murmured, voice hoarse as if unused for a long time.

Caelus followed. “You saved us.”

“It’s nothing. Just get cleaned up, alright?”

They obeyed, disappearing into the bathroom. As you searched for old clothes that might fit them, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had invited something into your home that could never be thrown away again.

And somewhere behind the bathroom door, two golden-eyed figures whispered to each other.

“They’re ours now.”

Years passed.

Mornings in your home always started the same way.

You woke up sandwiched between two warm bodies—Caelus on one side, Stelle on the other. It didn’t matter that you had a bed big enough for space, they always managed to close the gap, pressing in until you were trapped between them.

Stelle stirred first, arms tightening around your waist before she nuzzled against your shoulder. “Morning...” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

You groaned softly, trying to shift, but Caelus’ grip on your arm kept you from moving far.

“Stay a little longer” he murmured. His voice was barely above a whisper, but you could hear the plea beneath it.

You sighed. “I have to get up.”

Neither of them moved. Stelle only curled around you tighter, while Caelus, still half-asleep, buried his face against your sleeve.

Moments like this were common. You had once thought their closeness was because of what they had been through—that it was a lingering trauma response. But over time, you started noticing that it wasn’t just that. It was them.

They refused to let you slip away, even for something as simple as getting out of bed.

“Breakfast” you tried again, pressing against them lightly. “Come on, I’ll make your favorites.”

That worked—partially. Stelle was the first to relent, stretching lazily before finally rolling off of you. Caelus was slower, but he eventually let go, though not before stealing a lingering touch against your wrist.

You quickly got out of bed before they could pull you back in.

Breakfast was another ritual.

You stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while they sat on either side of you, never leaving your space for long. Caelus hovered by the counter, offering to help—though ‘helping’ mostly meant standing too close and watching your every move. Stelle sat on a stool, chin resting on her palm as she studied you.

“What are we doing today?” Stelle asked, eyes locked onto you.

You glanced over. “The usual, I guess? Cleaning, fixing up that old chair. Nothing special.”

Caelus hummed. “We could go out.”

Your hand froze mid-flip. “Out?”

Stelle smiled, but it wasn’t entirely innocent. “Yeah. You never go out without us anyway.”

You knew what she was doing. The reminder was subtle but deliberate—you never go anywhere alone. It wasn’t a rule you had made, but it had become an unspoken law in your home.

“…I just feel like staying in.” you replied carefully.

Caelus leaned against the counter, watching you with those sharp golden eyes. “Are you sure?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just one of those days.”

They didn’t look convinced, but they didn’t push.

The day started out normal.

Breakfast, cleaning, fixing up the old chair—just like you said. Caelus and Stelle hovered around you as always, their presence never far, their gazes always lingering. But you had long since grown used to it.

What you weren’t used to was the sudden knock at your door.

You rarely had visitors. You weren’t sure if it was because you lived on the quieter side of town or because Caelus and Stelle had a way of making people… uneasy.

So when the knock came, you froze. Caelus’ head snapped toward the door. Stelle immediately straightened, her expression sharpening.

“Stay here” she murmured, already moving before you could say anything.

“Wait—”

Too late. She was already at the door, opening it just enough to peek outside. You stepped closer, but Caelus blocked you with a firm grip on your wrist. He wasn’t rough, but he didn’t let go either. His golden eyes flickered toward the entrance, but his body stayed positioned between you and whatever was outside.

“…What do you want?” Stelle’s voice was flat.

Whoever was at the door hesitated. Then, a voice you didn’t recognize spoke.

“I’m looking for Y/N.”

You tried to step forward, but Caelus held you firm.

“They’re not available.” Stelle said, tone cold.

A beat of silence. Then, the person outside sighed. “Look, I just need to talk to them. It’s important.”

Something in their tone made your unease worsen.

Who was this? What did they want from you?

You finally pushed past Caelus, ignoring the way his grip tightened before reluctantly letting you go.

Stelle’s expression darkened the moment you appeared beside her. A man stood outside. Dressed in dark clothes, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Who…?”

His gaze flickered over you before he smiled.

“There you are” he said.

Before you could respond, the door slammed shut.

You flinched. Stelle had shoved it closed in an instant, her hand pressing against the wood like she was restraining herself. Caelus was already moving, locking every latch with precision.

“Who was that?” you whispered, heart pounding.

Stelle didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned to you.

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

Caelus stepped closer, his fingers brushing against yours. “We’ll handle it.”

You had the sinking feeling that whoever that man was… he wasn’t going to get a chance to knock again.

You didn’t sleep well that night.

The stranger’s voice echoed in your head, his sharp gaze burning into your thoughts. He hadn’t looked random. He had recognized you. But from where? And why?

Caelus and Stelle had refused to speak about it after locking the door. Every time you asked, they brushed it off. You don’t need to worry. We’ll handle it. That was all they said.

And that terrified you more than the man himself.

Because you knew them. You knew what they were capable of.

You had seen it in small ways over the years—the way they seemed to know things they shouldn’t, the way people who got too close to you disappeared.

You had never questioned it. Maybe because a part of you had been too afraid to.

But now? Now you were in the dark, and you hated it.

So you waited until the house fell into silence, until you were sure they were asleep. Then, carefully, you slipped out of bed.

Your heart pounded as you moved toward the front door, every step light, careful.

You just wanted answers. That was all.

But as your fingers brushed the doorknob, a hand caught your wrist.

Caelus stood behind you, his grip firm, his golden eyes half-lidded with sleep—but even in the dim light, they gleamed with something sharper.

“…Where are you going?” His voice was soft.

“I just… I needed air.”

A second later, arms wrapped around you from behind. Stelle pressed against your back, her chin resting against your shoulder.

“Liar” she whispered.

Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t even heard her wake up.

Caelus’ fingers brushed against your palm, slowly prying your hand away from the door.

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore” he murmured.

“What… what do you mean?”

Stelle’s grip tightened, her lips barely ghosting against your ear.

“He’s gone.”

Gone.

But the question lingered, gnawed at the edges of your thoughts. Who was that man? What did he want from you? And more importantly—what had Caelus and Stelle done to him?

You kept your routine normal, or at least, you tried to. Breakfast. Cleaning. Small talk. But things had changed.

They were watching you. Not in the casual way they always did—this was different. Tighter. Sharper. Like they knew you were thinking about him. Like they were waiting for you to break the silence.

And you almost didn’t. You almost let it go.

But the moment you stepped outside to take out the trash, you saw it.

The street was empty, quiet. But something was missing.

That man.

The stranger who had knocked on your door the day before—there was no trace of him. Not even footprints. Like he had never existed.

You turned back toward the house, only to find Caelus standing at the doorway, watching.

You jumped slightly, pressing a hand to your chest. "God, don’t do that."

"You don’t have to think about him anymore."

"Caelus—"

Caelus stepped closer. "He was looking for you."

"Why?"

Stelle’s voice came from behind you, and you nearly flinched when she wrapped her arms loosely around your waist.

"Does it matter?" she murmured.

"Yes."

Silence. Then, reluctantly, Caelus spoke.

"He said he was… an investigator. Looking into missing persons."

Missing persons?

Your mind whirled. That couldn’t be right. You weren’t missing. You had no family looking for you. No ties. No reason for someone to be searching.

Unless—

He wasn’t looking for you.

He was looking for them.

"What did you do to him?"

"He’s gone" Stelle said simply.

"He wasn’t going to take you away" Caelus added."We made sure of that."

You never brought it up again.

Days passed. Then weeks. You pretended everything was normal, smiling when they smiled, laughing when they laughed. You played the role of the devoted one—their precious savior, their home.

And for a while, it worked.

They eased up. They didn’t watch you as closely. They let you wander the house without standing behind you every second. And one day, when they said they had something to take care of, they left you alone.

It was your first chance in a long time.

You had to take it.

The moment they left, you went straight to their room.

It was strange being in here alone. Their space was eerily neat—too perfect. But you didn’t have time to dwell on that. You needed to know.

Who they really were.

What they were hiding.

And most importantly—what they had done to that man.

You searched through drawers, shelves, anything that could hold information. At first, it was just the usual—spare clothes, little trinkets they had taken an interest in. But then, tucked away in a locked box under the bed, you found it.

A stack of old ID cards.

You picked one up, your hands trembling slightly.

Caelus. Except… the name on the card wasn’t Caelus. It was something else. A name you didn’t recognize.

Your stomach twisted as you checked another.

Stelle. But again—wrong name.

These weren’t their real identities.

And there were more.

More names. More IDs. Some with different faces. Some that looked eerily like them, but off, like versions that weren’t supposed to exist.

Then, at the very bottom of the stack, you found a file.

You flipped it open, your heart pounding.

And there he was.

The investigator.

The man who had knocked on your door. His face staring up at you from a report—marked MISSING.

Your hands started shaking.

Missing. As if he had never been there. As if he had been erased completely.

Who were they?

What had they done?

And more importantly, if they found out you knew…

What would they do to you?

The front door creaked.

They were back.

You shoved everything back into place as fast as you could, heart hammering. You barely managed to step away when the bedroom door opened.

Caelus stood there, golden eyes scanning the room.

Then, he smiled.

“We’re home.”

And just like that, you were trapped again. You couldn’t look at them the same way after that.

Every time they touched you—every time they smiled, whispered soft words, curled around you like you were the most precious thing in the world—you could only think about the IDs. The missing investigator. The way they had erased everything, rewritten themselves into something else.

Caelus and Stelle weren’t just lost souls you had saved from the junkyard.

They were something bigger. Something worse.

And the worst part?

They knew you were starting to figure it out.

Stelle would brush your hair behind your ear and murmur, “You seem different lately.”

Caelus would linger a second longer when he hugged you, fingers pressing into your back as if testing your heartbeat. “You’re thinking a lot.”

They didn’t ask what you were thinking about. They didn’t need to.

But the real moment came one night.

You were sitting on the couch, pretending to read, when Caelus suddenly dropped a stack of books in front of you.

Your stomach twisted as you saw the titles.

Psychology of Fear. How to Spot a Liar.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you looked up.

Caelus smiled. “I thought you might find these interesting.”

“You’re so smart, you know?” Stelle murmured. “You always pick up on things.”

They were testing you.

And one day, the opportunity came.

Caelus and Stelle had stepped out for something. They didn’t say what, and you didn’t ask. But the moment they were gone, you were back in their room, digging.

This time, you looked deeper. Past the ID cards. Past the stolen names.

And then—at the bottom of the box, tucked beneath everything else—you found it.

A document.

One that wasn’t fake.

One that wasn’t changed.

One that detailed who they really were.

Your eyes scanned the paper, your heart pounding.

It was about a program.

You read faster, hands shaking. They weren’t just runaways. They weren’t just nobodies. They were experiments.

Altered. Engineered. Created.

And the program that made them? It had been shut down. Destroyed. Every trace erased—except them.

They weren’t supposed to exist.

But they did.

And now, they had you.

They weren’t lost souls who needed saving.

They were ghosts of something much bigger and they had made sure that you were theirs. No wonder people had been looking for them. No wonder the investigator had come. And no wonder he had never come back.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to steady your breathing.

They had killed for you.

You were tangled in something so much bigger than you ever realized.

And as you slowly, carefully placed everything back where it was—one thought kept pounding in your head.

They already suspected you knew.

And when they confirmed it—

You wouldn’t be able to run.

The front door creaked open.

You barely managed to slip out of their room before they saw you.

But as you stood in the hallway, trying to act normal, you heard a soft voice behind you.

“You’ve been busy.”

You turned to see Stelle- stood there, eyes half-lidded, her usual lazy smile in place. And beside her, Caelus tilted his head, watching you in a way that sent chills down your spine.

“You’re thinking again” he murmured. “A lot.”

They knew.

You were out of time.

A sickening tension filled the room, thick enough to choke you. Caelus and Stelle stood just a few steps away, but it felt like you were cornered. Like a rabbit caught between two wolves.

“You’ve been snooping” Stelle mused.

"I don’t know what you mean."

A soft hum. Then—before you could react, her fingers brushed your cheek. "Liar."

Caelus sighed, stepping in behind you. “We didn’t want you to find out this way.”

You forced yourself to stay still. If you ran now, if you panicked—it would be over.

"Then tell me the truth."

“You already know the truth, don’t you?” Stelle said,

"You're not who I thought you were."

"You saved us" Caelus corrected. "That part was real."

"Everything else was a lie" you shot back.

Stelle let out a soft laugh, her fingers trailing down your arm. “Is that so bad?”

You flinched. "You—you killed that man."

Caelus sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder. "He was going to take you away."

"He wasn’t after me."

Stelle’s fingers suddenly curled around your wrist, grip tightening. "It doesn’t matter" she said. "You belong with us. We couldn’t let him ruin that."

"What now?" you asked, voice barely steady.

Caelus exhaled softly "Now? Now, we make sure you don’t get any more bad ideas."

Stelle pressed closer, her lips barely brushing against your ear. "Don’t worry" she murmured. "We’ll take care of you. Just like you took care of us."

You felt it before you saw it. The dizziness. The way your thoughts started to blur.

"What… what did you do?"

Stelle tilted her head. "Oh?" she hummed. "Something wrong?"

The world swayed around you. You tried to piece your thoughts together, but they were slipping—memories flickering like a dying light.

The file. The IDs. The investigator.

You knew something important. Something terrifying.

But—

Why couldn’t you remember?

You stumbled back, gripping your temples. "What did you do to me?!"

Caelus stepped forward, "Shh, it's okay."

Your vision blurred. Your knees buckled, and before you could hit the floor, Stelle caught you, lowering you into her arms. She pressed her forehead against yours, her warmth suffocating.

"We didn’t want to do this" she murmured.

You struggled to hold onto something. Anything. But the more you tried, the more your mind felt like it was slipping into water, sinking into something deep and dark.

When you woke up, the world was… quiet.

Warm sunlight filtered through the window, and the scent of breakfast filled the air. You blinked slowly, your body feeling oddly heavy.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

You turned.

Stelle sat at the edge of the bed, smiling.

Something felt… off.

You frowned slightly. "I…"

What had you been doing?

Your head was foggy, like a dream you couldn’t quite recall. There was something important. Something you had been searching for.

But the harder you tried to remember, the more it slipped away.

Caelus peeked his head in from the kitchen, beaming. "Breakfast is almost ready."

Warmth filled your chest.

…Right. That was normal.

You lived with them. They were always here.

Everything was fine.

Stelle leaned in, brushing her fingers along your forehead. "You’re thinking too hard again" she teased. "Relax."

Caelus chuckled softly, watching as you settled back into the sheets, the last bits of resistance fading from your gaze.

"It’s okay" he whispered. "You’re safe with us."

And somewhere, buried deep in the part of your mind they had locked away, a voice screamed.

But you would never hear it again.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #stelle #caelus #stelle x reader #caelus x reader

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insidekatmind · 1 day ago

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Rival Hearts~Sensei wolf

Request: yes!

The Sekai Taikai had finally arrived, the tournament that brought together the best dojos from around the world, an opportunity only the greatest sensei could seize. Glory awaited the victors, while defeat would be humiliating for anyone not up to the task. Among the most anticipated participants were two legends, who, despite their shared past, hated each other with all their hearts: you, the legendary "Cobra Queen," and Sensei Wolf.

Once, you and Wolf had shared not only the dojo but also a passion that burned like a wild fire. Your relationship had been intense, filled with love and rivalry, but in the end, between secrets and misunderstandings, it had collapsed. Every word of farewell had been heavy, yet necessary. Now, however, you were here again, side by side, but on the Sekai Taikai stage, with your rivalry resurfacing, stronger than ever.

Your black kimono fit your body perfectly, a sign of power and authority. Cobra Kai was your dojo, your world, and you were the queen who ruled it. You didn’t need to say anything to be respected. People looked at you with admiration, but you knew the only thing that truly mattered was winning. And your rival, Wolf, would test you like no one else.

The moment you saw him, your heart leapt to your throat. He, with his unmistakable style, with his dojo, Iron Dragon, which had never lost its reputation. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with that same determination you had seen a thousand times in him. Only this time, there was no tenderness. There was only rancor.

When you approached, he lifted his gaze and his eyes met yours. That same look that had made you tremble once, now only gave you the feeling of wanting to destroy him. But you didn’t stop, you advanced with a provocative smile.

"I thought you retired, Wolf," you said, raising an eyebrow, "I didn’t think you were still capable of doing anything useful for your dojo. Or maybe you think coming to this tournament will help you regain some dignity?"

His smile was cold, sharp. "Ah, the queen of cowards. I see you haven’t changed, always ready to throw jabs. But it seems to me that the only coward here is someone else. Maybe you’re here just to escape the fact that your dojo is nothing without me."

His words struck you, but didn’t make you waver. "Iron Dragon is a thing of the past, Wolf. Now I’m the sensei of Cobra Kai, and I put my blood, my heart, and my determination into it. I don’t need an old wolf to prove who I am."

The tension between you was so thick that it seemed the whole room had frozen. The crowd around you was silent, waiting for the confrontation to begin. It was clear that neither of you would be willing to back down. This battle, somehow, had to be won, and the Sekai Taikai would be the perfect stage to prove it.

"Then prove it to me, Cobra Queen," Wolf said, his voice low and filled with disdain.

You smiled, but inside, the anger was palpable. You knew what it meant to have the last word. "With pleasure, Wolf. Prepare your dojo for the dust, because you won’t escape."

It was a conflict that went beyond a mere competition between dojos. It was the showdown between you and him, between two broken hearts and a past that couldn’t stay in the past. And now, the Sekai Taikai would be the stage for your final battle.

#feng xiao #sensei wolf x reader #sensei wolf smut #sensei wolf #sensei wolf x you #cobra kai imagine smut #cobra kai x fem!reader #cobra kai x you #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai #imagine netflix #enemies to soulmates #enemies to lovers #ex to lovers

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w1w2 · 2 days ago

Text

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 7 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: Y/N and Giselle return from Milan, but the memories of their time there linger, deepening the unspoken tension between them.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Returning to Seoul felt like stepping back into a world that no longer fit quite right.

The penthouse was the same. The schedule was the same. Even the unspoken rules between them, when to engage, when to step back, hadn’t changed. But something had shifted.

Y/N felt it in the way Giselle lingered just a second longer when their gazes met. In how she would start to say something, only to stop herself as if afraid to give too much away.

Most of all, Y/N felt it in herself.

She hadn’t been prepared for Milan to mean anything. This arrangement had been built on careful lines and expectations. But the moments they had shared, the soft, stolen looks, the playful ease they had found, the kiss neither of them had mentioned, were impossible to ignore.

And yet, they didn’t talk about it.

They fell back into routine, pretending nothing had changed. But Y/N caught herself watching Giselle more closely, studying the way her fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass or how she rubbed her temple after a long day, tension lining her shoulders.

She told herself it was nothing. That she was only noticing because she had spent so much time with her.

But nothing shouldn’t make her chest feel tight when Giselle passed by too closely. Nothing shouldn’t make her wonder what Giselle was thinking when she sat in silence, staring out at the Seoul skyline.

One evening, the air felt heavier than usual.

Giselle returned home later than expected, her usually pristine composure edged with exhaustion. She tossed her coat over a chair, a rare sign of carelessness, and made her way straight to the kitchen.

Y/N, curled up on the couch, noticed immediately. She had seen Giselle come home tired before, but tonight was different. There was something in the way her shoulders tensed, in the way she exhaled a little too sharply when she reached for a bottle of wine.

Y/N hesitated before standing, padding toward the kitchen. She watched as Giselle poured herself a glass, her movements precise but slower than usual.

"Rough day?"

The text popped up on Y/N’s phone screen as she held it out for Giselle to see.

Giselle let out a soft, breathy laugh, more exhale than amusement. “You could say that.” She poured a second glass and handed it to Y/N without a word.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, questioning, but Giselle only lifted the glass to her lips.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of whatever had happened at work still clung to Giselle like a second skin, but Y/N knew better than to push.

Instead, she took a sip of her wine and leaned against the counter, waiting.

It took longer than usual, but finally, Giselle spoke.

“Do you ever feel like…” she began, her voice quieter than usual, more vulnerable. She stared at the deep red liquid in her glass, swirling it absentmindedly. “Like no matter what you do, people will only ever see what they want to?”

Y/N blinked at the unexpected confession. She lowered her phone before slowly typing a response.

"All the time."

Giselle glanced at the screen, her expression unreadable, but something in her shoulders eased ever so slightly.

A silence stretched between them, but this time, it felt like something shared rather than something missing.

Giselle didn’t say anything else. She simply reached for the bottle again and poured more wine into Y/N’s glass. It was a small thing, an unconscious gesture. But it was also something new, something softer.

Eventually, Giselle exhaled, setting her glass down with a quiet clink against the counter. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing loose strands behind her ear before glancing at Y/N.

“Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward the dining table. “Our sign language lessons. I’m getting better, aren’t I?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused by the hint of pride in Giselle’s voice. She grabbed her notebook and followed her, settling into their usual spots.

These lessons had started as a necessity, a practical way for Giselle to communicate beyond texts and notes. But at some point, they had become something more.

Something comfortable. Something theirs.

Y/N watched as Giselle rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck slightly before straightening, ready to focus. But there was a slowness in her movements, a weight that hadn’t been there before. Even as she practiced, repeating each sign Y/N showed her, it was clear her mind was still somewhere else, probably tangled up in whatever had happened earlier that day.

Still, she didn’t stop.

Y/N expected her to cut the lesson short, to dismiss it as unnecessary now that she was proficient in the basics. But Giselle stayed, willing to be taught.

At one point, Giselle stumbled over a phrase, her fingers moving incorrectly. Y/N’s instincts kicked in before she could think, she reached forward, her hands gently enclosing Giselle’s to correct the movement.

The contact was brief, barely a second.

But it was enough.

Giselle’s hands stilled beneath Y/N’s, her breath catching ever so slightly.

The air shifted.

Y/N felt it the moment Giselle’s body tensed, the way her pulse quickened under her skin. She felt the warmth of Giselle’s hands, cooler than hers, always so composed, but now still. Waiting.

Realizing what she had done, Y/N quickly withdrew, pretending not to notice the way Giselle’s gaze lingered on her. She tucked her hands into her lap, trying to suppress the sudden rush of heat to her face.

Giselle didn’t say anything at first. She only watched Y/N, her expression unreadable, her lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak but thought better of it.

Then, in a voice quieter than usual, Giselle finally asked, “How do you sign… beautiful?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

She blinked at her, caught off guard by the sudden request. The way Giselle said it, not in a detached, casual way, but softly, intentionally, made something tighten in Y/N’s chest.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before slowly lifting her hands, showing her the sign.

Giselle mimicked the movement, her fingers brushing the air delicately. But instead of focusing on her own hands, she was watching Y/N.

Their eyes met. The room suddenly felt smaller. Quieter.

Y/N swallowed, her throat dry. She should say something. She should break the moment before it unraveled into something neither of them was ready to face.

She cleared her throat, reaching for her phone and quickly typing out a message. The rapid clicking of the keys felt too loud in the silence between them.

"I should start leaving you notes with all the new words we learn."

Giselle read the message, and the tension in her expression melted just enough to reveal amusement. She arched an eyebrow, the corner of her lips curving slightly. “Would that be an excuse to leave me notes in general?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled as she typed.

"Maybe."

Giselle let out a quiet breath, something not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. She didn’t press further. Instead, she stood, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off whatever had just passed between them.

“Go to bed,” she said lightly, though her voice held something gentler than usual. “We both need sleep.”

Y/N didn’t argue. She stretched, waving a lazy goodnight before disappearing into her room.

But as she lay in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop replaying the way Giselle had looked at her.

Like she was trying to figure something out. Like she was afraid of what she might find.

The morning unfolded like every other.

Giselle woke before her alarm, slipping out of bed with practiced ease. Her movements were efficient, muscle memory guiding her through the motions of another predictable day.

A shower, cold to keep her alert. A crisp white blouse, tailored to perfection. A swift check of her calendar, scanning through back-to-back meetings with executives who spoke in numbers and strategies, never in emotions.

She moved through it all with a mechanical kind of grace, the same way she always did. There was a comfort in routine, in knowing exactly what came next. It left little room for doubt.

By the time she reached the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee filled the air. She poured herself a cup, black, just the way she liked it, bitter and without indulgence.

The first sip was warm, grounding. The second was barely tasted. By the third, she had already placed the cup down, forgotten beside a stack of unread reports.

Her mind was elsewhere.

There was a strange heaviness in her chest this morning, though she refused to acknowledge it. Something about last night lingered in the quiet corners of her mind, the soft brush of fingers against hers, the way Y/N had looked at her during their lesson, the way she had said nothing and yet somehow understood everything.

Giselle exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought as she made her way toward her office.

Work. That was what mattered. The rest was just... noise.

She stepped inside, already mentally preparing for the first meeting of the day, until she stopped.

Her breath caught, just for a second. Sitting neatly in the center of her desk was a small sticky note.

She recognized the handwriting instantly. Y/N’s.

Giselle’s fingers twitched at her sides, a heartbeat of hesitation before she reached forward, peeling the note carefully from the woodgrain surface.

“You’re doing better than you think.”

The words were simple. Casual. But they hit harder than they should have.

She stared at the note, the world around her fading into background noise. The steady hum of the city outside. The distant ticking of the clock on the wall. The faint scent of coffee she had already abandoned.

It was ridiculous, really. It was just a piece of paper, but no one had ever left her something like this before. No one had ever thought to.

People wrote her emails, long-winded proposals, formal reports. People sent her invitations, expectations, demands. People admired her, feared her, respected her.

But who had ever encouraged her?

Giselle swallowed, a tightness forming in her throat.

Her first instinct was to discard it. She had no space for sentimentality, not when her world thrived on power and control. But for some reason, she didn’t. Instead, she turned, pulling open the top drawer of her desk.

For a moment, she just stood there, still holding the note between her fingers. Then, with a small breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, she tucked it inside.

Hidden. But not forgotten.

She closed the drawer softly, pressing her palm against the surface as if grounding herself. Then, with a final glance at the space where the note had been, she straightened her posture and reached for her laptop.

By the time the first meeting started, she was back to being Giselle.

Cool. Composed. Untouchable.

But somewhere, deep beneath the layers of carefully curated indifference, something had shifted. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she could ignore it.

Obviously something had changed. Neither of them spoke about it, whatever this was. But it lingered in the air between them, unspoken yet undeniable, threading itself through the smallest moments.

It wasn’t in grand gestures or spoken confessions. It wasn’t in anything either of them could name. It was in the way Giselle’s fingers lingered a second too long when passing Y/N something. It was in the way Y/N’s breath hitched when she caught Giselle looking at her across the room, her gaze steady and unreadable. It was in the silences, the pauses where words should be, the weight of something unresolved pressing between them like static before a storm.

They were still following the same patterns, still keeping the same distance. But there was a fine line between routine and restraint, and both of them were walking it carefully, deliberately, too afraid to fall.

At first, Y/N tried to convince herself she was imagining it.

The way her pulse hitched when Giselle's gaze lingered too long. The way her breath caught when their fingers brushed, electric and fleeting, leaving an aftershock in its wake.

It was just nerves. Just the awkwardness of adjusting to this arrangement. But the more she noticed it, the more impossible it became to ignore.

Giselle had always commanded attention, her presence sharp-edged and unwavering. She was used to being looked at, but not in the way she had started looking at Y/N.

It was different now, deliberate, lingering, careful.

The first time Y/N truly caught it, she had been walking down the hallway, passing Giselle by mere inches. Usually, Giselle barely acknowledged these moments, always moving, always focused on the next thing.

But this time, she stopped. Y/N felt it before she saw it, the way the air seemed to thicken between them.

She turned her head and met Giselle’s gaze, steady, unblinking, searching. It was a look that sent a slow, twisting heat curling in Y/N’s chest, something tight and fragile all at once.

Her fingers curled into the sleeves of her sweater, suddenly hyperaware of the space between them, too little, too much.

Then, as quickly as it had come, Giselle blinked. The moment slipped away, her expression smoothing back into its usual effortless control as she stepped past Y/N like nothing had happened.

Y/N stood frozen, heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

What was that?

She didn't know. But it wasn’t the last time.

It happened again at dinner, when Y/N felt Giselle’s gaze on her from across the table, not cold, not scrutinizing, just... watching. It happened when their hands brushed reaching for the same pen, and Giselle didn’t pull away immediately. It happened in those small, fleeting moments, the ones neither of them acknowledged but both felt.

Y/N wasn’t stupid. She could feel the shift, the way something was pulling them toward an edge neither of them was ready to name.

And yet, every time she caught Giselle looking at her, there was something else in her expression, hesitation. As if she was holding herself back.

Giselle had spent a lifetime ensuring she didn’t need anyone.

People entered her life with expectations. Colleagues, investors, powerful figures who circled her, waiting for something in return. But she had learned early on that needing people meant giving them power over you.

She had never been reckless enough to make that mistake. And yet. She found herself noticing when Y/N wasn’t there.

The first time, it was a dull awareness, walking into the penthouse after a long meeting, her mind already half-occupied with the day’s events. She had expected the usual quiet buzz of Y/N’s presence, the subtle but familiar comfort of not being alone.

But the living room was empty.

Giselle hesitated mid-step, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. It wasn’t unusual. Y/N had her own life, her own schedule.

And yet, for reasons she refused to examine, the absence felt... strange. Lacking.

She shook it off. It didn’t matter.

Except later, when Y/N finally returned, soft footsteps padding into the space, the low sound of her typing, the quiet rhythm of her existence nearby, Giselle felt something settle in her chest.

She didn’t like that. But she noticed it again. And again.

She caught herself lingering.

After dinner, when Y/N was scribbling something into her notebook, Giselle pretended to focus on a report. But her gaze drifted, watching the way Y/N’s fingers curled delicately around the pen, the way she bit her lip in thought, unaware of the way she held Giselle’s attention captive.

She caught herself standing in the entrance to the living room, watching as Y/N stretched lazily, her sweater slipping just slightly off her shoulder, exposing smooth skin and why was she still standing there?

Worst of all, she caught herself outside Y/N’s bedroom door.

Late at night. More than once.

She would stop just short of knocking, fingers twitching at her sides, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

What was she doing?

She had no reason to be here. No reason to be thinking about whether Y/N was already asleep, or if she, too, was lying awake, feeling the same unspoken weight pressing between them.

What would she even say if she knocked?

"I can't sleep." "You're distracting." "I don’t know why I keep looking for you."

She refused to believe it meant anything. It was nothing.

And yet, when she forced herself to turn away, to walk back to her own room, she felt it, the ache of something missing.

One night, it nearly broke.

The penthouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside. The skyline stretched beyond the windows, bathing the room in a soft glow, cool blues and warm golds blending into shadows across the sleek marble floors.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her phone in hand, completely unaware of the eyes on her. She was dressed comfortably, an oversized sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder, loose strands of hair falling into her face as she scrolled absentmindedly. Her fingers moved over the screen in slow, lazy swipes, her focus seemingly elsewhere.

Giselle wasn’t sure when she had stopped pretending to read the contract in her lap.

Her attention had drifted, unwilling yet drawn, lingering on Y/N.

The dim light framed her delicately, the soft curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her nose, the shadows cast by her lashes. There was something so effortless about the way she existed, so completely unaware of the quiet way she was starting to unravel Giselle’s carefully built walls.

The thought struck unexpectedly, curling low in her stomach.

“Beautiful.” The word surfaced before she could stop it. Unspoken, yet impossibly loud.

Giselle’s fingers curled against the armrest of her chair, a reflexive grip to anchor herself. This was dangerous.

She should look away. She should leave the room, put space between them before this moment turned into something neither of them could walk back from.

But she didn’t and then Y/N looked up.

Their eyes met.

It was a second, maybe less. But suddenly, the air between them felt charged, a thread pulled too tight, straining against a boundary neither of them had acknowledged yet.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to say something. But she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the phone in her hands instead.

Giselle’s grip on the chair mirrored it. The silence between them stretched, heavy and fragile but then Y/N looked away first.

Her head dipped back down toward her phone, and she exhaled quietly, her shoulders shifting like she was trying to shake something off. Her fingers moved across the screen, tapping something out quickly, almost nervously.

Giselle’s gaze flickered downward, catching the glow of the phone reflecting in Y/N’s eyes.

A message.

Typed. Paused on the screen.

Y/N’s jaw clenched faintly, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her posture stiffened, tension written in every small movement.

Then, without warning, she erased it.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of hesitation. And then it was gone.

The screen went blank and Giselle’s chest tightened.

She hadn’t been able to read the message, but she had seen the way Y/N hesitated before deleting it, the way her breath stuttered for just a second too long.

“What had she almost said?” “What had she been too afraid to show?”

Giselle would never ask and Y/N would never tell her. The moment passed, but the tension remained.

Even as Y/N forced herself to look away, pretending she hadn’t noticed the weight of Giselle’s stare, the erratic rhythm of her heart refused to settle.

Giselle didn’t move for a long time. She remained seated across the room, fingers drumming idly against the armrest, expression unreadable. But something about her felt different, as if she, too, was grappling with something unspoken.

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, until Y/N finally exhaled, pressing her lips together before lifting a hand in a small, fleeting wave.

“Goodnight.”

Then, without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared into her room, closing the door softly behind her.

Giselle stayed behind, staring out at the dim skyline beyond the window.

She should go to bed. There were meetings in the morning, calls to take, deals to finalize. She should be thinking about work.

But when she finally pushed herself up from the chair, something restless coiled in her chest.

A quiet sense of unease.

The next morning Giselle sat at the kitchen island, coffee steaming beside her, the soft glow of her tablet illuminating unread emails and half-finished reports. The city stretched beyond the penthouse windows, skyscrapers rising against the pale morning sky. Everything was calm, predictable, controlled.

Then her phone buzzed.

A small vibration against the marble countertop, sharp in the stillness.

She reached for it, barely glancing at the screen, until she saw the notification.

Concierge Desk: “A package has arrived for you, Ms. Uchinaga. It was marked urgent.”

Giselle frowned, setting her tablet aside. She wasn’t expecting anything. Deliveries had to go through security, checked and cleared before being sent up. Few people had the access or audacity to send something directly to her.

A flicker of unease crept up her spine. She pushed it down.

Minutes later, she stood by the entrance of the penthouse, the package in her hands. It was medium-sized, the brown cardboard plain, unmarked except for her name in precise, printed letters. No return address. No sender information.

Just her.

She studied it for a moment, fingers pressing against the edges, assessing the weight. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but there was something unsettling about it. A feeling.

Still, her expression remained unreadable as she carried it to her office, shutting the door behind her.

The space was bathed in soft morning light, the polished surface of her desk gleaming. Everything was neat, controlled, in its place. The package did not belong.

She set it down carefully, staring at it for a long moment. Then, with slow precision, she reached for the letter opener and sliced through the tape. The flaps folded open with ease, revealing the contents inside and just like that, the air in the room changed.

Giselle’s breath stilled.

Nestled beneath layers of protective wrapping was a photograph. Old, slightly grainy, edges worn with time. But the image was crystal clear.

Two figures. Younger. Standing in the shadows of something much larger than them.

Her. Jeno.

For a fraction of a second, she didn’t move. Her fingers hovered over the photo, hesitating, before finally picking it up. The weight of the past pressed into her palm, heavier than it should have been.

She knew this picture. She knew that night.

She had spent years burying it, ensuring it stayed locked away, nothing more than a fading memory. But here it was, dragged back into the light, placed neatly before her like a ghost waiting to be acknowledged.

Beneath the photograph, a small folded note lay nestled in the box. The handwriting was smooth, deliberate.

She unfolded it.

"We both know I took the fall for you. Time to pay your debt, little sister."

The words hit harder than she expected. Her jaw tightened. Her grip on the paper turned rigid.

Slowly, she inhaled through her nose, forcing her pulse back to its usual steady rhythm. Her eyes flicked back to the box, scanning the remaining contents.

At the very bottom, folded with care, was an old newspaper clipping. She didn’t need to read the headline to know what it was, she had seen this article before.

A scandal. A crime. A carefully crafted cover-up that had buried the truth beneath wealth and power.

The story had painted Jeno as the reckless son, the black sheep who had always been too unstable, too volatile, too much like their father.

Giselle had been the exception. The perfect heir. The one who had walked away unscathed.

Jeno had taken the fall. And now, he wanted something in return.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the note, knuckles whitening. A slow exhale, controlled and measured, as she read the words again.

"Time to pay your debt."

Giselle moved before she could think, tearing the note in half.

Then again. And again.

The crisp paper shredded beneath her fingers, the pieces fluttering onto the desk in silent defiance. The photograph followed.

She shoved it back into the box, pressing the torn scraps of the note on top, burying it beneath the newspaper clipping.

Her movements were precise. Collected. She was in control. She had to be. Her father had always told her that weakness was a choice. That emotions were a liability.

And if there was one thing she had learned, one thing she had promised herself, it was that she would never give Jeno the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Straightening, she smoothed the front of her blouse, rolling her shoulders back. Jeno thought he could rattle her. He thought he could remind her of the past and make her bend.

But he had underestimated her. She wasn’t that girl anymore and she would be damned if she let him drag her back into the past.

Giselle remained in her office long after she had sealed the package, standing motionless, hands braced against the edge of her desk. The early morning light spilled through the windows, casting long, pale streaks across the polished wood. The city stretched out beyond the glass, a vast skyline of power and progress, but in this moment, it felt suffocating.

Everything in the room was meticulously arranged, leather-bound books stacked neatly on the shelves, framed certificates and awards lining the walls, sleek technology waiting in standby mode. A curated life. A perfect image.

And yet, the package sat in the bottom drawer like a rotting core beneath the surface.

Jeno had gotten too close. Again.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides before she forced them to relax. A deep breath, measured and even, the way she had trained herself. Control was everything.

She turned on her heel, leaving the office with crisp, purposeful strides. The moment she stepped into the open space of the penthouse, the atmosphere shifted.

Everything was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate, as if the world had momentarily stilled to observe something fragile unfold.

The morning light spilled through the massive windows, stretching golden fingers across the pristine surfaces of the penthouse. The city beyond shimmered in the glass, distorted yet breathtaking, an ever-changing masterpiece that demanded attention. And yet, inside, everything remained untouched. The furniture, sleek and modern, sat as if staged for a magazine spread. There was no clutter, no sign of life beyond necessity. No lingering warmth from the night before.

Except for Y/N.

She sat curled in the corner of the couch, her knees tucked beneath her, the spine of an open book resting against her palm. But she wasn’t reading. The page had not turned in minutes, her fingers hovering just above it, betraying her distraction.

She was watching her.

Giselle’s steps faltered, almost imperceptibly, but enough for her to notice. Enough for her to know that she had been seen.

Y/N’s gaze wasn’t piercing, wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t filled with expectation or the silent pressure Giselle had grown accustomed to. And yet, it carried weight. A quiet sort of gravity that came from noticing things no one else did.

The soft crease in her brow. The way her lips pressed together, hesitant. The shift of her fingers against the fabric of the couch, as if debating whether to reach out, whether to break the silence.

She had noticed. Of course, she had.

Giselle forced herself to look away. She moved toward the kitchen with practiced grace, each motion a calculated performance of control. A hand reached for the cabinet. A glass, crisp and cool against her skin. The quiet hum of the dispenser as water filled the space.

Routine. Simple. Controlled.

And yet, the tension in her chest refused to unwind.

Behind her, the faintest rustle of fabric. A shift of weight on the couch. Not following, not intruding. Just... there.

The glass in Giselle’s hand felt colder than it should have.

Then, a sound. Soft. Subtle. The familiar rhythm of fingers tapping against a screen. A brief pause. The gentle thud of something being placed on the counter.

Giselle didn’t turn.

She knew what it was before she even glanced down. Knew what awaited her in the glow of the screen, what words had been left in the silence between them.

Still, she hesitated.

A slow sip of water. A prolonged stare at the skyline. As if delaying would make it easier. As if ignoring it would make it disappear.

But curiosity or something else entirely, dragged her gaze downward.

Three words, simple and unassuming, yet heavy enough to settle deep in her chest.

„Are you okay?”

Giselle’s grip on the glass tightened.

She had been asked that question before. Countless times. By executives, journalists, business partners with feigned concern laced between negotiations. She knew the script by heart. The right words, the perfect smile, the seamless deflection.

“Of course.” “I’m fine.” “Let’s move on.”

But as she stared at the screen now, the answer wouldn’t come.

Because Y/N wasn’t asking as a formality. She wasn’t asking out of obligation. She was asking because she meant it.

And that made it worse.

The silence between them thickened, pressing in on her ribs. She could feel Y/N watching, waiting. Not pushing. Not expecting. Just there.

Giselle exhaled sharply through her nose and set the glass down with more force than necessary. Her fingers hovered over the phone for a fraction of a second before she pressed the side button, locking the screen. Then, without a word, she handed the device back.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Smooth. Composed. The perfect armor.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away. And, most frustratingly, she didn’t look surprised.

She simply nodded once, accepting the response without argument. But something in her expression shifted. A quiet understanding.

Giselle should have felt relief. Should have welcomed the way Y/N didn’t pry, didn’t force her into a conversation she had no interest in having. But somehow, the ease of Y/N’s acceptance made it worse.

The phone was in Y/N’s hands again, fingers moving with practiced familiarity, quick and decisive. And then, just as before, it was placed back onto the counter.

Closer this time.

Giselle hesitated.

She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see whatever had been left behind for her. But the silence between them pulled at her, an invisible tether she couldn’t quite sever.

Her gaze flickered down.

„You don’t have to talk. But you don’t have to be alone either.”

The words settled in her chest, quiet yet unshakable.

Something inside her twisted, sharp and unfamiliar. She hated the way it made her feel. The way it stripped back the layers she had so carefully constructed. The way it made her realize just how exhausted she truly was.

She hated that Y/N could see it.

For a fleeting moment, she wanted to accept the offer. To let the words wrap around her, to rest in their simplicity. To just be.

But the moment passed, fleeting and fragile, crushed beneath the weight of habit and walls too well-built to crumble now.

Giselle picked up the glass, turned away, and left the room without another word.

Even as she walked away, she could still feel Y/N’s presence behind her. Steady. Unwavering.

She had let Giselle go, but she hadn’t let her be alone.

The storm arrived in waves, the wind howling through the city like a restless spirit. Rain pelted against the windows of the penthouse, streaking down the glass in frantic patterns, illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. Thunder rolled through the sky, deep and guttural, shaking the very foundation of the towering building.

Inside, Giselle sat in the dim glow of the living room, the only light coming from the flickering city below and the soft reflection of the storm in the windows. She was still, too still, her hands loosely clasped around a glass of whiskey she had barely touched. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, with a tension that felt almost tangible, as if the storm outside was simply a mirror of what churned inside her.

Y/N was there too, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick throw blanket. She wasn’t watching the storm. She was watching Giselle.

Giselle could feel the weight of Y/N’s gaze, could sense the quiet concern in it. It was the same unspoken patience she had shown before, the same infuriatingly gentle persistence. Giselle wanted to tell her to stop looking at her like that, to stop seeing her.

But she didn’t.

“Storms used to scare me as a kid,” Y/N typed, her fingers moving slowly, carefully. A hesitant confession.

Giselle turned her head slightly, eyes flickering toward Y/N’s phone, then to her face. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, in a voice barely above a murmur, she admitted, “Me too.”

Y/N blinked, as if caught off guard by the honesty. Giselle almost regretted saying it.

The room fell into silence once more, save for the relentless drumming of rain against the glass. Y/N shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, her body instinctively seeking warmth. She didn’t push. Didn’t press for more. And for that, Giselle was oddly grateful.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The world outside was chaos, but in this room, there was stillness.

Then, without thinking, Y/N moved closer.

It was small at first, a slight shift, a hesitant inching toward Giselle as if testing the waters. When Giselle didn’t pull away, didn’t stiffen or add more space between them, Y/N settled beside her, their shoulders brushing. It was a tentative touch, light and fleeting, yet enough to send something tight and aching through Giselle’s chest.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She should pull away. She should tell Y/N to go to bed. She should put up those walls again, reinforce them before they crumbled any further.

Instead, she stayed.

The next time lightning lit up the sky, Y/N’s head had found its way to Giselle’s shoulder. Her breath was slow, steady, her body warm against Giselle’s side. There was trust in that, in the way she allowed herself to rest against someone so notoriously untouchable.

Giselle swallowed hard, her throat tight.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she realized Y/N had fallen asleep.

The storm raged on outside, but Y/N’s breathing remained even, unbothered by the chaos beyond these walls. Giselle tilted her head slightly, gaze lingering on the way Y/N’s lashes fluttered against her cheek, the faint parting of her lips as she slept.

She looked peaceful. Soft in a way that made something in Giselle ache.

Carefully, Giselle shifted, lifting Y/N into her arms. She was lighter than Giselle expected, her body fitting against her own too naturally. Every movement was careful, deliberate, as she carried her toward the bedroom.

The door to Y/N’s room was already cracked open. The space inside was modest, untouched in comparison to the rest of the penthouse. It wasn’t grand, wasn’t cold. It felt... lived in. Y/N’s presence lingered here in the small, subtle details, a half-folded sweater draped over a chair, a book left open on the nightstand, a faint scent of something warm and familiar.

Giselle lowered Y/N onto the bed, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. She should leave now. She had done enough.

But as she turned, a small hand caught her wrist.

She froze.

Y/N wasn’t fully awake, her grip loose but insistent. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, fluttered open just enough to find Giselle’s face.

“Stay.” She signed it with one hand, the motion groggy yet unmistakable.

Giselle stared down at her. She should say no. She should walk away before the line between them blurred any further. Before something irreversible happened.

And yet. She exhaled slowly and, instead of retreating, she lowered herself onto the mattress beside Y/N.

The space between them was barely there before Y/N closed it entirely, curling against her without hesitation, head settling against Giselle’s chest. The warmth was immediate, a contrast to the cold storm outside, to the coldness Giselle had spent years perfecting within herself.

She didn’t know how to do this. How to exist in this kind of closeness. How to be wanted like this.

But Y/N didn’t expect anything from her. Didn’t demand words or promises or things Giselle wasn’t sure she could give. She simply rested against her, trusting, unguarded.

Giselle hesitated before allowing herself to relax, just slightly. Her hand hovered for a moment before settling gently on Y/N’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as if grounding herself in this moment, in the quiet, in the warmth.

The storm outside roared on, but in the safety of Y/N’s embrace, it no longer felt quite so overwhelming.

As Giselle stared at the ceiling, heart pounding too loud in her chest, her eyes flickered briefly to the diamond ring on Y/N’s finger. It was still there, still a symbol of something artificial.

And yet, somehow, in this moment, it didn’t feel like a lie.

Neither of them spoke of it. Neither of them had to.

Sleep came slowly to Giselle, her mind restless, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t break the spell.

For once, she let herself stay.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader #aespa giselle x reader #giselle uchinaga x reader #giselle x fem reader #giselle x reader #aeri x reader #a contract of silence

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legalmente-loca · 1 day ago

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V𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢'𝔰 L𝔲𝔰𝔱

Pairing: Vampire!Ben (Soldier Boy) x Lamb!Female Reader

Summary: You arrive at a party with your friends thinking it was a normal one. As soon as they leave, the vampire most coveted by everyone appears before you.

Word Count: 1,088

Tags/Warnings: 18+, smut, blood kink, oral (female and male receiving)

He was mesmerizing. Truly attractive. His fangs glistened when he wanted to show them. It was lust in person. His orgy parties were very well known and everyone was dying to go and be chosen by him. But as soon as he saw you at one of those parties, your lost gaze, trying not to look at the naked bodies rubbing against each other, something changed inside him. His cock immediately stood up as his gaze ran up and down your body. He approached you, your look surprised when you saw him. His large body covered in a robe was too much for you. Your big eyes, along with your wool dress, gave Ben the impression that you were a simple lamb lost among wolves.

And he would be the only one who had a bite.

He took you to his room. Ben wouldn't let anyone but him in. But he decided to make an exception for you.

He invited you to sit on the bed and stroked your arm gently with his finger.

“You are beautiful.” He murmured in a soft voice.

“Thank you.” Your small voice was barely heard.

He moved his face closer to your neck, causing you to pull back slightly.

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, little lamb.”

Seeing that you didn't move away, he gently brushed his nose against your neck, sniffing. He could already taste your blood on the tip of his tongue. He stuck his tongue out slightly and gave you a small lick. He murmured at your taste.

“You are delicious, little lamb.”

You looked at him with those eyes of yours and he smiled at you. He delicately took your hand and brought it to his mouth, leaving a kiss there. You let out a sigh and he took it as a sign that he could move forward. He moved his kisses up your arm to your neck, where he took out his fangs and gently scraped your skin. You gave a small moan. Probably the same sound scaring you and he laughed softly.

“You can touch me, baby.” He moved your hand to his chest under his robe. “Explore all you want.”

You felt his skin and with it his hardened muscles. He sighed at your touch and brought your hand lower, his robe slowly opening. He placed a kiss on your jaw before your hand made contact with his hardened, large cock.

“That is. Good girl.” He moved your hand up and down, guiding you, because it was clear that you didn't know what to do.

His other hand moved to one of the wool straps of your dress, sliding it over your shoulder, causing a portion of your breast to show. He lowered his mouth as you continued your gentle movements on his cock and licked your nipple. You were sensitive, your body reacting immediately. Your hairs stood on end and a soft moan came from between your lips. He gently nibbled your nipple and sucked. He moved his mouth away and gently placed his hand behind your head, making you lean forward and start sucking his cock.

“Very good honey.” He stroked your hair as you gave small experimental licks along the length.

He made you take it in your mouth and moved his hips up and down. Moans left his mouth and he threw his head back.

“You're doing really well. A dirty little girl after all.”

He made you go all the way to the bottom, making you stay there for a few seconds before allowing you to breathe.

He pulled you back on the bed and gently took off your dress, staring hungrily at your naked body. Your nipples erect, your pussy already pulsing his name and the sound of your blood running through your veins as if it were a stream. It was enough to drive him crazy.

He positioned himself on top of you and spread your legs, his cock bouncing against your thighs.

“You will experience pleasure at its maximum splendor.” He murmured close to your face. “And you will enjoy it… And you will come back for more.”

He lowered his face until he was face to face with your pussy. He took a long lick from bottom to top, the tip of his tongue caressing your clit.

“You are delicious. I wish you were on your period to enjoy yourself better. I’ll have to wait for that.”

He continued licking you and even stuck a finger in your little hole, which you squeezed and sucked right away.

You came quickly like the virgin you were, your moans filling the room as he licked up your delicious juices that spread all over the mattress.

He crawled back up your body and kissed you, biting your bottom lip. You moaned in pain and he caressed the wound with his tongue, licking your blood.

And that taste of your blood was enough to make him addicted.

He guided his throbbing cock to your already spent entrance and slid in gently. Your eyes rolled back and you grabbed his arms tightly.

“Oh, God…”

“No fuckin’ God, sweetheart. Soldier Boy or Ben, whatever you prefer to call me.” He reached the bottom. “But not God.”

Slowly, he pulled out of you and then back in. He moved his mouth towards your neck and covered you with his fangs again, breathing deeply. Your wet walls surrounded him and he couldn't help but feel a thrill inside him at this great discovery. You.

His eyes grew darker, his body heavier, and his hands gripped the sheets beneath you tightly. He hissed before sinking his fangs into the side of your neck, sucking your sweet blood. You gasped lightly and closed your eyes. It was like a viper, its venom bringing great, hitherto unknown pleasure throughout your body. His hip movements didn't stop and his fangs didn't move away from your neck.

And so you continued until dawn, your bodies united and sweaty from the action. It wasn't until the sun hit his back that he pulled out of you (fangs and cock), laying down next to you. Around his mouth was a trace of your blood, which he wiped away satisfied. He ran one last lick over the wound he'd given you and placed a kiss on your cheek, your breathing panting, still trying to return to the present.

“You were very good, little lamb.” He stroked your hair as he looked at you adoringly. “I have finally found my life partner.”

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ayrtonswnna · 2 days ago

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"TROUBLESOME!" 〃 oscar piastri x lila morris (female!oc)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺ oneshot. fluff/crack. word count: 4.2k +

✧ my masterlist! ✧ requests are open! ✧ more osc!

five times oscar went to his girlfriend's rescue; she has a history.

warnings: character facing racism, fun couple, osc being a softie, not much happening i just liked the concept, sweet and supportive couple. would probably write a texting au of this.

01. THE MCLAREN 720S

Lila wanted to drive the supercar the moment it was parked inside her boyfriend’s garage.

The boyfriend in question—a man professionally skilled behind the wheel—knew it wasn’t a good idea. But, yeah. She had those big brown eyes, round like a puppy’s, lips plump in a perfect pout, looking so damn kissable. And there they were.

"Alright. No parallel parking, no over-speeding. And—" Oscar paused, exhaling through his nose. "You go to college and come back home. Alright?" He handed her the keys, and before he could react, they slipped from his fingers as Lila jumped excitedly.

"Yes! Yes, babe! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear I’ll take care of her!" She launched herself at him, pressing messy kisses all over his face. He chuckled, cheeks flushing as he tried to keep his cool. "I love you! I love you, Osc! I’ll reward you for this! Byeee!"

"Yeah, love you too. See ya."

It took about three hours.

A call from an unsaved number—he already knew where it was coming from.

Another McLaren out of the garage. Another trip straight to the police department. Another worried Oscar Piastri behind the wheel, just hoping his girlfriend wasn’t hurt—or in too much trouble.

"What did you do this time?" he sighed, walking into the room where she was properly locked in.

Lila looked up at him, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Proudly informed the officer that his mom didn’t ask me if I stole the car when I fucked her in the backseat last night."

Oscar rubbed his face. Exasperated. And yet, somehow, his heart softened.

Lila had a way of making chaos seem like just another part of her charm. She was impulsive, and he was well aware of her short temper when it came to authority. He was also aware that, as a woman of color, the scrutiny she faced behind the wheel of an expensive car was different. He could drive the McLaren a hundred times and never get pulled over. But for her? It was a different story.

"Of course you did," he muttered, scratching his face, more tired than anything.

Oscar wasn’t the type to make a scene. He had enough influence to cause trouble if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t—not with Lila around. She’d kill him for it.

"I’ll pay, and we’ll go, alright?" He sighed as an officer approached, probably to guide him through the process.

"Not your fault." Lila smiled, that same mischievous gleam still in her eyes. "Thank God you’re a millionaire, or I’d be locked up for life."

"I wouldn’t let that happen, even if we were debt-ridden." Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Wait here, alright? Love ya."

"Love you too." She grinned as he was led through the hallway.

"Is this... is this girl with you?" an officer asked, eyeing him with confusion.

Oscar frowned. "Yes. My girlfriend."

"Oh, so the car is yours, then?" The officer scoffed. "I knew it wasn’t hers. If she wasn’t so dirty-mouthed, this could’ve ended without your wallet."

Oscar’s expression darkened. "Yeah, she’s running out of patience for people like you," he said flatly. "And I don’t blame her. Now, where do I sign? How much do I need to pay?"

"Your little girlfriend committed a crime, Mr. Piastri. It’s not about patience—it’s unlawful."

"Having an expensive car was her crime, I guess." Oscar shrugged. "But it’s fine. She’s tough. She’s used to this mess. Let me pay, and I’ll take her and her car home."

The officer exhaled, reluctant but defeated. The process was quick, and soon enough, Oscar had the keys back in his hand. He returned to Lila, shaking his head as she smirked up at him.

"Let’s go, troublemaker," he said, voice laced with fond exasperation. "For once, I think you’re the victim in this."

02. NIGHT OUT

Oscar and Lila had been dating since middle school. Oscar, as calm and quiet as he was, was used to waiting for Lila at home on her nights out with her college friends. That night was no different.

He usually stayed awake, just in case of an emergency. Again, that night was no different. Her name flashing across his phone at past three a.m. meant only one thing: trouble.

"Heeey, Osc! The famous boyfriend of the crew!" a voice slurred.

Not Lila.

"Yeah, that’s me," he chuckled, already out of bed. "What’s going on? Where’s Lila?"

"So… Okay, handsome. Let me break it down to you. I didn’t know she-she could go so far! Fuckity fuck! Your girl is a beast!"

Oscar sighed. If her friend was like this, he could only imagine Lila.

Minutes later, he pulled up to the club she had surely mentioned before heading out. The moment he spotted her sitting on the sidewalk, bundled up in her coat, little purse hanging around her neck, and eyes droopy from exhaustion, he wanted to laugh.

"Babyyyyyy… helloooo, baby." She beamed up at him, lips trembling from the cold. "Hey, I missed you."

"Missed you too, bug. What are you doing all alone?" He took her purse off her shoulder, slinging it over his before crouching down. "Had too much to drink, huh?"

"No, baby. Nooo, I didn’t drink that much." She blatantly lied, letting herself melt into his arms as he scooped her up. "Wooow, that is sooo good. You’re like my prince, right? You are my prince."

"I do save you from a lot, guess I can handle that title." He carried her to the car, setting her inside with practiced ease. "Alright, saved princess. If you need to throw up, tell me. Seriously. Tell me."

"I love this car, Oscie. I would never ruin our beautiful seats." She smiled that same childish smile before sighing dramatically. "I looove you… Osc, I love you sooooo much."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I love you too, bug."

Lila let out a dramatic gasp, eyes widening. "No, no, nooo, you don’t get it. I love you soooo much it hurts! Like, physically. Ow."

Oscar raised a brow, fighting back a smile. "It hurts?"

"Yes!" she threw her hands up, nearly smacking herself in the face. "Because you're so pretty, Oscar. It’s not fair. How do you get to be this pretty and this nice? Huh? Explain that."

"Genetics, I guess?" he teased, turning onto their street. "Or maybe you're just very, very drunk."

"Noooo, you don’t understand!" she sniffled, and Oscar’s amusement instantly turned into concern as he glanced at her again. Her lower lip trembled, eyes welling up with tears. "You’re so pretty. And I love you. And you always pick me up and take care of me and—" a small hiccup interrupted her sentence—"and you’re the best person in the whole world, and I don’t deserve you."

Oscar sighed, softening immediately. "Bug, of course you deserve me. Don’t start crying."

"But I dooo," she wailed, rubbing at her eyes and sniffling dramatically. "You’re perfect and I’m just—"

"My perfect drunk mess of a girlfriend," he interrupted gently, pulling into the driveway and shutting off the car. "Come on, love, let’s get you inside before you make me cry too."

Lila let out a tiny giggle through her sniffles, letting Oscar scoop her up again without protest. "I love when you carry me," she sighed dreamily, nuzzling against his shoulder. "You’re so strong. My prince."

"Yeah, yeah, your prince is getting you showered and in bed before you pass out on me."

Inside, Oscar skillfully maneuvered her towards the bathroom, setting her down on the closed toilet lid. She blinked up at him, cheeks still pink and eyes dazed. "You’re so pretty," she whispered again, reaching for his face with clumsy fingers. "It’s distracting."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water. "Alright, alright, enough of that. Let’s get you cleaned up."

The shower was more of a quick rinse—Oscar mostly helping her wash her face and change into one of his hoodies before guiding her toward the kitchen. He made her sit on the counter as he grabbed a water bottle and a snack.

"Eat this, bug. It’ll help."

She pouted but took a bite, eyes never leaving him. "M’sorry for crying."

"It’s okay."

"You forgive me?"

"Always."

A lazy smile spread across her face. "You're the best boyfriend ever. I love you so much."

Oscar pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I know. Now finish that so I can get you to bed."

By the time he tucked her in, Lila was already dozing off, still mumbling about how pretty he was. He just chuckled, brushing her hair back before turning off the light. "Goodnight, drunk bug."

03. PADDOCK BUREAUCRACY

"C’mon, you guys! It’s me! I do this every other week! What the—C’mon, help me here! You know me!"

They might, in fact, know her. Lila was a recognizable face in the paddock—getting the wrong passes, wanting to be everywhere, causing a fuss with fans, sneaking into public viewing areas, and inevitably getting in trouble trying to come back. A security nightmare, a fan favorite. A gift or a curse, depending on who you asked.

"No pass, no access, lady. I’m sorry." The security guard stood firm at the entrance.

"Oh, man. Pleeeease. Please. My boyfriend is racing in thirty minutes! C’mon! I’m like his lucky charm! If I don’t get in, you’re going to be to blame for McLaren’s championship! I need to get in!"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. You’d be surprised how many ladies show up here talking about Lando Norris and—"

"No! No, whew! No, not Lando! My boyfriend is Oscar! Piastri, second driver, you know? Vroom-vroom, consistent as fuck, pretty polite cat, Australian… You notice my accent, right? We’re dating, look!" She quickly flashed her lock screen, showing a picture of them together from her last birthday party.

"Sorry, miss. No pass, no access. Good story, though. I’d read that online."

She was sure he kept talking, but she had no intention of listening. Just a slight hope, a slight chance that Oscar still had his phone in hand.

And after a few beeps… There it was. "Sup, troublemaker? Hope you’re calling to wish me good luck because—"

"They’re keeping me out! I can’t get inside! Can you send someone to help me here? Pleeeease."

"They’re keeping you out? On my way, wait a minute."

It took no time; within minutes, Oscar was jogging over, his McLaren polo slightly wrinkled from the rushed movement. He barely acknowledged the security guard before his eyes landed on Lila, arms crossed, face set in a pout of deep frustration.

"What’s going on here?" Oscar’s voice was calm but firm, his eyes flicking between Lila and the guard.

"She doesn’t have a pass, sir," the security guard explained. "She claims to be your girlfriend, but without credentials, we can’t let her in."

Oscar’s brows furrowed slightly as he looked at Lila, who dramatically threw her hands in the air. "I am his girlfriend! This is so unfair! You guys let strangers in all the time—"

Before she could launch into another impassioned rant, Oscar simply stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Yeah, she’s with me," he said, his tone final.

The security guard hesitated, glancing between them. Something unspoken hung in the air, a flicker of disbelief, like he still wasn’t entirely convinced. Oscar didn’t bother addressing it, just pulled Lila in closer with an easy familiarity.

Lila caught on immediately, tilting her head up at him with a theatrical sigh. "See? You almost had me standing out here alone while my boyfriend was getting ready to race."

Oscar hummed in agreement. "Would’ve been tragic."

The security guard, clearly uncomfortable, cleared his throat. "Again, sorry, sir. We were just following protocol."

Oscar waved him off. "No worries. But maybe next time, try believing her. She’s a bit of a menace, but she’s harmless."

"Hey!" Lila smacked his chest lightly, though she was grinning.

With that, Oscar tugged her toward the paddock entrance, his grip on her wrist secure. Once they were far enough from the entrance, she looked up at him, grinning. "You let them think I was some random fangirl."

"Technically, you are my biggest fan," he quipped.

"Please, I barely know your stats."

Oscar scoffed. "Liar. You correct people when they misquote them."

She gasped, hand over her heart. "Betrayed by my own boyfriend."

He chuckled, squeezing her hand as they reached his driver room. "C’mon, let’s get inside before you cause more chaos."

"You love my chaos."

Oscar opened the door, gesturing for her to enter first. "Yeah, yeah. Just get in before they ban you for life."

She beamed up at him before slipping inside, and Oscar shook his head, smiling to himself. Definitely a menace. But she was his menace.

04. DEAD WORRIED.

Oscar was halfway through reviewing race data when his phone buzzed. He barely glanced at it, assuming it was Lila texting one of her usual complaints about how bored she was in class or sharing a random meme she found funny.

But it wasn’t her.

It was her mother.

His heart dropped.

Call me when you can. Lila’s in the hospital.

He shot out of his seat before his mind could catch up, already dialing. The phone rang once before her mother answered.

“Oscar,” her voice was calm—too calm. “She didn’t want me to tell you, but I thought you should know—”

“What happened?” he cut in, grabbing his keys as he headed for the door.

“She wasn’t feeling well and collapsed earlier. They’re running tests.”

His breath hitched. “She collapsed?”

“She insisted she was fine,” her mother sighed. “She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Of course she didn’t. She never did.

“I’m on my way.”

—

When he arrived at the hospital, he half-expected to find Lila sitting up in bed, rolling her eyes at how everyone was overreacting.

Instead, she looked… small.

Her usual spark—the one that had her sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be and laughing at her own jokes—was dimmed. She was propped up against a mound of pillows, an IV in her arm, her skin pale, too pale.

And yet, when she saw him standing in the doorway, she groaned.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, throwing her head back dramatically. “She told you, didn’t she?”

Oscar ignored her attempt to downplay it and rushed to her bedside, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before anything else. “Are you serious, Lila? You collapsed and didn’t think to tell me?”

She pouted. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Too late for that,” he snapped. She blinked, startled. His fists were clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, before reaching for her hand. It was cold. “What’s wrong? What did they say?”

She hesitated, just a second too long.

“Oscar—”

“What did they say?” His voice cracked, just a little.

Her expression softened, and she squeezed his fingers. “They’re still figuring it out. It’s not… that bad. I just need rest.”

He shook his head. “You never get like this, Lila. Never. And you were going to just—what? Keep it from me until you magically got better?”

Her eyes flickered away. “Maybe.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He hated this. Hated seeing her like this. Hated that she had to be this sick before she’d admit something was wrong.

When the doctor finally came in to say she could go home, Oscar stood up without hesitation.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, already reaching for her.

She swung her legs off the bed, ready to stand—only to yelp when Oscar scooped her up effortlessly.

“Oscar!” she shrieked, clutching him. “Put me down!”

“Not a chance.” His grip was firm, unyielding. “You’re not walking anywhere.”

“I can walk!”

“Don’t care.”

She groaned. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He shot her a look, his eyes still clouded with lingering fear. “I almost lost my mind today, Lila. Just—let me do this, okay?”

She stared at him for a long moment before sighing, resting her head against his chest. “Fine. But only because you’re comfy.”

His lips twitched. “Lucky for you, I plan on keeping you comfy for a long time.”

And he carried her all the way out, past the amused nurses and her grinning mother, straight to the car—where he buckled her in himself.

She huffed. “You’re really doing everything for me, huh?”

He kissed her forehead, lingering there a second longer than necessary. “Yeah, I am.”

And he wouldn’t stop, not until she was better. Not ever.

05. THE FAMILY IS GROWING

Oscar knew something was off the second he stepped into the apartment. The air felt… different, like it was holding its breath, waiting for him to notice.

And he knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that if Lila had anything to do with it, the “normal” he was used to was long gone.

He closed the door behind him, eyes scanning the room. It wasn’t just the stillness that felt strange—there was an energy here. Something offbeat. Something… Lila.

Before he could take another step, a blur of fur zoomed across the room, knocking over a stack of books like they were mere obstacles. Lila came barreling after it, her hair a tangled mess, socks slipping on the hardwood as she slid to a stop. She lunged, all the grace of someone who hadn’t quite figured out the art of coordination—barely missing whatever had darted under the couch.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Well, this is new,” he drawled. “How long were you planning on keeping this from me?”

Lila froze, turning slowly, her expression morphing from frantic to feigned innocence in less than a second. Her smile was the kind that could melt anyone’s heart if they weren’t already in a state of disbelief. “Oh, hey! You’re home early.”

Oscar’s gaze swept over the scene—books scattered everywhere, a pillow rolling across the floor like it was trying to make a getaway, and Lila still standing there, caught with the look of someone who’d been caught red-handed. “Explain.”

She bit her lip, shifting on her feet as she tucked her hands behind her back. “Well, you see, I found her—”

“Lila.”

“—and she was all alone! She was so scared, Oscar, you should have seen her! She was shivering! And I just couldn’t leave her there.”

As if on cue, the tiny puppy peeked out from under the couch, its big brown eyes wide with guilt. Oscar’s heart softened against his will, but he had to keep his composure. This couldn’t turn into the kind of mess he couldn’t escape from. He turned back to Lila, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re telling me you’re just gonna sneak this little disaster in without telling me?”

She gasped, putting a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Sneak? I prefer ‘rescue.’”

Oscar couldn’t help but smirk. “Rescue? Really?”

Lila was already crouching down to scoop up the tiny puppy, cradling it like it was the most precious thing she’d ever held. The puppy let out a soft whimper, nestling into Lila’s chest as if it knew the game was up. “Oscar, look at her. How could I just leave her? She’s so small, so helpless. She needs someone.”

Oscar watched the way she looked at the puppy, her face lighting up in that rare, unguarded way. His chest tightened, realizing how much he loved seeing her like this—carefree, giving, and a little bit ridiculous.

“God help me,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in his voice. He wasn’t mad—not even close. He was just… helpless in the face of her charm.

Lila turned her head to look at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “I’ll put up posters, ask around. But, you know, if no one claims her… well…”

Oscar exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You already named her, didn’t you?”

Lila’s eyes widened, clearly caught. “...No?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Lila.”

She sighed, looking down at the puppy as it licked her chin. “Okay, fine. Her name’s Peanut. But it’s not like she told me or anything.” She glanced back at Oscar with a cheeky grin. “Say hi, Peanut.”

Peanut licked Lila’s nose in response, and despite himself, Oscar chuckled softly. It was impossible to stay annoyed at this point—especially when Lila looked so damn cute trying to make it all sound so innocent.

Oscar dropped onto the couch, his body finally giving in to the absurdity of it all. “I swear, you’re the most adorable disaster I’ve ever met.”

Lila beamed, a proud smile tugging at her lips. “I know, right? But you love me anyway.”

Oscar just shook his head, but the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips was all too telling. “Yeah, I do. Can’t seem to help it.”

As she ran around, picking up the scattered books and pillows, Peanut following close behind like a tiny shadow, Oscar couldn’t help but watch her. The way she moved with that excitement, the way her eyes lit up every time she caught sight of the puppy’s tiny antics—it was all too perfect. All too her.

“You’re lucky I’m too in love with you to be mad,” he murmured to himself, half under his breath.

Lila looked up at him, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You know what? I think you’re right. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

Oscar couldn’t help himself anymore. He stood up and took a step closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek. “I’m not mad, Lila,” he said softly, his voice low with affection. “I just… I think you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, even when you’re doing stupid shit.”

She smiled at him, her eyes softening, and without another word, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was gentle at first, like she was testing to see if he truly meant it. But Oscar wasn’t about to leave her hanging. He pulled her closer, his lips pressing against hers with more intensity, a kiss that said everything without needing words.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Lila nuzzled into his chest, content. “I love you,” she whispered, the words a sweet, simple truth.

Oscar held her tight, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you, too, Peanut’s mom.”

Lila laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.” Oscar smiled, holding her even tighter as they both looked down at the little puppy—who, in that moment, seemed like just another part of their chaotic, perfect little world.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺ @ayrtonswnna, 2025.

#lele writes ʚɞ #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri fluff #pookie piastri #formula 1 #formula one #formula one imagine #mclaren #landoscar #oscar piastri x reader

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miiyas · 3 days ago

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QUIET SIGNS

amidst the chaos of having friends over for dinner, osamu continuously reminds you of his love for you

wc: 633, fluff, post-ts, not proof read

osamu miya believes that good food should be shared, a philosophy he's followed for a while after opening onigiri miya. he follows it even when outside of the shop and his usual busy routine, cooking dishes in the small of your shared home when there are people over.

for the first time in months, there's a small gathering of osamu's old high school friends crowding the small dining area as they all speak about their growing careers. the soft sizzle of meats and stir fry echos in the kitchen as you hear your boyfriend hop into conversations now and then, mostly yelling at his brother for spreading false truths, trying to defend himself and spare any embarrassment. it's an awfully warm atmosphere, you think. maybe it's because of the alcohol or the way you've been smiling and laughing so much, but you can't seem to mind, especially once dishes start to be placed on the table.

you never really have gotten used to osamu's cooking, mouth still drooling even after being together for so long.

meats are already being stolen the moment it gets introduced, and mountains of rice are scarfed down in an instant and you get a glimpse at a gentle smile growing on kita's lips as the boys puff out steams of hot rice, instantly knowing it was his. you, on the other hand, have yet to start eating. you never do without osamu.

as he steps out of the kitchen, you can see osamu's face shrivel into a cringe as he walks over to his chair beside you, mumbling something under his breath about gluttons surrounding him before pressing a kiss to your temple and taking a seat.

neither of you bother with seeing how much time had passed. you're too drunk in hearing osamu's laughter while he's busy bickering with his brother, pointing his chopsticks at him as he shouts with mouthfuls to the point no one knows what either of them are saying. the food had been eaten a while ago and the side dishes are halfway from being empty.

you rest your head on the roster of your palm, grinning gently to yourself as you poke at the remaining bits of food on your plate. atsumu is off telling a story of his high school days in an attempt to tick off his twin more than he already has. osamu lets out an annoyed huff, chewing on his last clump of rice with more aggression than needed as he turns his head away, not wanting to engage anymore with the banter.

his eyes land on your frame and the way you poke at your plate and you look up, raising your brows as a soft smile stretches from the corner of your lips.

"'ya full ?"

"mhm."

"alright." without another word, osamu drags your plate closer to him with his chopsticks and eats any remaining bits left over, his attention back on atsumu as he hears suna let out a snicker. you gently push the ceramic plate closer to him with your finger, far too used to the routine of him taking whatever you couldn't finish, rolling your eyes as the twins share their own side of the story, trying to defend their image while breaking the others, a sly grin growing on both their lips.

there's a gentle poke under the table by the side of your calf from osamu, a quiet sign in asking if you were okay. you nudge him back, and he turns his head to see the same smile as before. the tense look on his face smooths out and he lets out a quiet sigh, a hand reaching out for you under the table as he squeezes it three times.

'i love you.'

you squeeze back, 'i love you too.'

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyu x you #osamu miya #osamu x reader #osamu miya x you #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu x you #miya osamu #atlas writes !

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dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth · 1 day ago

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"They need to have a safe adult to process this stuff with." YES!! A MILLION TIMES YES!!!

So story time!! When I was a kid, my middle school was weird. It was 4th grade through 8th grade. That meant you had kids ages like 8 to 14 in there. And that is a HUGE broad range of ages and developments! Immensely huge!!

But as a result, you had literal children exposed to swearing, sex jokes, puberty, reproductive talks, mentions and even sights of drugs.

That was a TON to handle!! For a child to see that and hear that all?! It was too much to handle alone. And the sad part is a lot of the kids did end up handling it alone. And they became fucked over trying to make sense of it all. Some, in late high school, sorted that out, but many didn't.

I was lucky to have a mother who talked with me about it all. She sat me down if I had questions or concerns, she spoke to me and my brother about these very adult topics, and from a young age, I'm talking like at age 10, she trusted me enough to understand what the word cock could be, aka either a chicken or a dick.

She helped me to process this all. Make it less scary and intimidating.

My mother even helped me learn what consent was when I was 9, and how to say no if someone did something I didn't want.

And when I was a little kid, she took me on shopping trips and sometimes she stopped in the liquor store, and I'd go in, and I didn't care or mind. She didn't mind. She was exposing me so I understood it, and she knew I wouldn't be tempted later on when I could legally drink. Hell, as a teen if I wanted a beer, or a glass of champagne, she didn't deny me, but I also never did want that because I just wasn't interested.

Even now, as an adult, I don't really like alcohol. The taste is weird, and all I would drink is mead and maybe a beer.

But it's because my mother exposed me safely with her guidance at a young age that I understood and knew my limits and grew up to not be tempted by adult things that so many are sheltered from to "protect" them.

Those kids aren't protected. They're endangered. Because they do not know the limits and dangers of themselves or what they are imbibing as adults the way they would know if they grew up with someone to guide and help them know these things.

Now when I did reach high school, our freshman year was sex ed in health class. And the thing is, our state legally requires to offer parents/guardians the option offered to opt their child out.

These people were notified by email, and they could opt their children out. They had to sign a document to allow the kids to learn, and if the kid showed up without that document for the day?

That kid got opted out.

So many parents did this. Most for religious excuses, but I say "excuses" because that's what it is. Everyone should be made to learn sex ed and properly, not with just abstinence only, or religious-based sex ed.

And so many of those same parents who opted their children out, I knew them. Because it's a tiny town where you know everyone first, middle, last name, probably even deepest darkest secret.

And those parents were the exact ones who tried so damn hard to shelter their children, teens, even, from adult subjects and environments. Didn't let them even so much as look at alcohol. Wouldn't let them even hear a single swear or the word "sex" lest that parent shame you half to fucking death for exposing their child to inappropriate subjects. Prevented their kids from playing videogames at all or from listening to so many musical genres and artists, reading most books or watching most shows and movies. They did everything to shelter those kids. And I mean EVERYTHING.

But many of those same kids grew into adults and, underexposed or entirely unexposed to adult things and subjects, they went off the rails once on their own. OD'ed or had kids at 18 by accident, got arrested for stupid shit and having illegal weapons, got caught in domestic violence situations, you name it. Some went on to advocate the same way their parents taught them and try to do what they experienced, doing away with sex ed and fighting tooth and nail to "cleanse" the internet and media for children to be "safe" from the "horrors" of adulthood.

But do you know what happens when a person who's been through tough things hides those behind a wall and refuses to engage with and process those tough things? What happens when said person protects themselves from trauma without confronting it?

That can outright cause a psychological break.

It did for me. I put my trauma behind a wall, hid it, never confronted it, and wound up fucked in the head for years and I'm still trying to recover as an adult. Granted it was unrelated trauma to the subject, but point is:

These parents trying to protect their kids are walling them up. They are shoving them behind that wall hard, and when it comes crashing down once that kid is an adult, they're left to their own devices as they try figuring out how to navigate this world put up to them as so horrifying and terrifying and evil.

But they're adults. So many of their parents expect them to just figure it out on their own. No help.

And that, in my eyes, is the equivalent of a psychological break. Being suddenly exposed to the "trauma" of the world and left to handle it alone does no one any good, and everyone I've known that had to endure such an ordeal is either screwed over even worse than I am, or they're dead. Outright dead by terrible circumstances.

Yet those of us who were lucky enough to have adults that, from a young age, helped us understand these adult things?

We were better able to understand how to avoid the dangers of them, regulate ourselves, and keep safe from terrible circumstances which, quite sadly, killed a good few people I used to know.

Understanding the limits, the dangers, the subjects of adult situations and things, does not prevent the individual from being safe from them entirely. But it does help them understand what they're getting into and how to get out if caught.

You cannot stop your children from doing bad things, but you can prepare them to know the full range of what they're getting into so that, if they do said things, at least they can be safe about it.

Maybe instead of asking what if a kid sees/hears this adult thing, we ask why is that kid in an adult space and get them to leave, instead of forcing all the adults to change and cater to the child who wandered into THEIR SPACE.

#tw drugs mention

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floraisunwell · 23 hours ago

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Invisible string | s.r

who: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluff (??)

summary: you've always loved reading at your spot in the park, getting lost in books and daydreams. what you didn't realize was that someone had been noticing you all along

lyric prompt: “green was the color of the grass where I used to read at Centennial Park, I used to think I would meet somebody there/ time, curious time, gave me no compass, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn’t see? and isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?” Invisible string, t.s

word count: 1.1k

a/n: my entry to @mggslover 1k event, congratulations once again darling

t.w: none

divider by @esote-rika

The park had always been your favorite place in the whole city—a patch of green and calm right in the middle of the metropolis' restless buzz. Exactly what you needed after a long day. Alone, but surrounded by people; that weird in-between your introverted personality had always loved.

Beneath your favorite tree, you'd lay out a towel, open a book, and let yourself slip away. Between the pages, you'd been a poet, a painter, an elderly woman reminiscing on her youth—someone's lover, even.

And sometimes, in the spaces between sentences, you'd let yourself dream. You'd imagine meeting someone, falling stupidly, hopelessly in love—just like in your favorite romances.

You knew it was silly, highly unlikely, but the thought alone was enough to make you smile. Enough to fill you with a quiet kind of hope.

And then, as if crafted by destiny, you did meet someone.

☆

Near-Miss #1: The Coffee Shop

The first time Spencer saw you, it wasn’t at the park. It was at a coffee shop, long before he ever noticed you beneath that tree. He hadn’t even been paying attention at first, too busy watching the barista prepare his drink. But then he saw you—leaning against the counter, absently tracing circles on its surface while periodically checking your watch. Something so ordinary, so insignificant, yet he couldn’t look away. He thought about getting closer, maybe striking up a conversation. But by the time he worked up the nerve, you were already walking out the door.

☆

Lucas was a lovely guy. You met on a rainy day—"Mind if I help?" he had said, noticing how you were struggling to juggle your things and an umbrella at the same time. He ended up with your number, and soon, the tree that used to be your spot became your shared spot.

☆

Near-Miss #2: the train ride

A familiar giggle caught Spencer’s attention. He looked up and saw you.

Curled up by the window, book in hand—as always. He watched as you absentmindedly twirled your hair, scribbled something in the margins of your book, let out the occasional quiet laugh. It was just like all the other times he’d seen you, and yet, he was still mesmerized.

The thought of approaching you crossed his mind. Maybe he could finally say something, maybe this time—

The train jolted to a stop. You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and stepped off the train before he could find the words.

☆

Picnics, reading sessions, coffee breaks, cloud-watching—beautiful moments. But now it was Valentine’s, and you were alone at your spot. Turns out Lucas wasn't the one after all.

For the first time, you sat under the tree alone, thinking about all the little moments that, maybe, had been clues.

The way he never understood your love for books. The fact that he never got your bakery order right—"It’s too complex, and you know that, babe." You’d chuckle, brush it off, but it unsettled you.

You knew it was dramatic. Of course, he wouldn’t be like the men in your books. He was good enough. But something was missing.

A sickly kind of romance filled the air—people of all ages showing their love for each other. You were sure you’d witnessed a failed proposal a few minutes ago. Amid all this love (and some heartbreak), you felt invisible.

But maybe you weren’t.

☆

Near-Miss #3: the collision (and almost first conversation)

Spencer had walked past you countless times. A hundred, maybe more. But one time, he almost spoke to you.

You were heading in opposite directions. You looked hurried, eyes glued to your book even as you walked. He was distracted too, skimming a page of his own. And for a moment, just a split second, you almost collided.

At the last second, both of you stepped aside. Hushed apologies, barely more than whispers, before you kept walking.

He took a few more steps before his brain finally caught up and registered who you were. He stopped in his tracks, only to turn around just in time to see you disappear into the crowd.

He cursed himself for losing another opportunity.

☆

Spencer loved the park, too.

He came to play chess, to read, to watch people—not in a creepy way, just something he enjoyed. You had always been one of his favorites to watch.

He loved how you’d giggle at a line in your book and then glance around to see if anyone had noticed. How you’d twirl your hair when you were deep in thought. How you looked so utterly lost in your stories, as if the world around you didn’t exist.

☆

But now, it was Valentine’s, and the young man who usually accompanied you was nowhere to be seen.

His chance.

"Can I sit here?" His voice startled you. You looked up to see a tall, slender man watching you.

"Uh... sure," you replied, still a little confused.

"Why are you alone?" Fuck. That probably sounded weird.

You huffed a small laugh. "Well, not anymore." He smiled at that, a little softer now.

"I'm Spencer, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer. I guess now you're my partner for the day."

"I guess," he echoed, his smile was so wide it could seem fake

☆

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Spencer looked at your book and said "You were reading a book by the same author on the train a few months ago"

"Was I really?" you blinked

"You were," he affirmed "I was in the seat across from you. We sat across each other many times in fact"

"I guess we were bound to meet sometime then" you mused meeting his gaze

"Yeah," he mumbled with a smile"Something like that"

thank you for reading!

#mwah <3 #lovers1kevent #flora rants ✿#valentines fics #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #celebration event

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starlightkyeom · 16 hours ago

Text

hit replay | x.mh

(where your ex moves into the empty unit in your apartment building and maybe the relationship isn't over after all)

pairing: xu minghao x afab!reader genre: exes to lovers, neighbors to lovers | fluff, romance, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: 12.7k (this was less than 4k yesterday idk) warnings: mentions of food & drinks, talk of the previous relationship, massages (f. receiving), body worship, light nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), briefest hand job, protected sex, they're just very soft for each other, that's it, reader doesn't use gendered language but has female anatomy

a/n: thank you to the amazing @camandemstudios for hosting The Lonely Hearts Collab ❤️ make sure you check out all the amazing fics! this ended up much softer (and longer) than i thought it would, but i'm not mad at that. we all need soft hao for love day. i hope you enjoy it!

taglist: @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tinkerbell460, @aidanjoon, @cookiearmy, @kaepjjangiya, @lostmembrane (join my svt taglist here)

Sometimes you think your life should come with one of those signs like they have in workplaces. You know, the ones that say how many days since the last accident? The ones that people always seem to use as memes? You think that might be appropriate in your case, too. Except, instead of days since the last accident, it would count days since you’d last seen your ex. The man who shattered your heart. The one you can’t seem to get over no matter how hard you try.

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396

You’re not sure why your brain counts the number. Not sure why you can’t just put it out of your mind. Move on, for real this time. Of course, that’s not the same number as the days since he broke your heart. No. Unfortunately, you’ve run into him a couple of times since then, despite him moving away. A consequence of you still having a number of friends in common. And you can’t even blame them for keeping in touch with him. He didn’t really do anything wrong. Not to them and not even really to you. The two of you just…grew apart.

Thinking back on it, even years later, you still can’t really pinpoint where it all went wrong. You remember falling for him, entirely too hard. Back when you didn’t think he took much notice of you. Always too absorbed in his latest project. You were friends, kind of. More on the periphery of each other's circles. Until you went to an art show with some mutual friends. Until you saw yourself in several of his works. None of your friends seemed all that surprised. They just let you have your little moment.

It all happened kind of fast from there. You learned that Minghao wasn’t always one for showing his feelings in words, but he showed them in a million other ways, as long as you knew where to look. He showed them in the little things he did to make your life easier. In the way he incorporated you into his art, sometimes without it even being obvious. In the way he quietly made space for you in his life.

Things were great, until they weren’t. And it still feels sudden all these years later. Even if it maybe, possibly, wasn’t sudden at all.

You remember finding a new job. The kind of job you never thought you would land. The kind that Minghao instantly encouraged you to follow. Except it meant much more normal hours where Minghao kept weird hours. Sometimes he wouldn’t come to bed until the sun rose and other times he had been at work for hours when you woke up. Something about inspiration and lighting and just letting it all come together. Neither of you notice when it starts getting harder to make time for each other. At least, you didn’t notice. Only focusing on making the most of the time you do have.

So, when Minghao tells you that he thinks you need to talk, you’re completely caught off guard. Haven’t seen all the signs that may have been there. He tells you he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime to further his career and it means he’s going to be leaving your city. Leaving the country entirely. Tells you that it’s been great and he still loves you, but he’s got to do this. Tells you that he thinks it’ll be right for both of you because you’ve been growing apart, haven’t you? You’ve both been prioritizing other things like work and friends over each other. He’s going to take this chance and he hopes you’ll understand.

Maybe you do actually remember it falling apart after all.

But, it’s time to cast aside your walk down memory lane. Time to leave everything behind in the old year and get ready to ring in a new one. A feat you tried last year as well and seemingly didn’t succeed at. This is the year, though. New year, new me and all that. You take one last look at your outfit before rushing out the door. Your slightly eccentric (and totally loaded) neighbors are having a party up in the penthouse of your apartment building. And even though you normally hate anyone with that kind of money, they’re actually cool and incredibly kind. They go out of their way to understand their privilege and involve themselves directly in charity. You can’t even hate that they’re barely older than you and have it all. Plus, who are you to turn down a party like this for the new year.

The party is in full swing when you get there. Soyoon always does an excellent job of setting up a party, too. She makes sure there’s an area for people to dance and for people who want things a little quieter. And she always stocks up on top shelf drinks with so many snacks you could make an entire meal out of it. It only takes her a second before she’s waving you over. You weave through the people to get to her, so focused on your friend that you don’t notice anything else. Though you should.

“Hey! You finally made it!” she says and pulls you into a hug.

“Worrying I wouldn’t show?” you joke back.

“No,” she says, smiling her megawatt smile. She indicates to someone. “I wanted you to meet your new neighbor I mentioned, the artist…”

Something drops in your stomach when you register that she says artist and you slowly turn to see the person she’s indicating. Hoping against all hope that you don’t recognize them. Instead, you see the lean figure of someone you know well. Dressed all in black and still looking like one of the most fashionable in the room. The black also works well to offset his blond mullet. It’s not a color you’ve seen on him before, but you’d know him anywhere.

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396 0

Fuck.

“Minghao,” you say softly, immediately kicking yourself for the way it comes out.

“Yeah, oh. I thought you hadn’t met yet,” Soyoon says with a slight frown of confusion.

Minghao is quick to answer, casual as can be. “I hadn’t run into her yet but we knew each other once, years ago.”

“Oh, how fun! Shall I leave you two to catch up?” she asks.

You say no just as Minghao says yes. Soyoon looks confused, but ends up leaving the two of you alone anyway. It’s the last thing you want and there’s nowhere to go. At this rate, you’re going to get a much different start to your year.

When you wake up well into the first morning of the New Year, your brain feels a little fuzzy. Not hungover though, so you can thank past you for that. You cannot thank past you for anything else. Not when the night before comes rushing back to you and you remember. Remember kissing Minghao, not just at midnight. Remember admitting that you still think about him. Remember wondering if he was single. Don’t remember asking him why he’s back now and without a word to you. Not that he owes it to you. It’s been years, after all. You just can’t believe that the mysterious new resident two doors down from you is none other than the ex you can’t seem to forget.

Thankfully New Year’s Day is really about recovering from the night before and getting ready to face the rest of the year. It also gives you time to figure out what you’re going to do about Minghao. You’re sure there’s something in there about second chances. About how people change as they grow. It’s not for you, though. The more time you spend thinking about the night before, the more you realize that things are better left alone. This isn’t some great sign to revisit a painful past. It’s a way of telling you that it’s okay to finally figure out a way to move forward in your life.

You’re just going to ignore that the person you’re moving on from lives two doors down from you. Shouldn’t be a problem at all.

As you’re considering what you want to do for food, the doorbell rings. You’re not expecting someone and your heart plunges a little. What if it’s Minghao stopping by to talk about the night before? You can’t exactly remember all of your conversation, so you’re not sure if there’s something else that you need to talk about. You’re not prepared for any of it. When you open the door, it’s not him. It’s just someone delivering from one of your favorite take-out places.

“I didn’t order anything,” you say, confusion clear on your face.

The delivery guy only shrugs and shows you his phone. It’s your name and address. “I just deliver the orders I get. The tip was nice, too.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” you say and accept the bag of food.

You decide to eat it on your couch so that you can settle in and binge something truly awful on TV. As you ponder who could have sent it, you think about Soyoon and how she loves to do this kind of thing. Yes, that seems likely. You’ll have to send her your own little thank you and thank her in person the next time you see her. Sending a text wouldn’t do it because she always says that doesn’t feel as personal. Eccentric, but endlessly kind. She’s definitely the kind of person that would want to make sure her guests are taken care of after such a great party. All feels much more calm as you settle in and your mind stays firmly off Minghao.

The whole idea of keeping your mind off Minghao works for a while. You see him around the building and he’s always perfectly polite, but never forces a conversation. Says hi in passing and smiles. That’s just kind of how he is. It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty to say, he just doesn’t chase after anyone for a chat. Doesn’t see the point in forcing something when both people aren’t interested. Honestly, it’s a bit disarming because as well as you knew him once, it’s not what you’re expecting. There are times when you even consider if you should strike up a conversation with him. At the very least, there are things left unsaid from New Year’s. Things you know that you should get out of the way. Especially when Soyoon asks for details on what’s going on and you’re not really sure how much to share.

But, then life catches up with you, as it seems prone to do. Things pick up at work and you find that you’re back into your routine without a second thought. That’s always the thing about the new year. It starts and it’s kind of slim on holidays while you’re getting into it. It also seems unspoken that people just don’t take time off then. Not when so many take time off around the holidays. (Something you also did, taking off the two days after New Year’s so you wouldn’t have to go back for a short week. Best decision you’ve made in a long time.)

You blink and January fades into February. Your brain is somewhere else entirely when you rush into your favorite coffee shop by your office, running a little bit late because you’re heading in on the weekend. The shop is decorated for Valentine’s Day already, like it seems to be every year once the calendar hits February. Something in you fights rolling your eyes. It’s not that you hate the holiday, it’s just that you’re a little bitter for another one spent without a partner. As much as you may say it doesn’t matter, it feels like it would be nice to have someone. Even if all you did was stay in to have a nice meal or play a game or watch something on TV. Just a moment for the two of you in the midst of all the chaos. When the barista asks for your order, you shake away the thoughts and give it, pulling your phone out to tap and pay.

“Oh, it’s covered,” she says and your brow furrows.

“What?” you ask.

“Someone already covered your order today,” she repeats.

“But how did…” you start to ask under your breath and trail off.

“Did you need anything else?” she asks brightly.

“No, I guess not,” you say and put away your phone.

As you head down to wait for your order, your brain whirs into action. Who is out here just somehow paying for your order? You cast your eyes around the shop and nobody looks familiar. Well, a few people do in that way that regulars stick out when you’re also a regular. Nobody seems to be paying attention to you, though, or giving you any indication that they paid for your order. It shows up on the counter before you can think any further about it.

The rest of the week goes in a similar fashion. Your coffee order is taken care of any time you stop in and the barista only smiles when you ask her who’s doing it. The only answer she gives is that you’ll realize it if you think about it. Not entirely helpful. At work, you get a surprise lunch just as you’re on the verge of a breakdown over a project. Mingyu, one of your closest friends even outside of work, offers lunch as a break and you take it without question. After all, the two of you were friends before becoming coworkers so it’s not unexpected that he would realize you’re feeling burnt out. Another of your friends asks you to go with him to a show you’ve been wanting to see and won’t even let you pay him back for the ticket. There are other little things, too. Things that you wouldn’t normally notice, but it’s like everything is going your way. It makes you a little wary. Mostly, though, it just makes you grateful. It feels like such a good way to start the year.

It isn’t until the weekend that you finally put it all together. Saturday morning comes and you let yourself sleep in after being out a little later the night before to go to the show. There’s an unexpected knock at the door that gives you a little deja vu back to New Year’s Day. You yawn and stretch as you get out of bed and head to the door. This time, there’s no delivery person waiting for you. There’s just a basket, clearly put together very thoughtfully. You bring it inside and start to look through what’s in there. A calming tea. A bath bomb. Some chocolates. A candle. A book that you've never heard of and somehow know you’re going to love. It’s the perfect kit to have the best and most relaxing day.

And that’s when it hits you. The coffee, the lunch, the show, all the little surprises. It’s all coming from one person. The one person who likes to let his actions speak louder than his words. The one person who clearly hasn’t just been letting you be since the party. This is Minghao all over. You’re a little surprised at how easily the realization clicks into place. Also a little surprised that it didn’t click sooner. Maybe you had forgotten more about him than you thought. Maybe he wasn’t the only person taking up residence in your mind anymore.

There’s a lot to think about and you figure that you’ll use the time taking a bath to do just that. Well, you shower first to make sure you’re clean and because you didn’t do it after getting home the night before. But then, you’re ready to relax in the bath and just let your mind wander. Hope you’ll end up coming to a decision about what you want to do. There’s so much history. So many nights spent trying to figure out how things might have gone differently. Until it clicks. Minghao was right back then. You both needed that space. Needed the separation to go off and figure yourselves out. Needed to learn who you were as an adult before you could learn to make space for another person. When he left, it cleared a path for you to take chances you never would have otherwise. Maybe it did the same for him.

That’s how you find yourself outside his door after the bath, the tea in hand because you know that it’s a brand he loves. Or, at least, he did once upon a time. He opens the door too quickly for you to second guess if this is a good idea. Or to wonder if he’s even home. His eyes seem to sparkle at the sight of you and at the tea in your hands.

“You got my care package,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

“And figured out who was behind all those wonderful things this past week,” you admit, causing his smile to slip into a more genuine one.

“About time,” he says under his breath.

“Can I come in for a cup of tea?” you ask and he regards you for a moment. That’s always been the hardest part about being around Minghao. He has a way of looking at you and peeling back all the layers. It’s like being naked in front of him. And you’re not as comfortable in front of him as you were once upon a time. It makes you shift on your feet and cast your eyes down.

He steps aside and you let out a sigh of relief at the movement. “Come on in.”

Stepping inside his apartment almost feels like stepping back in time. Everything about the decoration feels familiar. There are a few things that you do recognize but mostly it’s just because it’s so inescapably him. Everything has a place and it looks like it could be featured in a magazine. But, it’s better than that. Better because it feels lived in, like a home even though it is straight from some aesthetic moodboard. You turn back to him when you recognize a figure that you gave him years ago. It makes your heart constrict that he kept it all this time.

“Did you want to share that tea with me?” he asks, noting the box in your hands.

“Oh,” you say, a little startled back into the present. You look down at your hands and then back to him. “Yeah. Well, if you still like it, that is.”

“I do, yes,” he says and accepts the box from your hands. “You can go sit down and I’ll bring the tea out in a minute.”

It’s so impossibly normal and also one of the most abnormal things in the world. The contradictions are making your head hurt, so you just do as Minghao suggests. Sit down on the couch in the living room and sigh. This is the most comfortable couch in the world. That’s another thing you remember about him. Everything fits his aesthetic and it’s never at the expense of comfort. None of that unusable furniture for him. Without even thinking about it, you pick an art magazine off the table. It’s the only thing that seems out of place and there’s a sticky note attached to it with an advanced copy for you to look over scrawled on it. That’s when the cover catches your eye, previously covered in part by the note. Minghao looks back at you, surrounded by some of his artwork. It seems like it’s a profile on him. He must be doing even better than you realized.

“I hated posing for that,” he says softly as he appears with two cups of tea.

You start a little in surprise at hearing his voice and drop the magazine back on the table. “I didn’t mean to…”

“There’s no need to be scared,” he says with a low chuckle as you accept the cup. “You can read it if you’d like.”

“It seems like things are going well for you,” you comment, looking back at the magazine.

“Professionally, sure. Although I’m finding creating a little more difficult lately,” he says and you look at him.

“Why’s that?” you ask and then shake your head.

“What?” he asks.

“We’re just…talking like no time has passed,” you say.

“I guess I thought that after that party and sending you the food the next day like we…” he starts.

“That was from you?” you ask, clearly surprised.

“Would…what?” he asks, shifting mid thought. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you sure?” you ask with a laugh.

“No, I’m sure. I just thought…well, we talked about it that night,” he says.

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember exactly what we said that night,” you say and look down.

“Ah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well, I figured we’d talk about everything when there weren’t people around and we could have time to ourselves. Then, I sent the food and just never heard from you,” he says.

“You could have said something,” you tell him.

“I’m not always very good at that, the saying something part,” he says.

“You’re great at taking care of things I need, though. Everything the past week or so has been so thoughtful,” you say.

“I know I should have talked to you. I just didn’t know how to start the conversation,” he admits.

“It’s been a long time,” you say.

Just as an awkward silence is about to fall over you, Minghao turns to face you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Before we go down a path of talking about everything that happened back then and about how much I miss you now, do you think it’s worth it?”

You consider that for a long moment and miss the way Minghao seems to hold his breath. Miss the way he searches your face for a sign of the answer before you give it. Don’t realize how many ways your face has changed in the years since he really knew you. When you meet his eyes, you finally see that he looks unsure. All you can do at first is nod.

“Is that a yes?”

You take a deep breath. Ready yourself to jump in with both feet. “I think it’s at least worth having a conversation, yeah.”

And so that’s what you do. You sit down and talk about all the things you wish you had said back when he left. All the things you could have done differently. All the ways you’ve changed since then. It feels good to say all the things that you’ve kept to yourself over the years. There’s something very open and honest about the way you talk. Somehow even more honest than back when you were in a relationship. Maybe because there’s no fear about the other person’s reaction or feelings. Or maybe it’s just because you’re much more mature now than you were back then. You’re not really sure. Not really sure it matters either.

This is probably the most you’ve ever heard Minghao say at once. He even admits it’s because he knows that he’s going to have to do things that make him a little uncomfortable if he wants you to consider trying again. He’s also very understanding as he listens to everything. Not defensive when you point out how things could have gone differently. And you know you can’t be defensive when he points out the things you could have done, either. After all this time, you finally realize that it was very much both of you responsible for the way the relationship ended. Yes, Minghao’s the one that accepted a position that would take him far away from you. He’s the one that suggested that maybe the relationship needed to end. But, you also had your role in all of it. You also have to acknowledge that you got distant. Prioritizing other things in your life over him. No longer able to communicate as effectively as you had earlier in the relationship. Both of you had been growing at different rates and in different directions.

Now, years later, you can realize that it’s something both of you needed. You had to separate to grow in ways you couldn’t do together. Had to be alone to learn the hard lessons, the scary things. To understand what you need and what you want and when to compromise. You’re no longer wearing the rose colored glasses of your early 20s.

“So, what now?” he asks.

“What do you want?” you ask and he sighs a little. “I know, I can’t make you be the only one to talk.”

“I want to know if you still have any space for me in your life and…” he says, but trails off.

“In my heart?” you guess.

“Yeah,” he admits softly.

It’s another crossroads. One of those moments you’ll look back on. You know that you need to be a little brave. “I never really got over you. Not fully.”

Minghao’s face brightens at that and he meets your eye with your favorite smile. The soft one that you always felt like belonged only to you. “Me either. I’ve lived all over the world since we broke up and I still get my best inspiration from you.”

That one sentence pushes all the air out of your lungs. Has you entirely speechless. You hold out your hand and he intertwines his fingers through yours without a word. “So we try?”

“We try,” he agrees.

Trying is both intimidating and the most comforting thing in the world at the same time. A weird duality just like the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Going on a date with someone that you dated for years and then broke up with years ago is like starting well into the relationship. There are all sorts of things that you already know about each other. Yet, there are also things you can’t assume. Things you may have known once may not be true anymore. Or it’s possible that you remember something that wasn’t true at all, even then.

So, you start with the most obvious date night activity: dinner. It gives you something to do without being too distracting from a conversation. Minghao surprises you a bit, too. He’s somehow more thoughtful and more open all at once. He still doesn’t always know how to say what he wants to all the time, but he’s trying harder to get his thoughts out. You’re also trying much harder to meet him where he is rather than expecting something that just isn’t who he is. Another byproduct of how much the two of you have grown in your time apart. You can appreciate how well the two of you fit together now. Can appreciate how your individual strengths complement each other.

After dinner, Minghao starts to suggest going back to the apartment building. You have another suggestion, though. There’s this Art After Dark event that the local art museum runs on the second Saturday of every month that you’ve wanted to check out. Life has been too busy until now. And you also can admit that some part of going felt a little difficult. What if you saw something that Minghao created? Or something that reminded you of him? Or what if there was just a piece of art that you couldn’t understand? You’ve always appreciated the beauty in creation, but some things just went over your head.

The suggestion makes Minghao’s face light up. He’s heard of the event and somehow hasn’t been since moving back. Not that he’s been back all that long. Still, it’s nice to know that you’ll be able to experience something that’s meaningful to him for the first time.

The drive over is quiet, mostly only filled with the sounds of the playlist Minghao picked. It’s not uncomfortable, though, far from it. You’re thinking of how easy it is being in his presence again, especially given how long you spent thinking you needed to avoid him. In the passenger seat, Minghao scrolls what looks like the website for the museum. Probably seeing what installations are there currently on display. Or what special events they have for the evening. Either way, you’re happy to let him prepare before getting there. It’ll only help you on top of it because he’ll be able to walk you through everything. (If you think about how pretty his profile looks in the low light, then that’s your business.)

Once you get there, you insist on covering the admission because Minghao paid for dinner without giving you the chance to even offer. It’s nowhere near even, but it’s the least you can do for now. They also check your IDs on the way in because there’s an open bar, apparently. You each grab a drink off of the tray going around and then head into the first room. Live music drifts softly through from somewhere you can’t see. It adds something nice. Something that makes the whole setting somehow more intimate when combined with it being less busy than during normal hours. Minghao doesn’t wait for you to ask him to lead the way, he just knows. You follow close to him, not quite brushing your arm against him.

This has always been one of your favorite things about Minghao. Watching him at a museum or an art gallery is just special. He walks through and talks about the different artists, the influences, and the history. He can tell you about different periods of an artist’s life and why they might have created the way that they did. There is so much living in his brain that it puts the plaques with each piece of art to shame. Occasionally, you notice someone standing in the area stop and listen to the way he speaks about a piece. It’s endearing to watch him when he’s passionate. Somehow softer and less guarded. Some people might find it sexy, and you do as well. It’s just that you find him cute first. There’s nothing about him that sounds like he’s bragging or talking down about his knowledge. Minghao has always believed that art should be accessible to everyone. That it’s a gift for all people to enjoy. When he speaks about it, that comes across. It’s something familiar, something you’re glad is the same.

Minghao always wants to know the pieces you’re most drawn to. He wants to let you walk into some of the rooms first so he can watch you experience the art for the first time. Wants to know if you’re drawn to the pieces that he expects. You are, mostly. Usually, you wouldn’t want this much attention on you, especially in a place that isn’t your normal comfort zone. But, Minghao makes you feel at ease. At least, until he starts talking about which pieces of art remind him of you and why. It makes you turn away a little to hide the way your cheeks flush. It just feels so intimate. Feels like he’s baring his soul. Feels like too much for someone who’s been a stranger to you for years. Although, can you really say he’s a stranger? Yes, things change. People grow. You and him have certainly both grown. Maybe you’ve grown into the people you both imagined you’d be back when you figured you had the rest of forever together.

It’s not until the last room of the museum that you realize Minghao picked the path deliberately. He motions for you to go ahead of him and you assume it’s just so he can see your reactions to the art, like he has in other rooms. And it is, in a way. Just not for the same reason as any other room. Your attention immediately falls on a piece you recognize immediately. Not because you’ve seen it before. It’s because it’s you. Or, you should say that you know it’s meant to be you. It’s that same style of abstract art that you know belongs to Minghao. The same style that feels as familiar as if it was a polaroid of you. That’s not why it takes your breath away. It’s the fact that he must have painted it after you broke up because you haven’t ever seen it before. And here it is, hanging as part of a long term installment in the museum less than 20 minutes from your apartment

“You knew this was here,” you say.

“I had to double check,” he says softly as he follows you. Your feet bring you right to the piece without any other thought.

Minghao uses art as an expression. Says it’s easier for him to convey the hard things that way, like so many artists seem to. Says he’s not good with words, could never be the kind of creative that writes poems or novels with long scenes expressing intense emotions. It’s so clear looking at his art that he doesn’t need to. So clear that his work is the reason people say a picture is worth a thousand words. You think you could have ten thousand words and still need more with this piece. And most of his pieces, honestly. You yearn to reach out and run your fingers along the canvas, to trace the lines that he uses. Instead, you take in each color and each stroke. It causes conversations from when you were both younger to come flooding back. You remember lying in bed and listening to him talk about his process. About when he brought something to the foreground versus leaving it in the back. About the choice to use a vibrant palette or something more muted and neutral. About how he could play with the different colors to express each emotion. In saying all of that, you remember hearing what he couldn’t say. It’s funny, in hindsight, to think about how Minghao always said he struggled with emotions. He just says what he needs to in a different way.

His feelings are crystal clear to you in this piece. The representation of you is front and center. The first thing your eye lands on when you look at it. Everything else is in the background. Like he’s saying that you’re the center of the universe in this piece. The colors tell you just as much. They’re rich with his affection. With tenderness and forgiveness. With yearning. Like a hand reaching out to pull you in. You even think he might have put a version of himself in the background, muted to throw you into sharper relief. It’s beautiful and passionate and incredibly raw. You may need to know him to see the last bit. It’s only then that you see the date on the piece. Just over a year ago, probably after you had seen him the last time before he popped up at the party in your building.

Finally, you turn to him and find his eyes on you. Studying you, looking for answers before you give them again. And you see the nerves there. He’s grown so much, but he knows you have too. Doesn’t presume to know everything about you anymore. Your mouth curves into the most genuine smile. “It’s amazing, Hao. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You like it?” he asks, a little less sure of himself than you’re used to.

“I love it,” you assure him and turn back to it. “It might be one of the most expressive pieces of yours I’ve ever seen.”

“I know I shouldn’t have been drawing inspiration from you, but I couldn’t stop myself after I saw you that time a year ago,” he says, confirming what you thought. “I was halfway through the painting before I realized it.”

“No matter what, I will always be honored to inspire you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You know, you’re much better at expressing your feelings than you think,” you tell him, looking over to see his reaction. His face is soft.

“Only if you remember how to read it,” he says.

“It’s all coming back to me,” you say and delight in the way he smiles.

Minghao is a study in contrasts. He’s every bit of what you think about when thinking of an artist. Introverted, intelligent in a way not everyone can appreciate, thoughtful, sometimes a little intimidating to approach. If you don’t know him, he could seem cold or detached. When you do know him, though, he’s anything but cold. Certainly not intimidating. Although he can be guarded, he’s an open book to the people closest to him. He’s incredibly soft and caring. Willing to let all his defenses fall away for the right person.

He takes hold of your hand, even though he’s not always one to seek out physical touch in that way. Not in public. “I want to give this another try. We’ve both grown a lot over the past years. You don’t have to make a decision now. All I want to know now is if you’ll be my Valentine.”

The way he says it doesn’t really sound like a question. It’s also infinitely more direct than you’re used to. You can’t help the teasing look. “That’s so corny.”

The smile you get in response is worth it. Minghao only shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s worth it.”

“Yes, Hao, I would love to be your Valentine,” you say, fighting a bit of the urge to say that you’ll just be his again.

Even though you know that rushing back into something is the last thing you need to do, you’re still excited. Feel lighter than you have in ages. It’s kind of like autopilot for the rest of the time you spend at the museum. And if it’s the best date you’ve been on in years, well that’s your business. It’s also your business if you get back to your apartment that night and think about all the things that happened that day.

Sunday dawns and the first thought in your mind is Minghao. Not exactly surprising after spending a whole day with him instead of continuing to avoid him. Yet, it’s not quite what you’re expecting, either. After years of protecting your heart, it shouldn’t be this easy to open up to him again. That thought does make you pause, just for a second. Then, you think about all the things you managed to cover just in one day together. There’s still plenty to talk about, but you can’t deny the obvious. You’re both so willing to be open and vulnerable. Willing to accept your faults to make sure things are different if you give it another shot. There’s definitely something to be said that he’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up. (And the last thing you thought about before falling asleep.)

It’s time to do things differently. Time to not overthink everything. You’re older and wiser now. Feel like you can trust your gut and the vibes now with more life experience. Instead of giving yourself time to second guess, you send a text to Minghao to ask if he wants to come over. It’s one of those catch up days. You need to grocery shop and run some errands, do some laundry, and do a little cleaning. Minghao loves quality time, something still true now. It’s nothing exciting, though, and you give him plenty of space to say no without it being an issue. All he asks is what time he should come over and if he should eat breakfast first.

Which is exactly how he ends up at your apartment barely 20 minutes later.

Plenty changes and just as much stays the same. Minghao can cook, he never starves. It’s just not his favorite thing to do if left to his own devices. You offer to make him breakfast if he’s going to keep you company during a bunch of errands. While you cook, he keeps himself busy making tea for himself and coffee for you. Doesn’t have to ask how you like it since he covered your coffees for the past week at the shop by your work. Since Minghao likes acts of service just as much as quality time, he empties your dishwasher while you’re finishing up breakfast and tidies up around the kitchen behind you. There’s so much comfort in falling into patterns like that, even though it feels entirely different than before.

Breakfast passes quickly and Minghao helps motivate you out the door. Points out the sooner you get things out of the way, the sooner you can come back and relax. You’re not shy in telling him that he makes an excellent point. The praise falls easily from your lips and you delight in the way it causes him to smile shyly. Some things really never change and you’ll never tire of pulling that out of him.

Several hours later, you’re done with all your errands (in record time, no less, even though you took care of getting things for him as well). Back at your apartment, Minghao unloads your groceries for you along with the light lunch he insisted that you pick up. It should be scary to see him making himself at home in your life again. It’s not, though. It just fills you with an endless amount of warmth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters at him setting your food out on the table and calling for you to come join him before it’s back to checking things off your little list for the day. He just seems so comfortable helping you and sharing in your space. Content to let you set the pace and clearly pleased you texted to invite him over.

After lunch, Minghao shoos you off to get your laundry started while he tidies up in the kitchen and living area. He’s not a clean freak by any stretch. Although he does like for everything to be in its place. You know he’s only doing it now to help you because he doesn’t mind. The warmth is going to be too much at this rate. You let yourself have hearts in your eyes over him for a second before disappearing into your bedroom to gather your laundry.

Once you have your clothes in the washing machine, Minghao says he needs to get something from his apartment and returns with his sketch pad. He’s got a few ideas that he wants to plan out and hopes it’s fine to do with in your living room. You agree as long as he doesn’t mind you rotting away with your TV obsession of the moment. It’s in those quiet moments that you get the most answers. The comfort of being in a space with him, not saying much and yet knowing you could. Sometimes you feel like you have to fill a silence to avoid any awkward pauses. There’s this sense of anxiety about what the other person is thinking, even if you know it’s probably not about you. It’s not the case with him. Which tells you all you really need to know, doesn’t it? No matter how hard you’ve tried over the years to find someone else, to date and have it something more, it’s never been like this with anyone but him.

You’re scared of what comes next. Scared of being hurt. Yet, this feels like one of those chances you just have to take.

The next week goes something like the weekend. You spend a lot of your free time with Minghao. Sharing all the things that have happened over the years. It’s easy to talk about shared friends or new ones. Not quite as easy to talk about all the work updates, though it feels just as important. The two of you stay up late having hard conversations in the quiet hours of the night. Talking about everything that’s different. Neither of you even shy away from past relationships. It doesn’t even feel that difficult. You both had lives since you broke up and those lives shaped you into these people now. Twice, he even shows up for lunch to get you out of the building for a break. The looks from your coworkers are both knowing and happy. Everything feels like it’s going toward the obvious conclusion.

Somewhere in between all the time spent with Minghao, you also carve out time for dinner with your best friend. Need to carve out the time, you think, to get her opinion. She’s been with you since just before the relationship ended. Even though you know that you can make decisions for yourself, it feels important to get an outside perspective. The last thing you want is to rush back into something and end up in the same place as the first time. If nothing else, you know she’ll ask you the difficult questions to make you think. Make you answer if you’ve really thought out what a second chance for the two of you looks like. If you’re doing this because you want this now, in 2025, for if you’re just holding onto a past that felt comfortable. It can be easy to just stay in a bubble without considering what that looks like when the bubble breaks. When you have to go exist together in public or with friends, not just in your own little world.

She does all those things and is adamant: this isn’t like before. Tells you that you don’t need her to tell you what you already know. Instead of justifying everything that happened years ago, you acknowledge. You don’t make excuses because there aren’t any to make. Sometimes things don’t work. You and Minghao are different people now than you were years ago. Somehow, against all odds, you’ve grown into different people that have even better compatibility than you did when you were younger. As cliche as it is, he seems like your right person at the wrong time and the universe is telling you to hit the replay button now. It’s all the confirmation you need. You’re going to dive in and feel confident he’ll be there to catch you.

By the time Valentine’s Day comes around, you’re both completely at peace and nervous for the date itself. It’s been the theme of the last week. Another set of contrasts that somehow work. You trust Minghao, more than you expect. But, you haven’t had a date for Valentine’s since just after you and him broke up. And it was a disaster. So, you’re trying not to set your hopes to an unrealistic level.

But, he quickly proves that you don’t have anything to worry about. Before work, he shows up with flowers, coffee, and a pastry from a shop nearby. It’s really difficult not to just call out from work and spend the day with him. Admitting that makes him laugh and press a gentle kiss to your temple. It’s so sweet that you want to melt. Sadly, you have to go to work and he’s got two different meetings that he can’t miss, one with a museum curator and another with a prospective client. So, he’ll see you after work as planned.

Work seems to drag and more than once, you consider leaving early. Probably would too if Minghao hadn’t been adamant that you couldn’t come by his place until after work. It makes you pout a little, which, in turn, makes Mingyu laugh at you when he stops by your desk. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to avoid bringing up Minghao anymore since they’ve been in touch the whole time. You’re so happy looking forward to the date that you can’t even get mad at your friend. Besides, it can’t have been an easy spot to be in all this time.

Minghao takes your breath away when you actually show up after work.

After quickly changing out of work clothes, you’re on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. The second you step inside, you see why he had you wait. He’s decorated the entire space in a way he knows you’ll love. All your favorite colors and little things that are cheesy, but also adorable. There are also several paintings, both old and newer, that you know you inspired displayed around the living area. It feels like the perfect space to celebrate with him. All you can do is wrap your arms around him. He’s quick to pull you tight against him. There’s so much emotion.

“The food is already on the way,” he says when you pull away from him. “Thank you for paying, even though you didn’t need to.”

“You’ve been paying for everything. It’s my turn,” you say and smile, looking around his apartment. “And thank you for this. I know it’s not usually your style.”

“You like it. That’s all that matters,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Can I say something that’s maybe too honest?” you ask.

Minghao’s gaze on you is soft. “To me? Always.”

“I do like it, but I think I would like anything because I just like you. A lot more than I realized,” you say and watch him. Every part of you wants to look away. You already feel naked with his gaze on you when you’re not confessing to your feelings.

Minghao reaches for your hand to pull you into him again. Lets the silence settle around you for a moment. He speaks without releasing you. “That’s good because I’m very much in love with you. So I’m glad you like me so much.”

That makes you pull away, eyes wide. “You’re in love with me? You’re sure?”

“Does that scare you?” he asks, studying your face the same way he studies his favorite artwork.

The answer is on the tip of your tongue before you even realize it. “No.”

“You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to love me back at all if it’s not right for you. But, I’m sure. It’s always been you for me and it’s always going to be you for me. I’m not going to waste a second chance by not telling you how I feel.”

It’s overwhelming in so many ways. The Minghao you loved years ago couldn’t express himself this easily. It was you that had to be good at using your words and interpreting him through actions. At the time, you thought it was fine. Now, seeing him be strong for both of you, you realize that sometimes it’s nice to hear exactly what he’s thinking. It’s nice to just know without having to read his actions. It’s also his way of showing you that things are different. That he’s going to be the partner you need and he’s going to make sure both of you are the best versions of yourself. Somehow that simple statement, along with everything he’s done the past week, are the final piece. You know this is going to be a partnership and you know you’re in it. Whatever happens, happens.

Dinner passes quickly and the food is great, like you know it will be. It’s also nice not to have to cook or clean anything up. Even nicer to have the space to enjoy each other’s company without going out to dinner like every other couple for the holiday. And Minghao clearly enjoyed setting his table just right for the two of you. After dinner, you suggest watching something. Minghao lets you pick and the two of you settle onto his couch. Without overthinking it, you adjust to put your legs over his lap. He lets you get comfortable before putting his own hands back down and absently tracing patterns into the fabric of your pants. For a fleeting moment, you imagine him using your body as a canvas. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you focus back on the TV.

After a while, you start to feel a little uncomfortable. Not with your legs in Minghao’s laps. That’s providing a lot of comfort. You’re stretching out your neck and rolling your shoulders without realizing it. It’s been a long week at work with too much time hunched over a computer.

“Do you want a massage?” Minghao asks, interrupting the show. You look over at him with raised eyebrows. “You keep rubbing your neck and rolling your shoulders.”

“Of course you noticed,” you say with a chuckle.

“Maybe a massage would help,” he offers again.

You bite your lip in consideration. You haven’t so much as kissed Minghao since you started to spend time together again (since you’re ignoring any drunk kiss that happened at Soyoon’s party for New Year’s Eve). It’s only been a kiss to the cheek here or a temple kiss there. This is definitely more than that. You want to go slow, but you also miss the way he feels. You remember the massages after long nights of studying.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you say.

The warmth in his eyes when you agree is familiar. Older and wiser, sure, but still familiar. He gets up off the couch and reaches a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go into the bedroom so it’s more comfortable.”

You place your hand into his and follow him. It’s the first time you’ve seen his bedroom and it’s so simple. A few pieces of his art sit in the corner. For the most part, you can tell he only uses the space to sleep.

“I’m going to get some lotion. You can get settled,” he says and places a soft kiss on your temple.

Once he disappears, you make a decision. You remove your shirt and bra so that your back is bare when you lay down on his bed. You settle on the bed with your head up by the pillow so that you can collect part of his sheet around your chest. It’s a little awkward, being half-naked and wondering how to position yourself. It only takes Minghao a few moments before he’s coming back through the bedroom door. His breath catches when he sees you.

“I hope this is okay,” you say, carefully turning to look at him. “My shoulders and neck are so tense that I wanted you to be able to reach them easily.”

He gathers himself quickly and crosses over to his bed. Sits down next to your hip and runs a hand gently across your back. Like he’s testing if you’re actually there. “As long as you’re comfortable, then I’m happy.”

“I am, yeah,” you say softly.

“Okay, then let me take care of you,” he says, just as soft.

Without another word, he moves to straddle your body, using his knees on either side of you to hold the majority of his weight. Gently, he brushes your hair off your neck and over to the side. It’s enough to make you sigh and close your eyes. You hear him open the lotion to put some into his hands. Always so thoughtful, he warms it before putting his hands on your back. He starts just below your shoulders and works his way up, feeling for knots and increasing the pressure as needed. Barely a minute passes and you already feel like you could melt into his mattress. It’s definitely not just the release of tension that has you so comfortable that you could drift into sleep. No, it’s the person with his hands on you. It’s the care he shows with each movement.

Before long, you really are drifting in between the land of being fully awake and asleep. It’s not that you could fall asleep on him. You still feel each movement. You’re just incredibly relaxed. Each of your muscles melt under the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Even when he digs into a knot, it still feels relaxing. Professionals should be thankful that he took up art instead because he could put them all to shame. Though, admittedly, you’re biased. And you haven’t ever found the thought of a stranger massaging you to be that relaxing. There’s always the initial awkwardness before settling in. None of that happens with the person you know you trust more than yourself.

He bends down to your ear and his breath alerts you before he says anything. “Going to fall asleep on me, sweetheart?”

His tone is light, almost teasing. It’s also confident, but not in the cocky way. He’s proud of the way he can relax you so easily. Your brain is a little foggy and maybe that’s also a good thing. You turn towards his voice and wind your arm up so that you can place a hand on the back of his head. His eyes aren’t just filled with warmth when they meet yours anymore. There’s desire there now, too, the same desire building within you. You pull him towards you and kiss him. Slow, almost lazy, at first. It quickly deepens into something more.

It’s an awkward position, though. Minghao moves off of your back and you take the chance to also reposition, turning over and sitting up. There’s no awkwardness anymore and you don’t bother pulling the sheet with you when you face him. He takes a second to drink you in. Swallows hard as his eyes travel over your chest. In the next moment, he pulls you toward him so that he can kiss you again. You position your legs on either side of his hips to allow you to press tight against him. His kiss is urgent, tongue tangling with your own as the two of you meld into one. You wind one of your hands into his hair, only playing with the ends of it at first, wrapping pieces around your fingers.

Minghao pulls back like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Both of your chests rise and fall quickly to catch your breath. “Are you sure?”

“That I want this?” you clarify.

“That you want this with me,” he says, still a little breathless.

“Yes,” you say.

“Are you really sure?” he asks again. He’s checking for consent and also giving you an out.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you confirm.

You think that he’s leaning back in so that he can kiss you again. Until he uses a hand to tilt your head to one side and kisses along your jaw. He carries his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Like he’s mapping every inch of your body. Committing it to memory or maybe making up for the lost years. When you were younger, you found it difficult to accept this kind of attention. Always worrying there was some kind of imbalance. Now, all you can do is moan out your appreciation for the way Minghao worships every inch of your skin. You’re not in a rush and he’s clearly not either. You run your hands through his hair, allowing your nails to scrape lightly against his scalp and shudder at the way he moans into your skin. Do it again just to feel the way his lips vibrate.

His hands find their way to your hips and he grips hard. Anchoring you in place and also checking to make sure it’s all real. That it’s all happening. That none of this is another one of his dreams. Every time you run your nails along his scalp, it’s a reminder that it is happening. That the two of you really have found your way back to something. In that moment, he knows that he’ll risk his heart to not spend the rest of his life wondering what could have happened. Be vulnerable now and hope it’ll work out.

Spurred on by the soft sounds falling from your lips, Minghao moves from your collarbones down to the hollow between your breasts. You arch into his mouth and dig into his scalp, just for a second. It’s the only thing he needs to feel. Quickly, he moves his mouth over to your nipple, taking it into his mouth. Swirling around it and nipping it lightly. He moves one of his hands from your hip to take the other nipple between his fingers. Can’t have either feeling left out. It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, like you’re some kind of horny teenager. His fingers are so nimble, so intentional in the way they tease you that you can’t help it. He swaps his mouth to your other nipple, replacing his fingers. You’re not sure what you want more.

This time, you pull back. Still kind of breathing shallowly even though you hadn’t been kissing him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and a little concerned. You’re quick to reassure him, hands moving to the hem of his shirt. “Can I? I don’t want to be the only half naked one anymore?”

“Of course,” he says with a smile.

You pull the shirt up and over his head, thankful that he’s not overdressed to make it more complicated. For a second, the sight of him renders you speechless. Gently, you run your finger along his chest and down the muscles of his stomach that weren’t there when you dated him last time. The way he shudders under your touch only spurs you on. There’s a scar along his side that you don’t remember. It’s smooth to the touch, just slightly raised.

“Beautiful,” you whisper confidently.

He can’t stand it anymore. He takes your face in his hands and pulls you into him. Kisses you again, slowly but with so much intensity that it makes your heart skip several beats. You still fit in with him like you were made for each other. He uses the kiss to shift both of your bodies and disentangle your legs. Dips you backwards until your head hits the pillow without his lips leaving yours. Once you’re lying back, though, he breaks the kiss again. Resumes kissing down your body. Makes sure to kiss away any insecurities in the process. Whispers praise into your skin that feel like a salve. This is Minghao, your Minghao. You’re safe with him. Loved. Cherished. Supported. It’s overwhelming to feel all of that come rushing back after years spent apart looking for it in someone else. Of course it’s always been him.

Normally you’re somewhat ticklish, and you do have to fight a little nervous laugh as he kisses down your stomach, especially when his face is so close that you can feel his eyelashes against your skin. But, there really isn’t anything funny about this. Not when Minghao looks up at you while kissing your body. Seems to be mapping your reactions just as much as your skin. He pauses with his hands on your pants, silently asking for permission. Checking in to make sure that you’re still okay with this. You nod and he kisses your stomach again before unbuttoning your pants. Pulls your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. He takes a moment to appreciate you, laid out before him. Any remaining nerves disappear. You’ve never seen someone look at you with that much love in your life. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Until Minghao resumes kissing down your body and it’s a different kind of overwhelming. His breath ghosts across your core as he places slow, open mouthed kisses along your thighs.

Nothing has really happened, but by the time he settles between your legs, you’re already worked up. Wound so tightly that you think he could have you coming with just a touch. You consider if that would be too fast for half a second before catching sight of Minghao. He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and you don’t care what happens. Don’t care how fast anything happens because it’s him. Can hardly believe that this beautiful person wants to put your needs before his own. His eyes narrow like a siren, full of focus and desire, and it takes your breath away.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” he says. “I’ve been waiting years to taste you again.”

“You wha - fuck,” you hiss out.

He effectively short circuits your brain with one move. He doesn’t bother teasing you, just goes straight to licking into your wet cunt. Uses two fingers to spread your lips open so that he has better access. There’s no concern for building up to something. He wants to taste you and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When his nose hits your clit, it makes you groan out and snap your thighs around his face. His groan in response vibrates through your pussy. Makes him use his thumb to rub circles on your clit without slowing his speed licking into you. It’s entirely too overwhelming in the best way. In just moments, Minghao has you writhing underneath him, gripping onto anything within your reach. His hair. The sheets. The pillow. Anything. The tension builds entirely too fast and you’re not really ready for it to be over. Not ready to have it end.

You’re not sure if he has the same thought or not, but Minghao pulls back to look at you. The moan at the sight of your wetness all over his lips and chin is immediate. Somehow it makes him even sexier and you can’t take your eyes off him. Can’t look away as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. With careful movements, he pulls himself up your body and lies next to you on his side to face you. Winds an arm under your neck. Places two of his fingers against your mouth and you suck them in without a thought. Swirl your tongue around his slender fingers with your eyes locked on his. Smile at the way it seems to be affecting him. With what looks like regret on his face, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves his hand down between your legs. Runs his middle finger up your still wet folds before inserting it.

“Minghao, fuck, you can’t just…” you start, only to have your words cut off.

You’re kissing again and it’s the most heated yet. The taste of you lingers on his lips. Seems to mark him as yours. You realize that maybe he’s not teasing you because he meant what he said. He’s been waiting too long for this to go slow with you. There’s plenty of time to slow down later. This is what both of you need now. He slides another finger into your pussy and pumps even faster. Doesn’t let you pull away from the kiss, catching every sound you make and adding his own sounds. The tension builds, even faster than before. In no time at all, you’re coming all over his fingers. Gasping for breath as you break the kiss and he gently pumps into you to guide you through the orgasm.

When you can catch your breath, you look over at Minghao. Appreciate the way he just watches you. He gently brushes a piece of hair out of your face and then leans in for a soft kiss. You’re not letting him get away with that, though. Not now. Not when he just had you coming harder than you can remember in a long time. You knock the kiss up in intensity and he lets you lead. Lets you set the pace and meets every kiss with the exact right amount of pressure. Your hands are everywhere on him while you kiss, exploring all the lines and the muscles that feel a little foreign. The only obvious sign of the passage of time.

He pulls back just long enough so that he can pull his pants and briefs off. Doesn’t even look where he tosses them in the room. All he can think of is connecting his lips with yours again. About making up for all the years in between, even if you both know that you needed that time apart to find your way back. You wind your hand down between your bodies and grip his dick in your hand. Slowly run your thumb over the tip and find there’s already precum there. It fills you with so much satisfaction to know that he’s as turned on as you are. It’s a little diary, but you spit quickly in your hand. You run your hand up and down his cock a few times, twisting your fist around him. Checking to see what kind of pressure and speed he likes.

“I just want…fuck, sweetheart,” he groans out as you run your thumb across his tip again.

“What do you want, Hao?” you ask, making your eyes as big and innocent as possible.

“I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me,” he says and your breath catches. “I don’t want to cum from a handjob like some teenager.”

“Fuck,” you say with a nod. “Yes, please, yes.”

He rolls away from you for a second to reach for his nightstand and returns with a condom and some lube. Rips the condom open with his teeth and then rolls it onto his cock. You’re about to ask him how he wants you when he pulls back and spreads your legs open. He looks at you as he lines himself up at your entrance. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he pours some of the lube onto the condom. Makes sure this is going to feel good for you.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he says, voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you say softly. “I need to feel you, Hao.”

Minghao lines himself up and presses his tip against your entrance. You’re a little sensitive from his tongue and his fingers. Still wet from that and from the intensity of the kisses afterwards. You wrap your legs around his waist as he angles into you. He leans forward, arms on either side of you so that you’re caged in. He’s sliding in so slowly, so carefully. It’s the first time he’s even come close to teasing you. Or maybe it’s just so that he can draw it out. Either way, you want him buried inside you. Can’t stop from wrapping your legs tighter around him. It’s hard to have him looking at you with so much intensity. So much eye contact. You catch the chuckle at your impatience with your lips.

It works, though. He bottoms out with one final thrust and you would scream it if not for his lips on yours. You let him set the pace even though it’s just slower than you want. The sensitivity just makes everything feel more intense. Each time either of you breaks the kiss to catch a breath, your eyes are on each other. Uttering praise and promises into the space between the two of you. More Minghao than you, which is incredible. A steady stream of both coherent and incoherent thoughts. Somehow it all makes sense to both of you. All seems like it’s exactly right. And true to his word, when the tension builds in your body again, Minghao breaks the kiss entirely. Watches the way your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. Appreciates every sound you make. Later he’ll tell you that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment. For now, all he can do is watch and pick up his own pace. He wants to follow right behind you.

There’s less build up this time when you fall over the edge, toes curling and back arching. It’s even more intense too, something you didn’t think was possible. Hazily, you feel Minghao’s thrusts falter in their speed as he comes hard just after you. You try to take over the rhythm, but your body feels spent. After his final thrust, he offsets his weight so he’s not lying fully on top of you without pulling out either. Your breathing syncs up with his as you come back to the bedroom and the reality of what just happened.

You can’t help yourself. His hair is a little wet with sweat and you reach out to brush it away. Think about how this may be your favorite hairstyle he’s ever had. He catches your hand before you even realize his eyes are on you and he kisses your palm. It makes you smile at the care in his eyes. When he releases your hand he props himself up to slowly ease out of you. You figure that you should get up as well before he presses your shoulder gently down.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

And he does, doesn’t he? He’s shown you with his actions and even followed it up with his words. He does have you and you think he’ll probably always be there. You hear the water running from the attached bathroom and then watch him return with a wet washcloth. The bright light behind him highlights his silhouette like an angel. That’s not where it stops, though. Instead of letting you clean yourself up, he sits on the bed and runs the cloth carefully over your body. It makes your heart hurt to have him taking care of you like this, so tender and full of such pure affection. Once he finishes, he tosses the washcloth over to the nightstand. You pull him into you so that you can cuddle close.

Even though you could probably stay like that for the rest of the night, you know that you either need to change the sheets or figure something out. You run a hand over his arm thoughtfully. That’s when it hits you and you turn your face to his. “Do you wanna go sleep in my bed with me and we can deal with your bed tomorrow?”

His laugh is light, easy. “Inviting me to bed on the second date, what will the neighbors say?”

You swat at his arm without any real force. “That you’re incredibly lucky, I expect.”

“They’re right about that,” he says, any teasing gone in the completely honest statement. It’s a little too much for you, at least for a minute. Minghao, in his infinite wisdom, lets you have the moment. He moves from the bed and helps you up with him. Even helps you track down your clothing that’s gotten more scattered than you realize.

It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with him even though it feels entirely different. Familiar and new. Fitting for the enigma that is the man before you. Which is when it hits you, just as he’s reaching the door to the hallway. Minghao stops to turn around and see why you’re not right behind him.

“Are you coming? I don’t really want to have to break into your place,” he says with another light laugh.

“Been working on your cat burglar skills during the past few years, have you?” you joke back and he just shakes his head. Closes the space between you and collects you into his arms.

“I think that’s your wishful thinking about wanting a cat,” he says and you laugh.

“Could be,” you concede.

“Shall we?” he asks when he releases you.

“Just a second,” you say and he regards you with clear curiosity. “Earlier you told me that you loved me and…”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. You mistake it for him thinking you don’t feel the same.

“No, I need to say something,” you say and he swallows anything else. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” he says with a smile that has you rolling your eyes. Of course he knows. You’re entirely smitten and once again, the last one to know. “And how lucky am I to have someone who loves me like you do as a Valentine? To be loved by someone that I love as much as I love you?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hao.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s to a lifetime more of these.”

“I can’t wait.”

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fruitswrl · 13 hours ago

Text

Valentines Shifting Pick a Pile જ⁀➴₊♡

" what your DR s/o loves about you + letter from your s/o "

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ what better way to celebrate valentine's day than to share your s/os feelings for you ?

i hope you find what you may be looking for, and if i was able to help in any way then i'm glad. and just like any other reading you find, take what resonates and leave what doesn’t

ꨄ take a deep breath and choose the treat you are most drawn to…

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Pile One 🎂~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : allergies, sneezing, procrastination, daze, 3, garlic, cracking knuckles, waiting rooms, secret dates, laughing till your stomach hurts, pasta, cooking dates, car rides, engagements, new york, big families, ponds/bodies of water, loss for words, gifts, best friends to lovers, lack of communication, forgiveness

ꨄ ok i get the feeling that your relationship with your s/o is a wild adventurous one, fast paced yet a long drawn out one. perhaps some of you have been with them before “ officially ” getting together. or maybe an on again, off again situation. i got the sense that, someone, particularly your s/o being confused regarding their feelings. maybe it took them longer than they would like to admit, just how deeply they feel for you. but oh my pile one, they feel so much for you !

ꨄ they may play it cool on the outside, but on the inside… they are totally gushing over you. maybe for the first time in a long time you’ve brought out their inner child and they are just entirely giddy being with you. you definitely have been in their head for a long time, no matter what they do they think about you. they have definitely caught themselves thinking things like “ oh you would love this dress. ” or “ i can't wait to tell you about this. ”

ꨄ they truly admire your willpower and ambition. you just don't give up. it’s a quality they wish they saw more in themselves, i mean overall you definitely inspire them to be the best version of themselves. i get the feeling that some of you may be shifting to a fame DR, specifically one in which you are an actor. i sense that you and your s/o work in the same/similar career. I think that's part of the reason they admire your ambition so much.

ꨄ whether or not you are shifting to a fame DR, and this might only be for a select few, but i get the sense that you two at some point or another have had to keep your relationship hidden. secret glances, hushed voices, hidden rendezvous and all. maybe this was a source of conflict in your relationship, but i think your s/o actually really liked the thrill of it, whether they admitted it or not.

ꨄ you two seem to be really competitive individuals, you both push each other to their best. even if your s/o shows irritation for this from you, they are really grateful deep down. i think they see you as their lucky charm, with you by their side what could go wrong ?

ꨄ you definitely keep them on their toes, they absolutely love what a free spirit you are. you're down for anything like spontaneous road trips across the country, or getting a ( deeply questionable ) tattoo late in the night. but that's not all, you are willing to do anything for the people you love and care for, heck you'd probably give some random stranger your car just because they needed to go to the store real quick. not because you are naive, but because that's how big your heart is. and i think that might be your s/o’s favorite thing about you.

love letter from your s/o

" hello dear, it feels so long since i've last heard your voice. when are you going to give me a call? i think we should go to that spot near the water next time and feed the ducks. i hope you are doing well lately, i've been meaning to check in on you, i'm sorry if i took too long. there's a lot going on lately–but i really miss you and i desperately want to take you out. maybe we could go see a movie as well? my mom’s been asking about you, i think she misses you too shes just too stubborn to admit it, i guess i got that from her, anyways, call me…

p.s. i finally found that shirt you used to always wear around the apartment, i swear it somehow still smells just like you. "

songs

ꨄ pleaser - wallows

" back in your room remain the words i wanna say to you

but couldn't leave my mouth "

" language of averted eyes

silence is what i do best "

" quite the people pleaser

if only i could please her "

ꨄ this is how we fall in love - chelsea cutler and jeremy zucker

" you are the reason i can survive "

" this is how you fall in love

let go and i'll hold you up "

ꨄ r u mine? - arctic monkeys

" she's a silver linin', lone ranger ridin' through an open space "

" i go crazy because here isn't where i want to be "

ꨄ bonus songs: cedar by gracie abrams and dog days are over by florence and the machine

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Pile Two 🤍~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : heavy water sign energy, 222, twin flames, mirrored souls, ice cream, 111, country life, past traumas, rough childhoods, religion, night sky, prayers, gemini, past lives, parties, drowning, separation, “written in the stars”, guitar, kdramas, moon, stars, lengthy conversations, blue lights

ꨄ well pile two, i felt such heavy emotional energy drawing cards for you. mostly just for how much you and your s/o feel for one another, but there might be some here whose s/o ( and maybe yourself too ) had their hearts broken in the past resulting in trust issues. it seems your s/o loves how much you trust them, and how they can trust you too. you are a very dependable individual, you've helped them heal from past hurt and to be able to open their hearts again. they feel like they can actually cry in front of you, free of judgement. you've freed them of a lot of emotional burden. perhaps they've done the same for you. it seems they view you as a literal angel, maybe you came to them in a really dark time in their life and “ saved ” them, and now they would like to save you as well. they are eternally grateful to you.

ꨄ it seems they adore how absolutely intelligent you are, you stimulate them intellectually in a way others bore them. you two probably have very similar hobbies and tastes in things, it seems reading is might be really important to the both of you. i can see that you two might share opinions and beliefs that others don’t, maybe that is part of how you both first bonded. ex: you two having a ( heated ) debate on something no one else particularly cares about but you both end up surprising each other by sharing the same perspective on something. along with your intelligence they admire how honest and direct you are with not only them but everyone, maybe that is part of the reason they trust you so much. you've shown them that even at their worst you will be there fully, right by their side.

ꨄ it seems that despite your honesty with others, to your s/o you have this air of mystique, they can't quite figure you out. i get the sense you might be playing into that as well… but you are not quite what you seem are you ? they desperately want to learn more about you, you are all consuming for them, they cannot even escape you in their dreams ( not that they'd want you to ). they love how in tune you are with your emotions, you are the stability in their life they never really had. you can easily manage making emotionally mature decisions with both your heart and head. maybe they are sometimes quick to anger, quick to let the highs of their emotions take over their actions and words. they really admire how mature you are ( despite the fact that i get the vibe that a lot of you guys are younger than your s/o ). with your high eq ( and iq ) you are a highly intuitive individual, able to pick up if something is off with your s/o. it makes them feel truly seen and cared for, especially in moments where they might not be able to express what they are feeling in the best way.

ꨄ they feel as though you are the one for them, no one else even comes close. pile two, your s/o only has eyes for you. i get the sense that for a lot of you, music is really important, and perhaps your s/o writes you loves songs. sometimes your s/o really worries for your well being, like making sure you've eaten, brushing your hair for you, getting you something from the store even when you say you don't need anything. it seems there's a chunk of you that may struggle with your mental health, and your s/o wants to make sure you're taken care of and wants to try and make you feel safe, ( even when you need your space or push them away ) they want you to know that just as you have for them they will show up, and they will stay.

love letter from your s/o

" love, this is hard for me to say, so i hope you can be patient with me. it’s nothing bad i promise. for the longest time i've been on my own, i haven't had the option to live life with the consideration of others, and i hope you haven't paid the price for that. you mean so much to me, and i don't think i've told you just how much. you are the breath of fresh air i needed, i can't remember the last time i felt like i wasn't drowning. you’ve shown me a different way to live, a different way to love. i have much to be grateful for, for one, you saving my life. i don't think i've ever mentioned that to you, but it's the truth, my truth anyways. no matter where we are, how far apart, i will always find you.

thank you for everything, but most importantly, for being you. "

songs

ꨄ come back home - bts

" i've seen the end of my life

i feel suffocated inside my heart

what is blocking my life is my fear towards tomorrow "

" why are you wasting your time?

my blood and sweat are truthful

now, let's imprint my name on that trophy and

come back home "

ꨄ kaleidoscope - chappell roan

" i guess we could pretend

we didn't cross a line

but ever since that day

everything has changed

the way i write your name "

" whatever you decide

i will understand "

" and love is a kaleidoscope

how it works we'll never know

and even all the change

is somehow all the same "

" and if you ever find

someone who could write

a better song for you

well i'd love to see them try "

ꨄ step on up - ariana grande

" you can't forget me

gave you the time of your life "

" what you need, babe, is a work of art

what you need, babe

come get it, i got it "

ꨄ bonus songs: angels by adrianne lencker and clean by taylor swift

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Pile Three 🍫 ~

/)/) ( . .) ( づ ♡

keywords/signs : music dr/band dr, travelling on the road with your band, smoking, games, wild one, messy hair, all nighters, independence, leather, eyeliner, moles, dancing, life of the party, 777, jealousy, third party/love triangle (?), the seventies, money problems, extremely fast paced, rock music, lullabies , fashion, forbidden romance, red hair, spacing out, 333

ꨄ pile three, it seems you are quite the trouble maker aren't you ? and it seems your s/o loves it. they love how you embrace all aspects of your life even the ugly and dark parts, whatever life throws your way you take it and own it! you easily adapt to any situation, always saying the right thing, you could charm anyone. you don’t have to change for anything, you are the change ! it seems for a lot of you, you and your s/o may have rushed into getting together, your feelings overwhelming. you live in the moment and that means wasting no time, why wait to be together when you can right now ? you are such a rush for your s/o. you could probably talk them into doing anything. one thing you definitely are not is boring. spontaneous and wild. and a love for the times. others can’t decide if they want to be you or with you ( probably both ). and somehow you chose them, they can't really wrap their heads around it. i think in a lot of ways they don't feel good enough for you, that you may deserve better, but they definitely don't let these insecurities show ( they try not to anyways ).

ꨄ despite your overwhelming popularity and stardom, it seems you may be overly criticized by others. your s/o definitely loves you for your flaws and all. you just feel so authentic to them, you don't hide who you are for anyone or anything. others might think you are more focused on yourself and or work to have proper relationships with others, but that doesn't actually seem to be the case, not entirely anyways. you reassure you s/o and their insecurities, if they are maybe going a bit off the deep end rest assured that you are the one to pull them back to shore.

ꨄ they often find themselves daydreaming about you. maybe they want things from you they are scared to ask for. i think they are a lot more of a serious person than others think, and that scares them, how serious they are about you. but even when they think you might leave, you are still there. you give them hope for a better future. you wrecked their plans, and that may have been frightening at first for them, but now they can't imagine it any other way. no matter what happens they truly believe they were meant to find you.

ꨄ they are inspired by your positive outlook on life, you can find meaning in something others can’t, in something they can’t. you are a creative soul, something you are quite passionate about, and they are honestly a bit envious of that. they might be someone who is more methodical than wild and creative. you definitely made them think of love and relationships differently, maybe in the past they had a more cold, closed off, demeanor to it. they still have a long way to go it seems. despite their new perspective they might still become easily jealous of the others in your life. due to their own insecurities.

ꨄ this really might not be the case for everyone , but i get the sense that for the older shifters in this group your relationship may have started as hooking up / friends with benefits. i'm trying to keep this pg, but they definitely think of you, a lot. so do what you want with that…

love letter from your s/o

" think a lot has gone unsaid between us. some days i really don't mind, it’s who we are. but sometimes i think we could be more honest, but maybe that's just me. i know that i don't want to lose you, and that might mean showing you parts of myself i hate. but if that means you staying in my life, even for just a little bit longer than okay, you have me, all of me. i think even as much as it would hurt, even if you hated these other parts of myself, i would know that at least i was honest like you. i think you'd probably think this was cheesy and maybe a bit dramatic. god, i can see it now, you laughing, hopefully with me and not at me. it's fine either way though, i'll take what i can get. just don't make too much fun of me... "

songs

ꨄ strange love - halsey

“ and everybody wants to hear

how we chainsmoked until three

and how you laughed when you said my name ”

“ we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night

but the ending is the same every damn time ”

“ that's the beauty of a secret

you know you're supposed to keep it ”

ꨄ filter - bts

“ i'll be anything

you can pick and choose me, yeah ”

“ for you, every day i'll be new

it's not fun to stay the same all the time ”

“ you'll be wanting only me

yeah, because you are the one who made me ”

ꨄ triptych - samia

“ keepin' you awake, keepin' you awake on purpose hey, did i make a mistake and do my mistakes worsen? ”

“ i'll be good to you, i'm worth it you, i'm worth it ”

ꨄ bonus songs: to be alone by hozier and closer by rm

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#emma’s pick a card ✽#pick a pile #pick a card #valentines day #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifters #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting #law of assumption #shifting consciousness #meditation

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