#I’m happy I can express my love for him with languages I learned | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crescenthistory · 2 months ago

Note

hey how are youu? I’m new here and I’m completely in love with your work especially with the Barty’s ones! I wanted to request the prompt c 11 (you are okay) with the 4 (near death experience) and if you could make it like part of the series of where they bicker all the time it would be perfect! Anyways I really enjoy your writing and I love how you portray my man Barty🤍🫶🏼

hi there lovey! thank you so much for being here and for your sweet words<33 i combined this request with another i received, i hope that is okay

other request: i headcanon barty as a person who has attachment issues (on the ambivalent side), in the way he loves too much his friends and lovers but at the same time is afraid of intimacy bc he also struggles with showing affection in a non sexual way. so my idea is that (gn)reader and barty have an argument because of their insecurities about trust and commitment, but AFTER they've been avoiding the conversation for too long. it could end very much extremely bad or very good.

you can find the other fics for this specific au here and here

Prompts: C.11 "You're okay, you're okay" & 4. Near Death Experience

Words: 6k

Warnings: not proofread, gn!reader (no pronouns used), use of y/n, reader and barty both have mental breakdowns/spirals, attachment issues, miscommunication, "oh shit! love is scary but i do love you so what now" moments, near-fall on the ice, potions accident, choking in a non-sexual way, infirmary, language, talk of death, injured!reader, heavy hurt but heavy comfort, happy ending

this isn't fun anymore

Your relationship with Barty thus far had been interesting to say the least.

After endless bickering led to an impromptu kiss to shut him up in the library, which in turn led to a heavy make-out session in a nearby cot, which led to a “how does it feel to be my girlfriend?” “I wouldn’t know” “do you want to?” “sure” conversation in the Slytherin common room, you somehow wound up being in an established, committed relationship with one Barty Crouch Junior.

To your friends’ flabbergasted shock, and, quite frankly, your own surprise.

Even more surprisingly so, you loved it – which scared you to no end.

As the weeks began to stretch into months, you felt as if you were losing your footing more and more in your dynamic. What was once flirtatious and intense has now become almost intimate and close. It stills you in your movements as you try and find your bearing.

Who are you to Barty when you are not in the mood to quip? Or even talk at all? Who is Barty to you when you allow him to just be Barty and not sparring-partner Junior?

All good questions to ask oneself, but not as productive to spiral over as you walk with him from Hogsmeade, a little stretch behind your boisterous friends.

There are two reasons for this. One is that Barty has somehow learned to read your emotions fairly well despite your inability to communicate them effectively, and he is now scrutinising your distracted facial expressions. Second, and perhaps most importantly, is that it is winter in Scotland.

In your distracting spiral, you step on a snow that covered a perfectly polished sliver of ice, and your foot slips out from underneath you.

You barely managed to squeak out a shriek, scrambling to retract your hand from Barty’s to catch you as you fall, before one of his hands is around your waist and the other on the back of your neck, stabilising your neck. His wild eyes stare into yours, mild panic seeping away to make place for a wicked grin.

“Careful, Treasure. Falling for me already?”

You roll your eyes before you let out a breath of relief, hands clutching onto his form as he is still holding you up in his grasp.

“You wish, Junior,” you scoff at him, albeit with a smile.

“Every night, on every star.”

You let him place you onto your legs, arm circling around your waist as a remaining layer of protection. You shiver, brushing off imaginary pieces of snow from the fall that did not occur. In front of you, your shared friends had stopped upon hearing you yell.

“Y/N, you good?” Lily called, concern etched onto her face.

At the same time, Sirius, ever the supportive friend, yelled, “Did Barty finally kill you?”

“Oh yes, Big Black, I am incredibly dead,” you yell back as Barty roll his eyes at you both and mutters something about on the contrary.

Regulus, in turn, says something you can’t quite catch over the distance, but you suppose it has something to do with your nickname for Sirius and its insinuations. Little Black did not enjoy being referred to as such.

The group waits up for the two of you to catch up, Barty enjoying taking his time with a lazy stroll.

“You mind picking up the pace, Junior?” Sirius grumbles.

Unfortunately, that only further encourages Barty. “Why would I? Got a pretty damsel in distress on my arm and all the time in the world.”

You try and rip out of his arms at that, feigning offence at him, but he only holds you tighter. “How dare you. I am neither a damsel nor in distress–”

He cuts you off with a quick peck on your lips. “You are pretty though. Sorry, Treasure, had to shut the sod up somehow.”

You turn your head away from him with a shake, trying your hardest not to blush at his words or his actions. You bully Regulus too much for his blushing to commit such atrocities yourself. “Whatever you say, Junior, but you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You don’t even live together,” Remus comments amusedly.

“Doesn’t matter; the sentiment still stands.”

James and Remus shake their heads at the two of you, while Sirius and Lily nod solemnly in support of you. The whole lot begins walking back the short distance to the castle.

Barty makes a comment of some sort to Regulus that both Black brothers and James quip back at, which starts another tireless spat. You are too zoned out to care what they are bickering about today, disappearing back into your thoughts recklessly, despite the dire consequences from last time.

Attachment issues was such a loaded term, you thought, and you didn’t like to think of yourself like that. Yet the fact remained that the longer you and Barty spent together, the more a part of your brain begins dry heaving and screaming. What began as pure fun, tingles along your spine at every back-and-forth, is becoming realer by the minute, and it terrifies you. Not because you cannot stand a relationship or fear being bound down – because you are starting to care for him. Genuinely, wholly, in a way that aches. You have always been one to shy away from emotional aches, and the fact that you now have to decide whether to withstand it or throw it away for another type of pain makes you lightheaded.

With his arm so securely around yours, with his laughter in your ear, you feel right. You feel content and whole. Why should that make sirens go off in your head?

Most of the time you spend with Barty is with others around, where you can’t fully access your emotions. In the Great Hall, if you eat by yourselves, everyone else is still there, when you walk the hallways or the grounds, there are always students and professors around. Even when you visit his dorm, which is becoming more frequent by the second, Evan and Regulus usually aren’t far. You almost wanted to keep it this way, ensure that Barty only sees the fun and open side of you, keeping everything else under lock and key. You almost avoid him when you are able to be alone just the two of you, because the implications are too vast for you to face them.

He has to know. He has to have seen. Have noticed that you keep pushing one front of you towards him and shielding the rest – and it seems like he enjoys that one, but at some point he must want more. Could you give it to him?

“Okay, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Barty’s whisper cuts through your thoughts as you step through the entrances to the castle, once more slightly secluded at the back of the group.

You merely hum in response, trying to pull yourself out of your spiral to look at him.

“C’mon, Treasure.” His drawl is teasing, but his eyes seem darker than usual. “You have never gone this long without insulting me somehow. What's up?”

“Maybe you’ve just been on your best behaviour today,” you say conspiratorially, putting on your mask expertly. “Haven’t needed to.”

“Now see, that is simply empirically wrong,” Barty guffaws at you. “Did you hear what I said to Reg earlier?” His raised eyebrow is giving you a silent cut the crap that you aren’t ready to face.

“I’ll be honest with you; I did not.” You look away, pulling your jacket further around you. “I’m just mentally preparing for Potions and Slughorn tomorrow, he said we should expect something big.”

“Should I be concerned that lying comes that easily to my girlfriend?” Barty asks, making you whip your head back to him. He is still teasing, but you really, really don’t like the look in his eyes.

“Should I be concerned that my boyfriend can’t take the hint to let something be?” You didn’t think about the words before you let them tumble, instantly getting defensive.

“No,” Barty says, stopping you with the hand on your waist, looking directly at you. “‘Cause I’m just checking on you when something is clearly wrong.”

“Since when do you check on me?” you say, realising your voice is uncomfortably close to a snarl. Barty does, too.

“Since you decided to take me up on my relentless flirting and enter into a relationship with me. You know, the kind where people care for and look after each other? Or is that not us?”

You stare at him for a second, as it uncomfortably settles into your bones that the odd look in his eyes is hurt. Confusion, concern and hurt. You’re at a loss for words.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” you settle on, feeling dumb but stubborn.

Barty nods, looking away at last, small frown over his lips. “Well. Let me know when you do. Or don’t, you know, it’s whatever.”

He walks away from you, leaving you to stand alone, looking after him. If your friends realised you’re gone, they have likely assumed that the two of you are in some hallway together making-out. No one would come check up on you.

You trek back and sit down, just outside the entrance to the castle, trying to understand what just happened. Sliding down the wall, you watch as new snow begins to fall, large wet chunks flying through the air. You let them symbolically represent your tears as you keep bottling it all up.

That night, you go to your dorm in silence, telling yourself you’re thankful not to see Barty on the way there. You fall asleep watching the door.

Truth is, you had also been stressed out regarding Slughorn’s Potions class for the day after. As you wake and get ready, anxiety rages through your body for more reasons than one. He had been teasing the class for weeks, saying that you would be brewing some dangerous, difficult potion, allowed into the curriculum as a one-time exception for him.

Technically, this would have been no problem, however you are currently paired with McLaggen in Potions. The biggest twat I have ever seen, as Barty described him. While you didn’t have as intense feelings about him, you knew one thing for certain: the boy was absolute shit at potions.

The kind of awful that you really don’t want to be paired with for some exotic and dangerous potion.

Potions was one of the few classes you and Barty had together as your subject selections were relatively different. He would always walk you from your dorm, first class in the morning, soaking up every minute with you. Some of your best banter came from Potions class, often at McLaggen’s expense, for better or worse.

When you opened your door, you were not entirely sure what to expect.

What you found, certainly was not it, though.

“Regulus, what– what are you doing here?”

Regulus looked incredibly sheepish where he stood, weight leaned on one of his hips as one hand scratched the back of his neck. The other held something in it that you couldn’t quite detect as you took the awkward scene of him in.

“I, uh,” he starts, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “Barty said he couldn’t walk you today, but wanted to give you something for, um, your anxiety? About the class? Or something like that. Anyway, here.”

The tips of his ears were burning red at the humiliation of being caught in the middle of whatever this was. He reached out his hand and opened it to reveal a small potions bottle – ironic – with some purple liquid inside.

“What is it?” you asked, taking it tentatively and turning it over in your hands.

“It’s meant to make you calm down and relax– not that I think you need to do that, just, Barty wanted to give it to you.” Regulus winces at his own inelegance. “I got some from James the other week, he apparently has a bunch stacked up in his dorm with the boys, for God knows what reason. Barty asked for one for you. So, here we are.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” you trail off, looking between the potion and Regulus. “Thanks?”

“I, uh, will tell him that then–”

“Gods, no,” you cut him off. “Don’t tell him that, he wouldn’t appreciate it.”

As you seem to be thinking over a response, Regulus adds: “If it makes a difference, he said something to me about giving it to you on the off-chance that he was wrong and a massive wanker.”

You chuckle at that. “Well, he’s always a massive wanker,” you joke on reflex. “But you don’t need to act as an owl, Reg, I’ll thank him myself. And thank you for the potion.”

Regulus seems to let out a breath of relief at that, smiling a bit more comfortably at last. “Great, well, I’ll see you around I guess.”

You smile curtly and give him a quick nod before seeing him all but run off.

Once he’s gone, you drink the potion and the effects are instantaneous. Your shoulders seem to loosen in places you didn’t know they were wound up, your breathing regulates and your heartbeat slows. A little too late, you mull over that this was James’s potion, and you probably should have been careful, given his track record in class. Nevertheless, the potion seems legitimate.

With a bit more breath in your lungs, you walk off to class, alone.

Barty could not make up his mind on whether to drag his gaze away from you when it instantly gravitated towards you, or if he could let it linger.

The feelings warring in his chest felt impossible to map out. On the one hand, you had snapped at him when he tried to help, which was shitty – on the other, he still didn’t know what he was trying to help with or what compelled you to snap at him. What you were going through. Which honestly is on you, he thought, wincing at his own frustrations.

He was not one to dwell on small spats, but this was entirely unfamiliar territory to him. Barty didn’t do relationships, at least he didn’t think so before you came in like a freight train consuming his being. It was fun to finally have someone properly challenge him and do so with a beautiful smile on their face – the perfect situation for him. It was fun, until his heart began to hurt when you weren’t near, until it was your laugh that ran through his head, guiding him away from a spiral. Until he realised he was not just down bad for you as Dorcas teased, he was something much, much worse.

And he had no idea how to handle it.

His infatuation with you was all-encompassing, a burning passion and loyalty that characterised having Barty’s affection. He knew it, as did all his friends, but when it is with you, he doesn’t know how to handle it. With a friend, he could snog, even shag, them at a random party and it wouldn’t matter for either of them. With you, that first kiss, first anything, was so much more important. With a friend, if he pissed them off enough, they would just cool off without him for a while and then the slate was clear. With you – he had no idea what he would do if you disappeared. Would you come back? He was acutely aware that this was a dynamic he didn’t know how to explore.

Now, it seemed like you needed his support, but wouldn’t accept it. Didn’t want him near it.

He had to respect that, he thought to himself. So, he did his best to tear his gaze away and leave you be.

With the amount of times your eyes met, he knew he wasn’t being successful. He paid no mind to the fact that you did not avert your eyes, either.

His feet were tapping relentlessly on the ground, his eyes flicking all over the Potions classroom to keep them from you. Barty was losing his fucking mind and he had no idea what to do about it.

“Mate,” Evan cuts off his distracted mental monologue that Barty himself couldn’t really make sense of. “Would you bloody cut it off? I’m trying to not kill us here.”

Barty does not dignify him with a response, but tries to calm his skittishness, albeit not overly successfully. He zeroes in on Slughorn and his peculiar facial expressions as he, a bit too excitedly for 8 in the morning, continues his explanation.

Something about a healing potion that is so particular that if brewed even slightly wrong, it becomes one of the most effective poisons in the world. Something about corrosive to the touch. Something about bezoars healing.

Barty settles his gaze on the bowl of bezoars Slughorn had on his desk, just in case, with a bad feeling in his stomach. He wondered if you felt the same.

As the pairs set to attempt the feat of making the potion correctly, Barty’s eyes drifted back to you, happy to leave the work to Evan – who in turn was happy to work in the silence without his constant chatter.

Your shoulders were relaxed, though your brows were furrowed together as you reread the instructions for the thousandth time. He wondered if you had taken the potion he sent to you with Regulus, he wondered if it helped you. While he knew in his bones you were lying about it being what bothered you, he still could never be too sure. He wanted you to feel safe, whichever way he could ensure it.

He knows what that’s called, which is why he is freaking out so to speak.

You kept shooting dirty looks at McLaggen whenever he tried to help, keeping him at arm’s length from the potion, fueling the boy’s frustrations. Barty was quite certain he had seen you threaten him with your wand at one point when he tried to stir the potion. He couldn’t blame you.

McLaggen, as incompetent as ever, was trying to make himself useful by reading the instructions aloud to you, though his exaggerated enunciation was more distracting than helpful. Barty withholds a snicker as he can tell you are silently begging him to shut up. The frustration on your face was palpable, the tension between you and your partner practically humming in the air. McLaggen, ever oblivious, didn’t take the hint.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to–?”

“I’m sure,” you snapped, not looking up from the cauldron.

From across the room, you felt Barty’s eyes on you again. His gaze had become a constant presence, burning into your skin. Even when you weren't looking at him, you could feel him there, lingering, watching, waiting. It was maddening, but also strangely comforting. You knew you had to talk together soon, but you still had no idea how to communicate your feelings, if you even dared to.

You had to snap yourself back into it to remain in control of your little situation at hand.

McLaggen, frustrated by being sidelined, huffed and crossed his arms. “It’s just stirring! How hard could it be?”

“Apparently, harder than you think,” you muttered, casting him a side-eye. The potion was already starting to smell off, and you knew he had messed it up.

McLaggen’s face flushed in embarrassment, and before you could stop him, he reached for the ladle, his ego clearly bruised.

"I'll show you–"

“Wait–”

It happened in a blur. His hand snuck past yours, clumsy and wild. It knocked against the cauldron’s edge, sending it tipping over. The thick, boiling liquid surged out, splashing across the table – and onto your leg.

The pain was instant, white-hot and searing, like your skin was being eaten alive. You screamed, recoiling as the potion sizzled straight through your pant leg, immediately finding flesh.

The room seemed to freeze for a moment, everyone turning to see what had happened. The smell of burning skin filled the air as you stumbled back, falling over your increasingly immobile leg, eyes wide with shock and pain.

The world around disappeared from you as you were consumed by the burning, not even able to hear your gasps of pain.

For that moment, no one did anything.

No one but Barty – Barty moved.

Without hesitation, without thought, he lunged across the room. He grabbed the entire bowl of bezoars, eyes never leaving you. His body collided with McLaggen, shoving him aside with a force that sent the boy slamming into the wall behind, just barely avoiding the poison himself. Barty didn’t even glance at him; his focus was solely on you.

Somewhere in the back Slughorn made a sound of shock and disappointment that Barty blocked out.

He dropped down beside you, taking your shaking upper body in his arms. "You're okay, you're okay," he muttered in your ear, as he cradled your jaw with one hand and opened your mouth with another. With two quick, precise fingers he shoved the bezoar as far down your throat as he could, arm circled securely around your waist for when your body convulsed in response to the intrusion. "You're okay, I've got you," he continued to mumble, as if to himself this time, as he looked at you frantically.

Your body's trembling and your small gasps of pain faded, but your leg was still searing painfully and you still looked completely out of it.

Barty’s heart lurched – he had never seen you like this. Never seen you so vulnerable, so hurt.

“Barty–” you gasped, your voice breaking in panic.

The classroom had erupted into chaos around you – students scrambling away from the spill, Slughorn’s booming voice calling for calm. In it all, Barty's eyes kept looking you over, almost like he was itching to give you another bezoar just in case.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, quieter this time, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the pain subsiding slowly. Barty's hands remained around you, grounding you essentially in his lap, keeping you tethered to the moment.

“Someone fetch Madam Pomfrey!” Slughorn’s booming voice cut through the heavy air as he rushed over, his face pale with panic. “Quickly now! That potion– oh dear–"

McLaggen stood behind him, mouth agape in shock and horror as almost all other students had lined up by the walls, putting distance between themselves and the potion. Everyone except Evan, who remained by his desk, grip tight on the wood as he looked in horror and concern.

Barty ignored him. He ignored everyone. His only focus was you – your shallow breathing, your wide, panicked eyes. He didn’t even realise that his hands were shaking until you whimpered softly, and he felt his control slipping further.

“I’m taking her to the infirmary,” Barty said through gritted teeth, not waiting for permission.

Barty scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he stood. The weight of you felt so fragile, so wrong. You were supposed to be strong, biting back with sharp quips and rolling your eyes at his antics. Not this. Not in pain and trembling in his arms.

“Now, now, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey can come here–”

“No,” Barty said, his voice dark and dangerous, leaving no room for argument. “I’m taking her.”

“Mr. Crouch– wait! We should–” Slughorn tried again, but Barty was already moving, carrying you through the rows of desks and out the door.

His steps were quick but measured, and you were too disoriented by the pain and the shock to protest. Your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“Hang on, Treasure,” he murmured, his voice rough and shaky. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be alright.”

You weren’t sure when you closed your eyes, but by the time you tried to open them again, you were in the infirmary.

Your mind was swimming through a haze of pain and exhaustion. The world felt heavy around you, like you were dragging yourself up through thick water. At first, you weren’t sure where you were – the sterile smell of potions and the soft rustling of sheets felt foreign, disconnected.

Then you shifted ever so slightly and the sharp sting in your leg brought it all crashing back.

The classroom. The potion. McLaggen’s bloody idiocy. The burning, searing pain as the liquid had spilled across your skin.

Barty.

Barty was sitting at your bedside, his usual composed demeanour shattered. His shoulders were hunched, his face tight with worry, and there was a wildness in his eyes that you had never seen before. The sight of him like that sent a pang of emotion through you, more potent than the lingering sting of the potion burn.

You swallowed thickly, your throat dry. “Barty…” Your voice came out in a cracked whisper.

His head jerked up, his eyes locking onto yours in an instant. For a second, the relief that washed over his face was so overwhelming that it almost broke you. He moved closer, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached out for your hand, stopping just before touching you, as if he wasn’t sure if he should. If he could.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of how you were feeling. “Are you… does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

You blinked up at him, your mind still foggy as the events of the day came rushing back in fragments. You remembered the burning pain, the panic that had clawed at your chest, and – Barty. Barty holding you, his voice in your ear, telling you that you’d be okay.

And now here he was, sitting beside you, his fingers twitching with the urge to touch you but holding back as if afraid he might break you further.

"I–" you tried, but your voice cut off, throat hoarse from the bezoar you were increasingly remembering. "I think I'm fine."

Barty just looked at you, still searching, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. What an unfortunate theme for the week.

“It’s… it’s not as bad now,” you managed, your voice hoarse. The burning in your arm was still there, a dull throb beneath the bandages, but it was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. “What happened? After… I don’t know if I really remember…”

Barty swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain his composure. “Pomfrey patched you up. You passed out from the pain.” He paused, his voice thickening. “It was bad. You could’ve–”

He cut himself off, his fingers curling into fists as he looked away, his throat working visibly. “It was a close call, Treasure.”

At his words, you realise how hard you were fighting the tears, the bottle you keep your emotions in clearly shattered by your impact with the floor.

"I'm alright," you whispered, to which he just nodded, beautiful face stained by a frown. Yeah, yeah, you thought you could hear him mutter.

"Barty?" you called softly, hoping for his attentive eyes to be back on you – they were in an instant. "Thank you."

"I would do anything for you," he whispered. "I just need you to be alright. I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Your eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. "You did nothing wrong Barty. You– you did so good."

Barty leans his head on his fists curled up on your bedside. He was still slightly trembling. "I thought I lost you."

His words hit you like a physical blow. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the crack in his usually cool exterior, and it made your chest tighten with emotion. He wasn’t just worried – he had been terrified. You could see it in the way he refused to meet your eyes now, as if he was still trying to gather himself, still fighting the lingering fear.

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him like this, so undone, so vulnerable. It was strange when he was always the one so sure of himself, always the one in control. His usual composed mask had crumbled, leaving raw emotion exposed underneath. You wanted to kiss it better. You wanted to see more.

It was strange, you thought, lying there in the infirmary with a dull ache all throughout your body. Strange how, in moments like these, everything else – the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty – seemed to fall away. All that was left was Barty, his presence consuming every inch of your awareness.

"Barty..." you whispered again. When he looked up at you, his eyes were red-rimmed.

You simply turned your hand laying near his over. An open invitation.

He accepted it immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing the back of your hand so sweetly it hurt you.

"I thought–" you start, voice breaking from emotion this time. "When it happened, all I could think about was you. How sweet you are with me even when I'm terrible, how stupid it is to let my emotions get in the way of that. I didn't even get to say sorry to you and–" You take a deep breath. "I wanted to. I'm sorry, Barty."

He was shaking his head, cheek against your hand he was holding as it looked at you intensely. "Absolutely not. Apology accepted and then rejected. I don't want you to be sorry."

You try to interject, but he sits up, leaning on his elbow onto your bedside so you are at eye-level. "Nuh-uh. I won't allow it. Thank you, and I'm sorry too, but no."

"Will you at least accept the sentiment that I never meant to hurt you?" you whisper through a tired smile.

"Of course. I hurt myself. I was confused and scared and– shit, this feeling thing is so bloody hard for no reason." You laugh slightly at that, wincing when it pains you. "I hated feeling like we weren't a team."

"Me too," you whispered, not trusting your voice. "I didn't want to fight, I just find it so difficult to trust. That I can, I don't know, show you everything and not run. Because I don't know what to do with myself if you do."

Barty's grip on your hand tightened. "I won't. I swear to you, I won't. That's what scares the shit out of me. How ridiculously much I care about you. What am I to do with that?"

A few tears spilled down your cheeks before you could stop it. His hand instinctively shot forward to wipe them away, frown deepening.

"Can we be scared and confused together?" you asked weakly.

For the first time since you woke up, you saw a smile grace Barty's face, clouded only slightly by his teary eyes. "I reckon we can, Treasure. I– I just need you."

You closed your eyes, triggering the release of a few more tears.

"You'll never lose me," Barty continued, pressing his forehead back against your intertwined hands. "I swear. I don't care what fight we have or how unsure we are. You're the only person who–" He stopped, his breathing hitching as if the words were too heavy on his vocal chords. "I need you."

Your heart clenched painfully at the raw emotion in his voice. The cool, confident Barty you were used to wasn’t here right now. This was a Barty who was terrified and loving, who was stripped bare of all the usual bravado and snark. It made your chest ache in a way that was so full of feeling that it was almost overwhelming.

“I need you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes locking onto yours again. There was something so vulnerable, so intense in his gaze that it nearly stole your breath away. He leaned forward then, hesitating only for a moment before his lips brushed gently against your forehead, lingering there as if he was grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality that you were still here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured against your skin. “I promise.”

For a moment, the weight of those words hung in the air, settling into the space between you. And despite the pain, despite everything that had happened, you felt a small flicker of warmth spark in your chest.

You brought your free hand up to the nape of his neck, guiding his lips from your forehead to your own, kissing him as softly as you could muster. His kiss was careful as he tried to pour as much emotion as possible. All the things you could not say yet, but cared for each other in spite of.

When you parted, you rested your foreheads together and you let out a shaky breath, your heart slowing as the adrenaline finally began to fade.

You opened your eyes to find Barty already looking at you with a slight smile – the look in his eyes was positively lovesick.

With the ease Barty's touch awarded you, you let out a half-choked laugh, relief expanding in your chest, which in turn widened his smile.

"What's so funny?" he asked, a teasing tone finally making it back into his voice.

"I'm just thinking about how ridiculous we are," you laughed, squeezing his hand. "And dramatic, Merlin's beard."

Barty huffed a laugh in return, shaking his head at you. "You knew what you were signing up for when you got with me. Theatrical is my middle name."

"Oh, so you admit it now, do you?"

"Only for you."

You gaze into his eyes and you realise – Barty is not the only one who is lovesick.

"Tell me now," you said, teasing tone finally back in your voice. It made Barty's heart soar, but not as much as your next sentence. "How did you trick me into falling in love with you, Junior?"

"I trick you? Love, I've been heads over heels for you since the first time you insulted me. You're the one who should fess up."

Barty's grin threatened to tear his skin apart as he shook his head.

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” He shifted closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your heart stutter. “You’re impossible not to fall for.”

“Good,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Because I think you're stuck with me now.”

Barty leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back, his eyes were alight with something that looked an awful lot like hope.

“Stuck, huh?”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get cocky, Junior.”

“Too late, Treasure.”

“In that case," you started, trailing off as if you grew uncertain of yourself once more. Barty's hold on you remained steadfast. "Can you stay? Just stay here with me, until I'm dispatched?”

“I’m not leaving,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in a steady, grounding rhythm. “I’ll stay as long as you want. You've got me.”

You felt yourself relax into the bed, your eyes growing heavy with exhaustion, but for the first time in a long while, the tightness in your chest had eased. As your eyes fluttered closed, you heard Barty’s voice again, soft and filled with so much emotion that it made your heart ache all over again.

“Sleep well, my love."

372 notes · View notes

tonicandjins · 2 years ago

Text

learning languages | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck | nct haechan x reader word count: 18.5k genre: university au, getting together, smut, fluff, angst summary: in which you're an exchange student and donghyuck teaches you the essential korean phrases you need, and eventually how to fall in love with him tag list: @smwhrinthehaze @byungbyungbaek @sundamariis @thiccfullsun @yesohhsehun @haechoshi @najmnluvr @liz-zo @heyitsconysstuff @magicastle @novawon @gaeulswrld author’s note: I’m so sorry it took so long, but here it is! I imagine conversations with everyone in Korean, except for Mark! 😊 I imagine the conversations with Mark in English. I also have 0 knowledge with the Korean language except from the common phrases every Kpop fan knows lol. So please bare with me and feel free to correct me! ^^ Please also consider tipping me if you want to! NCT Dream is coming to my country this April and I’d love to see them if I could :) TIP ME HERE.

날씨가 추워 (nalssiga chuwo) – the weather is cold

The rain is pouring when you arrive in Incheon.

It’s not as harsh as it is where you come from, but the February breeze still makes you shiver and curse under your breath, and while you’re wallowing and pouting over the fact that your first day in South Korea is not going as well as you wanted, Mark is chirpy—a little too happy for your liking.

Of course, Mark is happy. Your bitterness over the weather is not going to spoil his energy, the exact same one—maybe stronger—he has had over the past couple of weeks, counting down the days he’d be back in Seoul, finally. Mark has told you that it had been over a decade since he last visited South Korea, and the Student Exchange Program from your university had been the best opportunity for him to come back after so long, too long. The stupid smile on his face somehow makes you feel better, especially when he jumps from his seat when he sees his childhood friend walk towards your area.

Renjun is handsome like the picture that Mark sent you a week before your flight to South Korea, but it feels a little unfair that he’s even more attractive in person. His voice sounds like honey and the corner of his eyes crinkle when he smiles as he approaches you and Mark.

They jump into a tight, dramatic hug that makes a few other people in the waiting area look, but the boys don’t care. Mark lifts Renjun up from the ground, it’s almost embarrassing. The sight makes you feel warm. You wonder how Mark feels.

It must be amazing, you think, to finally meet someone you’ve been longing to see. Mark had always expressed his yearning for the place—the people, the friends he always had to leave behind when visiting during summer—and it makes you wonder how it feels like to have friends and family away from you.

Evidently, this is your first time to be away from home. You live (or used to at this point) in a dormitory, a two-minute walk to the campus, a good hour away from home, but you always went home whenever you craved for your mother’s dishes. You’ve never considered living away from home. Sure, you had plans to move out eventually, but not in a different time zone, not in an entirely different culture. Mark, on the other hand, is frequently moving around, dragging his suitcase from place to place, leaving people behind and promising he’d come back when he can.

Born in Canada, Mark had been to more places that you could count, but he has told you many times that nowhere else feels like home, like Seoul. He’s told you many stories of the time his family lived there for a few years before going back to Canada, of his annual visits in the summer, and of his devastation when life had caught up with him that he had to stop visiting when he turned eleven.

You remember his voice, its tone and emotion, when he called you a couple of months ago, informing you of the exchange program that the university’s administration had posted on the students’ corner, and how fucking amazing it would be if you could sign up with him.

“It would be a good addition to your credentials,” he had told you. “It’s not going to be for a long time, a semester at least. And we have the option to stay the whole academic year if we wanted to! Plus, I already know a lot of people there. We’ll be fine!”

“I don’t know, Mark,” you had answered, feigning hesitation, even when you knew deep down that Mark had already convinced you by the tone of his voice when he revealed the news. “I’ve never been that far away from home. Remember when we went camping in ninth grade? I cried. For three whole days. I’m not going to survive a semester. Besides, I know not a single Korean word.”

“Come on, Y/N,” he had begged. “Think about it. You’ll be with me the entire time. If we pass the screening, the program will sign us up for free Hangul lessons—though, let’s be honest, I don’t really need it.”

“Why do you have to bring me anyway?” you had asked out of curiosity.

“Because I know you’ll love it there,” he had answered. “Your obsession with studying culture and languages will be satisfied because there is no better way to learn a culture than experiencing the whole thing with your best friend!”

You remember humming in response, as if you’re thinking deeply about it. Mark sighed on the other line, his words making you laugh and finally agree.

“The chances of Mom letting me go is bigger when I tell her you’re coming with me,” he had admitted. Mark, upon hearing your agreement to his proposal, began listing out the places he would take you. The phone call lasted for three more hours and it had seemed like Mark already had an entire plan in his head before he even asked you if you would go with him.

Passing the program had been easy and so was acquiring your visa. What was truly the pain in the ass, you admit, is learning the damn language. You salute Mark for being able to speak Korean so fluently, but he’s shit at teaching you and you had to rely on the free lessons you had taken every weekend and your favorite language mentor, Lee Minho in Legend of the Blue Sea. Your Korean is awful. Your tongue is a little too short, too stiff, for said language, and the situation almost makes you back out of the entire program and ditch Mark.

But here you are, still shit at Korean, but standing among hustling people and waiting for your best friend to wrap up the moment he’s sharing with his long-time friend. Renjun finally catches your eyes as you awkwardly watch them on the side, your backpack becoming heavier each second you’re standing on the airport tiles. He pulls away from Mark, smiling, beaming towards you and offers a handshake.

“Hwang Renjun,” he introduces. You remember their last names go first here. “Nice to meet you.”

It almost startles you when he speaks English. Mark forgot to mention his friend is fluent, you think.

You tell him your name, voice smaller than it usually is, and express your relief that he speaks English.

“I’m originally not from here either,” he explains. “I’m Chinese. My family had to move here before I could even properly pronounce words for my Dad’s work. Went to an international school, where I met Mark back in second grade.”

So, he’s cute and multilingual. How unfair.

“And I’d love to chat longer,” he says, switching to Korean now, before you can even respond. “But Hyuck is waiting in his car. We could talk on our way to your dormitory. For now, let’s go. Hyuck hates waiting.”

“Hyuck drove? What happened to your car?” Mark asks, helping you with your luggage and pushing the cart himself. Renjun insists to carry your backpack, and he had already gently pulled it from your shoulder before you could refuse.

Mark and Renjun talk about Hyuck, both switching to speaking Korean now, on their way out of the arrival area and it doesn’t take long for them to spot their friend’s car outside. The rain had stopped pouring by the time you’re settling yourselves inside their friend’s car. The second you settle yourself on the leather seat, you sigh in relief. Traveling is a lot more exhausting than you had initially thought.

Renjun sits on the passenger seat, right beside Hyuck, you assume, and Mark settles himself beside you.

“Mark Lee,” Hyuck greets, looking at Mark through the rearview mirror. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

It takes you a second to understand what he said. It’s only then that you realize you really are in Korea.

“Lee Donghyuck,” Mark responds in the same tone. “You’re real. I’m happy to see you in person and not just through Facetime. I want to hug you.”

“Am I better looking in person?” Hyuck teases. “Hug me when we’re at your dormitory. I’ll even kiss you on the lips if you want to.”

“Disgusting,” Mark grimaces. “By the way—” He turns his attention to you the same time Hyuck begins driving. “This is Y/N.”

Hyuck only smiles, nodding a little to you through the rearview mirror, brushing his brown hair using his fingers to fix it up. Renjun begins to ask how the flight was and Mark replies. All three boys strike up a conversation in Korean and it was all too much, too fast, for you to catch up and understand anything, so you stay quiet on your seat, leaning against the window, and begin to wonder how things will go for the entire spring semester you’ll be spending in this foreign city.

Mark never told you that the drive from Incheon to Seoul is long, so far that you didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep. When you arrive at the dormitory, it’s past six in the afternoon and Mark’s friends ask kindly if you want to go out for dinner. Politely and quite incoherently, you tell them that you’d like to stay. Mark insists on staying home with you and unpacking your belongings, but you urge him to go, spend some time with his friends and walk around. Mark hesitates, but agrees nonetheless, promising he will come back in an hour.

The place the program had picked for you and Mark is not that bad. It’s nothing like home, but it’s not bad. It makes you wonder how Mark does it. You remember not being able to sleep on the first few nights on your dormitory’s bed when you were a freshman. Mark had never told you if he’s had trouble adapting to places he’s been. Maybe you could ask him in the morning.

The exhaustion hits you again upon entering one of the rooms. Room assignment is yet to be decided, but Mark wouldn’t mind if you sleep on one of the beds while he’s out. And so, you sleep.

You don’t remember what you dream of. And Mark wakes you at seven in the morning, reminding you that you had to unpack and go grocery shopping. Momentarily, you forget where you are. It hits you the same way it does in his friend’s car. You’re in a different country. A different language. A different time zone.

It doesn’t feel like home at all even though it’s cold. But you guess you’ll have to make it work. At least until the semester ends.

약속해요 (yagsoghaeyo) – I promise

When Mark told you he knew a lot of people in Seoul, you should’ve known he was bluffing because he literally knew only seven people.

Mark Lee’s friends are warm and loud and somehow you feel out of place when they all decide to hangout where you and Mark are. It’s the first week of the semester, and you have completed all the orientation and tour you need; Mark, on the other hand, is still catching up with everyone.

By everyone, he meant Kevin Moon, a senior who is also Mark’s cousin’s long-distance boyfriend who happens to be studying in SNU too, Hwang Renjun from Natural Sciences, Lee Donghyuck from Music, Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin from Engineering and Architecture, Zhong Chenle from Humanities, and Park Jisung from Business Administration. Which is why every day, for the past five days, you’re at a place called Arcade, with Mark and two or three people from their group.

It turns out Huang Renjun and Na Jaemin were Mark’s friends from childhood, the others are friends by extension.

Huang Renjun, you understand why Mark is closest to him among all. He’s soft all over but sharp in the mouth. Renjun, you learn, likes to talk about life and likes to give people advice when they need it. He’s reserved with other people but is the complete opposite when he’s with his friends.

Lee Jeno is shy. He normally joins the group after his internship at a construction corporation in the outskirts of Seoul, which is why you haven’t really seen him much—only twice. You haven’t had that many conversations with him yet, but he’s kind enough to pass you the ketchup when he sees you staring at it from the end of the table.

Zhong Chenle and Park Jisung are best friends. There’s not a day that you have not seen either without the other, kind of reminds you of how you and Mark are. They join whenever one is available—two peas in a pod.

Na Jaemin is the closest with Lee Donghyuck. You see them talking in their bubble more frequently than the others. Jaemin is mysterious and a little cold—the complete opposite of Lee Donghyuck.

Lee Donghyuck, well, you’ve got a lot to say about him.

It isn’t necessarily an uncomfortable feeling, because Mark’s friends are kind enough to slow down when they talk to you and are quite protective of you, especially when a random stranger bravely comes up to you to introduce themselves. Lee Donghyuck, in particular, who’s as warm as the sun touching your skin at nine in the morning and whose voice is careful and assuring, ensures that you’re never out of place—even when you feel it all the time. From the day the semester started, there hasn’t been a day when Donghyuck isn’t hanging out with you and Mark at Arcade.

Mark normally picks you up from class because thank God your schedules are aligned to each other despite having different majors. The College of Social Sciences is quiet, unlike the building right beside you, College of Music, and Mark usually takes five minutes to find you, because you can’t trust yourself to walk around on your own—at least not yet. But today, Mark asked if you could meet Kevin first because his girlfriend had something for him from Canada.

“Hyungseo!” You hear someone call, making you look up from your phone to see Kevin walking towards you. He stops and turns around, a girl you’ve seen around the college of social sciences once or twice running towards him.

“Don’t forget to bring the laminated cards we need for Friday!” the lady shouts. Kevin gives her a thumbs up and turns back to you.

“Y/N, right?” he asks in English. You nod. He offers a hand. “I’m sorry we haven’t met personally yet. But I’m Kevin.”

“She called you Hyungseo, though,” you trail off, accepting the handshake anyway. “I’ve seen your pictures from Giselle’s phone, so I knew it was you.”

He laughs. “Hyungseo’s my Korean name. You should’ve packed her with you.”

You reach for your bag and hand him the box that’s been sitting in your backpack all day. “Here,” you say. “No plans on visiting sometime soon?”

Kevin sighs. “I wish I could,” he answers. “It’s not as easy as we thought.”

“You guys sound okay though,” you comment. “I mean, Giselle always sounds so happy when she talks about you back home.”

This makes Kevin smile. “Oh, she does?”

“Why would she think of getting you a gift all the way from home if she’s not?” you ask, biting your tongue as soon as the words come out. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ask.”

“Let’s talk about this over some soju when you find a dude you want to spend the rest of your life with here,” he jokes. “Thanks for bringing this. You and Mark have been so busy; he’s been declining all my invitations to hangout.”

You sigh, “Yeah. It’s only the first week and there are lot of things we had to do. I’ll ask him if we can hang out on the weekend?”

Kevin agrees and hands his phone to you, asking to put your number so he could call you. You do and tell him you’re grateful you could talk to someone in English aside from Mark and bid him goodbye when he leaves. You shoot Mark a text, telling him you’ll be waiting for him and that Kevin’s dropped by to get his gift from Giselle.

Hence, you wait outside, busying yourself with your phone, trying to avoid any interaction as much as you can, and you don’t notice Donghyuck standing beside you until he taps your shoulder and gives you a warm smile.

“Mark is running late,” he says slowly. “Let’s go to Arcade together.”

You smile at Donghyuck’s attempt to pronounce Arcade how you would and nod at him. He leads the way out of the building, his backpack on one shoulder, and asks you how your classes are so far.

“It’s okay,” you answer because it’s all you can think of. “Thank God my professor in Psychology speaks English.”

Donghyuck hums. “It must be difficult for you.”

“It is,” you confess.

Among everyone you have met so far, Donghyuck gives you the feeling of comfort; you’re not exactly the most outgoing person nor the least—you were in between. You were okay with that. And you were okay that Donghyuck is okay with that, too. He doesn’t push you to speak more (probably because he knows you most likely do not know how to say whatever you had in mind), but can be very persuasive when there’s a hint that you’re relaxed.

Lee Donghyuck is bold and charming and amiable like nobody you’ve ever known. Normally, or at least with how you’re used to, people are a little more reserved around people they just met. And culturally speaking, you didn’t expect Donghyuck to be so forward and already so comfortable hanging out with you, what more with having conversations like this.

“Don’t worry, though,” he assures. “You’ll be fine. You’re here for about six months, anyway. I promise it’ll be the best six months of your college years.”

He’s also bright like this—optimistic and kind and assuring. You’re glad Mark is friends with people like him, with Donghyuck.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you try to say, a phrase Mark taught you the other night. “Did I say that right?”

Donghyuck giggles, stopping and reaching up to ruffle your hair. “You’re absolutely adorable.”

“That, I am,” you joke back, more comfortable around him now.

“I promise,” he says. “It’ll be so good; you wouldn’t want to go back to Canada.”

한국말 잘 못해요 (hangugmal jal moshaeyo) – I don’t speak Korean well | 죽을래 (jug-eullae) – Do you want to die?

Donghyuck turns out to be a better teacher than Lee Minho and Mark Lee combined. He gifts you a small, pocket-friendly notebook, asking you to keep it for the rest of your stay, notably commenting that the material’s size will allow you to bring it everywhere you go. Hence, the tiny, brown faux leather notebook is safely tucked between your necessities inside your bag.

The first sentence he teaches you turns out to be the most essential: I don’t speak Korean well.

Donghyuck takes you to a café called 7 Days, an entirely different vibe compared to Arcade. You don’t question Donghyuck when he puts an arm on your shoulder as you walk together inside the café, but he asks you right away when he must have felt you stiffen from the touch: “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you answer quietly.

Donghyuck smiles warmly at you. “Here, have a look around and I’ll get you something to drink before we decide what we want to eat. I have the perfect drink for you!”

He goes before you could say anything. You look and realize that the café is not so bad. Its aesthetic is the complete opposite of what Arcade’s going for—cozy, serene, almost like a good place to study or sleep in, whatever you need to survive the day—and the Biscoff latte is bomb, you don’t think you can drink latte differently now.

Conversations with Donghyuck could, well, unfortunately, go only where your limit is. He’s fun and likes to tell a lot of stories, but it’s always interrupted with you asking what a word means and him pulling up his phone and have his translation app say it for you. He makes jokes that you regrettably do not understand, but Donghyuck doesn’t take it to the heart and only says: “By the end of the term, you’ll be saying these jokes to Mark Lee.”

Donghyuck excuses himself to go to the toilet about an hour later and allows you a few minutes by yourself, which you happily spend taking pictures of the interior of the café. You sigh when you realize you didn’t take a picture of the Biscoff latte when it was full and pretty. Someone taps you on the shoulder, and it could only be Donghyuck, so you turn with a smile.

“I forgot to take a picture of the drink—Oh.” It’s not Donghyuck. “I’m sorry, how can I help you?” you ask politely.

The man towers over you and he smiles warmly. Your cheeks flush when he does, because you probably mispronounce each syllable from that sentence. “I’m Sanha.”

You bow courteously, still have 0 idea why the man is talking to you.

“I don’t see you around often,” he says. “And I’m here, like, almost all the time unless I have a class. My dad owns the place. How do you like it so far?”

“It’s… okay,” you say. Sanha chuckles, and your face is hot you probably look like a red potato now. “I mean, not just okay, I just can’t find the words to—”

He takes Donghyuck’s seat. “I can teach you,” he offers. “We can meet up here, and—”

Donghyuck calls your name, voice firm and monotonous like never before. “It’s getting late. Mark texted me to take you home early because Chenle’s making dinner at your place.”

You look at Sanha apologetically, still unable to reply properly so you only say, “I’m sorry.”

Donghyuck doesn’t give you the chance to say anything more because he’s already helping you out of your seat, turning you around so you could start walking towards the door, pushing you until you’re out of the café.

You hear him sigh as you walk away from the café, arm around your shoulder like how you entered the place.

“Y/N, my sweet pea,” he softly says. “Please don’t to talk strangers.”

You shrug, “It’s not like I could just ignore him when he was already taking you space.”

He scoffs. “When strangers start talking to you and being all brave and upfront, you tell them: I don’t speak Korean well. Then just start hitting them with English words and exaggerate your accent. That’s how Mark Lee tries to avoid conversations with girls sometimes because he’s a loser and women make him nervous.”

“I don’t speak Korean well,” you repeat, slowly pronouncing each syllable.

“Where’s the notebook I asked you to bring everywhere?” Donghyuck asks. “Write that down.”

You nod and tell him you’d do it later. Donghyuck leads the way towards the stop just in time for the bus that’s about to leave. You and him hop in, taking the seats in the back, giggling when Donghyuck almost topples over as soon as the bus starts to move. He lets you sit by the window and starts telling you about how his sister always fights him to get the window seat and he’s never won so he naturally just gives people the said seat.

You’re nearby the next stop when you ask him: “Donghyuck, what if I tell people I don’t speak Korean well and they wouldn’t stop bothering me?”

Donghyuck looks nice in his brown, fluffy jacket, face bare, his eyeglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He looks even nice whenever he smiles like this.

“Y/N, do you know how cute you are?” An answer you don’t expect. “You’re so cute when you ask questions like this. I want to put you in my pocket.”

“Donghyuck,” you sigh, expecting a serious answer.

He reaches up to pat your head. “You won’t have to worry because we won’t let you be on your own unless you ask us to stay away. Especially me. Not me. I’ll make sure to take care of you and Mark while the two of you are here.”

You nod, still not satisfied with the answer. The Sanha situation awhile ago makes you realize how helpless you’d be if you weren’t with Mark or any of his friends. Donghyuck probably notices your dissatisfaction when he feels like you’re sulking, which you definitely are, because he chuckles and pokes your cheek to get your attention again.

“If it makes you feel better,” he says. “You could always ask them if they want to die.”

“That’s mean!” you gasp.

“Or tell them to fuck off,” he shrugs.

“Donghyuck!”

“What?” he asks. “It’s not like I don’t hear you and Mark say ‘fuck you’ to each other every day.”

You laugh at that. “Saying it in Korean hits different.”

“Right!” Donghyuck agrees. “I’ve been telling people saying fuck you in Korean has more impact than in any other language. I can say the word fuck every day.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” you joke.

Donghyuck coos. “Oh, I’m so proud of you. You’re cracking jokes now.”

The bus halts at your stop, and Donghyuck helps you up by taking your hand the way he’s helping you learn the language. It’s only when you’ve reached the street to the apartment you share with Mark that you realized you’ve been holding hands all the way from the bus stop.

저 알러지 있어요 (jeo alleoji iss-eoyo) – I’m allergic

“Do you not understand what you just did, Mark Lee?” you ask in disbelief.

It’s only a month into your stay in Seoul, and Mark does the dumbest thing ever. Mark Lee comes home with a pet cat.

There were three rules for the spring semester, three very specific and very easy rules: one, to always text each other’s location as soon as you step foot outside of the apartment (which you and him are constantly compliant about; you love Mark Lee for that); two, to never skip a class unless you’re sick (you’re only here until July; Mark decided he’s not wasting a single day in Seoul, even if it means going to classes on time and by schedule without fail); and lastly, don’t keep things you won’t be able to take back home.

Mark had said that these rules are specifically for you because rule number one ensures your safety, rule number ensures you get the real Korean education experience, and rule number three apparently ensures you’re not leaving anything important at the airport when you leave—which now you think is bullshit. The rules are more for him than you, but you love Mark Lee, and it’s not like the cat isn’t cute.

“But, Y/N,” Mark pouts. “She kept on staring at me with these eyes when Renjun was busy comparing brands of dog treats. It was like her eyes were calling me, asking me to take her home!”

The calico cat is a baby; Mark said it’s not even five months old yet. It’s the last from seven siblings, the last one to be adopted (and you think Mark is only telling you this to convince you this is a good idea. She jumps out from Mark’s lap and goes to you, staring at you first before settling herself on your lap.

“She loves you already!” Mark comments.

You sigh. “Mark. You know we can’t take her home, right? We’re leaving in like, five months.”

“Which means I have five months to convince our friends to adopt her while I’m in Canada!” he answers enthusiastically, his eyes almost sparkling with the way he’s talking. “I couldn’t just leave her there. My heart wouldn’t allow me to leave without her!”

“Fine,” you give up. “Don’t cry on me on the plane back home when we leave her.”

Mark chuckles. “I think I should be more worried about you crying on the plane back home.”

Someone knocks on your door before you can ask what he means by that. It’s Mark who stands and welcome the person, and of course, it’s Donghyuck.

It’s Saturday. Saturday means Donghyuck comes and hangs out at your place because he no longer has to work in the university library on the weekends. He’d quit, saying his big mouth isn’t fit for the library, and had asked the school administration to reassign him to another facility. Part of his scholarship is to work at least 16 hours a week in one of the university’s facilities. He’s paid, of course, but Donghyuck says he’s not paid enough to keep his mouth shut for 16 hours a week. The admin asked for a week to figure out where he’d be assigned next, so he had this entire weekend all to himself, which, to how it looks like now, he’d decided to spend with you and Mark.

Mark lets Donghyuck in. The latter’s smile falters when he sees you; he only gives you a curt nod. And it’s not like you’re expecting Donghyuck to cuddle you on the couch, alright? It’s just that, you’ve known each other for a month now, and have hung out together a handful of times—just the two of you—and he called you yesterday telling you he’d come hangout with you and Mark for the weekend, even said something about teaching you to play Apex if you have the energy for it. And it’s not like he’s obligated to come sit beside you as soon as he enters your apartment, but you’re confused when he sits on the single couch far away from you, stance uncomfortable and his face looking like he’d rather be elsewhere.

Mark’s voice fades away when he asks Donghyuck what their plans are, to which Donghyuck answers: “I’m actually just here to say hi. I’m leaving in a bit.”

“No way,” Mark protests.

“Or we could go out?” Donghyuck offers.

“Uh-uh,” Mark refuses. “Y/N has been excited all morning to see you. You’re not going to disappoint her today.”

“I didn’t say anything—” You try to say, but couldn’t translate what you want to say quick enough. “Donghyuck obviously doesn’t want to be here.”

Over the course of a month living in Seoul, you and Donghyuck had grown closer more than anyone. It would be ridiculous to deny Donghyuck’s seemingly unceasing affection towards you, and in the same manner, it would be a lie if you’d say you’re not enjoying all the attention he’s been giving you. Above the flirty and friendly advances he makes (but never crossing the line), Donghyuck has grown to be a good friend. During the first couple of weeks, you would refer to him as Mark’s friend; it’s safe you say you’re friends with him now.

Donghyuck’s decided to pick you up from the college of Social Sciences, convincing Mark that his building is literally next to yours and that a ten-minute walk to Arcade with you is not going to hurt him—Mark’s been walking with you for many years anyway, he would mumble under his breath, close enough for you to hear but distant enough for you to understand what he truly means. Hence, with the growing friendship you have with him, you wonder what you had done this time.

“It’s not like that,” Donghyuck answers the question you had in mind, both hands raised in defense. You raise an eyebrow. “That.”

Donghyuck points at your lap, Mark’s unnamed cat sleeping soundly now. Oh.

“I’m allergic,” he explains. “I can’t be around one within like a five-meter radius otherwise, I would, like, you know, die.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Mark comments. “Are you really?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck confirms. “The allergens are getting to me. My throat is starting to close up. I have to leave now.”

This startles you and Mark, the latter quickly taking the calico cat from your lap and quickly taking it to his room. You reckon the cat’s allergens are all over you so you sit as far away as you can from Donghyuck.

“It’s fine,” he assures, but he already looks like he’s choking. “It’s not that serious. They usually just give me allergic rashes and kind of triggers my asthma. So, we’re good.”

“But you have a dog!” you remark. “You never told me you’re allergic to cats!”

He chuckles, “Well, you learn something every day.”

“There are some anti-histamine tablets from the cupboard,” you point out, still seated where you are. “I probably have allergens on my hands; please go get yourself one.”

Donghyuck does what he’s told, taking one and opening the fridge to get himself a bottle of water. You tell him you’re changing your clothes and ask him to wait up, offering to go out and have a meal with him instead.

Mark knocks on your door a couple of minutes later, finding you dressed up, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Donghyuck said he’d wait outside. You look nice.”

“I know I look nice,” you say as you go back to your vanity to throw whatever you’d need for the day in your small dumpling bag, including a box of Benadryl. “You’re not coming with us because you have cat all over you.”

Mark chuckles, leaning against the doorframe. “Donghyuck literally told me the same thing. He’s growing on you,”

You only hum in response, checking your bag for the last time before walking towards the door where Mark Lee is still leaning on, the same smirk playing on his lips still plastered.

“What?” you ask.

Mark doesn’t say anything, but he raises and shows you his right hand, sticking three fingers up.

먹었습니다 (meog-eossseubnida) - The meal was good.

Seoul National University’s library is as quiet as it can be; it’s almost scary how the only sounds you’d only hear are the faint sounds of pages being flipped and pens gliding on notepads, and the eerie echoes of the tension coming from students who are either cramming on an assignment or jumping from one subject to another in hopes of getting everything they read retained in their head.

Donghyuck used to tell you this is the exact reason why he didn’t like working at the library. It’s too quiet but too loud at the same time. You chuckle at the memory of him telling you anecdotes of his short-lived employment in the library and wonder how different it is being the soccer team’s laundry guy. He’s probably pouting all the way from the beginning of his shift until the end.

“Here,” Jung Sungchan disrupts your thoughts, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “I found these, maybe it could help bridge the gap we’re struggling on.”

You and Sungchan are paired up for a two-week long assignment for one of your major subjects. The objective was to present a summarized and substantial report on the welfare state, and you think Sungchan must have tripped on all the bad luck in his life to have been paired up with someone who couldn’t speak Korean that well, because, well, the books they had are mostly in Korean. If speaking and understanding Korean is a struggle for you, reading the damn language is hell.

“This is a good thing,” Sungchan assures. “There are resources online that are mostly in English. We can combine everything we find and construct the report from there!”

You nod and hand over the book you’re reading before he arrived, explaining that you found a chapter that could be very helpful. The boy fires up his laptop and starts accessing the website your professor had recommended you to use.

Sat side by side, you and Sungchan study in silence, except for when he asks you to read an article for him and explain what it means. The session lasts for hours, thank God you and him didn’t have classes for the rest of the day, and within those hours of studying with Sungchan, you can’t help but notice the looks you were getting anytime someone passes by the two of you.

It’s no secret that Jung Sungchan is probably one of the most attractive men in the university. He’s tall and has skin that’s as clear as a day in summer, smile that could swoon a lot of people off their feet, broad shoulders that’s probably carrying the entire hockey team for this year’s season—and yes, it doesn’t help the fact that Jung Sungchan is the most popular jock at the moment, apparently for hard carrying the team to win last year’s trophy, ending Seoul National University’s 10-year drought and awakening the school’s love for sports back. And you think it’s quite unfair that people like him exist. Because you would expect that he’s an asshole who doesn’t care about his grades because he’s essentially SNU’s hero at the moment, but he’s not. Jung Sungchan, you learn, takes his degree in Social Sciences very seriously.

And it’s evident with the way his eyebrows are furrowed as he reads the tenth book he found from the shelves.

“I think this part makes more sense now,” he points out, leaning closer so he could show you the article he’s reading. “In residual regimes, welfare-seeking units are primarily family and market. On the other hand, in the institutional welfare regime, the function of providing welfare belongs directly to the state.”

“But countries with different social conditions and lifestyles should have differed in terms of welfare states,” you argue. “We have to consider that the development of industrialization and production growth could be very different from one country to another.”

Sungchan hums. “Good point. Perhaps we can find more of that from Wilensky and Lebaux’s work. Do you have the book over there?”

You nod and hand him the book. Just as Sungchan flips the book open, Mark occupies the seat across you.

“We’ve been calling you,” Mark whispers to you, then turning to look at Sungchan. “Hey, man. Mark. Y/N’s best friend.”

Sungchan gives him a polite nod before going back to the book. You raise an eyebrow at Mark and slip your phone from the pocket of your backpack and find all the missed calls from him, Renjun, and Donghyuck.

“My phone’s been on silent for like, I don’t know, four hours,” you tell him, slipping your phone back to your back. “And I texted you I’d be at the library.”

“Yeah, like four hours ago,” he answers. “I didn’t think you’d really stay here for four hours. Anyway—” Mark pulls out a lunch bag and slides it across the table. “Donghyuck made this for you. He figured you’d be hungry.”

It’s only then that it hit you. The last meal you had was that bagel you had for breakfast on the way to school, which you had seven or eight hours ago.

“My sweet Donghyuckie,” you coo, thankful for his thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Mark. Sungchan and I will share because we’ll be here until we finish at least the structure of the report.”

“It’s getting late though,” Mark points out.

Sungchan clears his throat. “I can drive you home.”

“Great!” Mark exclaims, which earns him multiple shushes from the other students studying. “Sorry. Great!” he says again, in a whisper this time.

Mark bids goodbye to you and offers a handshake to Sungchan, telling him he’ll see him often in the next two weeks or for as long as you and him are paired-up on your major subjects. Sungchan gives him one last assurance you’ll be home safe.

You ask Sungchan to take a break and open the lunch bag. Inside it are two bento boxes full of food, too much for one person, and you don’t take another minute to wait. Sungchan must have been hungry too, because he doesn’t refuse when you offer the other half of your meal to him.

You’re not really sure how much longer you and Sungchan stay in the library, but as soon as you’ve finalized the structure of the report and have agreed on assigned topics, he suggests that you and him go home and meet up again on Friday so you can start assembling the presentation. And as promised, Sungchan drives you home, glad when he realized your apartment is only ten minutes away from his.

It’s already ten in the evening when you reach home. Mark’s probably already sleeping, you think when you don’t see any light peaking from smallest of the small space between his door and the floor. It’s late anyway, and you don’t really have much energy to tell him about your day like you always do. In fact, you don’t even have the energy to shower anymore, and because you don’t like sleeping on your bed with your outside clothes, you opt to sleep on the couch tonight.

The last thing you do is shoot Donghyuck a text message: “The meal was good.”

삼각관계 (sam-gak-kwan-gae) – love triangle

Jung Sungchan invites you watch to one of his preliminary games the day after you completed the report with him. Mark teasingly tells you that you have boys wrapped around your finger not even two months living in Seoul. You deny the claims, of course, because Sungchan is nothing but a good friend and you don’t see him as anything more.

Donghyuck is the first person you think of when Sungchan gives you two spare tickets for the game, and you like to think that it’s only because you don’t want Mark teasing you and accusing you of romance all afternoon, and also because Donghyuck has a car and Mark is a shit navigator so you can’t trust him to commute with you from the university to the indoor arena where the game is being held.

SNU’s team wins, of course, and you proudly cheer for Sungchan, which earns you a side eye from Donghyuck. You shrug it off and pretend that you didn’t see.

“Can we go now?” Donghyuck asks, bored, when people start leaving the arena.

You shake your head. “Sungchan asked me to wait for him after the game.”

“You know that barbecue place I told you we’d go to?” Donghyuck reminds. “We can go there—“

Your phone rings. It’s Sungchan. Donghyuck sighs.

“Congratulations, nerd!” is the first thing you tell him. Sungchan thanks you, laughing from the other end of the call, and apologizes that he can no longer meet you because the team’s been hogging him the second they won the round.

“It’s fine,” you assure. “I’m with Donghyuck, anyway. I’ll see you at school?”

“No, no,” Sungchan answers. “There’s a small celebration party at Shotaro’s house. It’s a twenty to thirty-minute drive from your apartment. I’ll send you the location. Go there.”

Sungchan hangs up, and not even a second later, you receive a text from him, a location pinned on the message. You show the message and pout at Donghyuck, and he’s looking at you all bored, rolling his eyes, before nodding and taking your hand so you and him could leave the arena.

The drive to the place takes about an hour from the arena, and you spend it singing along to Michael Jackson’s songs.

“You have a really nice voice,” you comment. Donghyuck laughs.

“Baby,” he says. “I wouldn’t be pursuing a career in music if I had a shitty voice.”

The nickname gives you a flush, and you could only hope Donghyuck wouldn’t notice.

Almost two months into meeting Lee Donghyuck, you find yourself unable to keep your heartbeat down whenever he does things like this—calling you nicknames, randomly showing up in places where you are just to say hi, holding your hand, texting and calling you every day, spending his weekends and times off with you, and doing simple and domestic things for you—and your heart tells you it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with a whirlwind romance in Seoul. Donghyuck doesn’t ever hesitate, and the fact that you’re holding back means you really like him. But the rational part of you says it’s not really a good idea to be in a situationship with someone who will most likely forget you as soon as you go back to Canada, and you can’t afford a heartache from miles away. Besides, Donghyuck probably isn’t that serious with whatever that’s going on.

Rumors say (by rumors, you mean Chenle and Jisung) that Donghyuck is the type of guy who dates one girl after another. Because he’s bold and charming and amiable and likes to expand his choices, and he finds that there’s nothing wrong with dating as long as he doesn’t date multiple women at the same time. You haven’t really seen him out on a date since you had met him. Rumor (Chenle) says that he’s been single since fall of last year and had committed to stay single this year because of the messy breakup and also because he’s on his last year of college, he’d need to focus on stepping up his game if he wants entertainment companies to fight over him as soon as he starts looking for agencies after graduation. Another rumor (Jisung) says he’s rejected many women who have tried to sleep with him since news broke that Lee Donghyuck is newly single. The rumor says he’s as popular as Jung Sungchan when it comes to women, which, if you’re being honest, gives you some kind of pedestal to walk hand-in-hand with him in the university grounds. You realize now that you get the same look from women when you’re with Donghyuck like the stares you got whenever you and Sungchan are stuck in the library for hours of studying.

The only difference is that, well, you like that people stare at you with a hint of jealousy whenever you’re with Donghyuck.

“Why haven’t you invited me to your gigs?” you ask before you could even think about it. “Sungchan’s only been friends with me for like three weeks and he already got me tickets to his game. You, on the other hand…”

The car halts to a slow stop, Donghyuck’s phone telling you that you’ve arrived at your location. Donghyuck doesn’t switch off the engine though. He chuckles licking his lips, then poking his tongue on his cheeks, fucking with your heart and hormones in the process. He keeps his hand on the steering wheel and turns to look at you, eyes hazed in attraction like he’s pulling you in.

“Baby,” he says in a whisper almost. “I don’t like love triangles.”

“Love… triangles?” you repeat.

“Love triangles,” he says in English. “I fucking hate it. And we’re not about to go through that trope in our love story here. So, let me make it clear before we go inside and before you even think about sticking to Sungchan all night.”

You gulp.

“There’s no Sungchan in the equation,” he states like a command and you find yourself nodding, agreeing. “It’s only you and me. Tonight, there will be a lot of people and none of them will be in the equation. Tonight, you’re sticking with me and we’ll talk about this tomorrow. Have fun with me and see if you want to take this to another level, because if you ask me, I’ve been dying to fucking kiss you since the semester began.”

This territory is new, and this Donghyuck is new, too. He’s always been affectionate and he’s never held back, but this new level of honesty is astonishing. Damn attractive if you’re being honest.

“Come here,” he says, ridding himself from his seatbelt. You do the same, leaning closer to him. Donghyuck holds your cheeks with both hands, smiling down at you before leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I’m not giving you mixed signals. This is me giving you a clear, direct sign that I like you and I like what we have, but I’d love to take another step. I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t really want someone to enter the equation while I’m trying to woo you.”

You giggle. “You already successfully wooed the romance out of me the second you started holding my hand, Lee Donghyuck. And no, there won’t be love triangles.”

Donghyuck’s honesty fires up some courage in you, and you like the feeling of watching him falter when you lean in, hand on the back of his neck, and kiss him for the first time. The man melts in your kiss and in your touch, but doesn’t wait for another heartbeat to kiss you back. And despite of the bottled-up and eagerness from both sides, the first kiss is soft the first time, featherlike and sweet. His lips are even softer than they look and his lips already look plump as it is, and when Donghyuck licks your lips and invites himself in, God, he makes sure you taste the sweetness from his mouth and in a minute you’re addicted and you kiss and kiss and kiss, lips locking, tongue gliding, breaths gasping.

It’s him who pulls away, leaving you with dazed eyes wanting, wanting, wanting more.

Donghyuck gives you one last kiss on the forehead. “Let’s go.”

이렇게? (ireoke) – Like this?

You don’t end up seeing Sungchan at all in the party, and you don’t mind because Donghyuck keeps you glued to his side. The party is fun, but you and Donghyuck decide not to drink a single drop of alcohol. To him, it’s because he has to drive. To you, it’s because you want to be entirely sober to remember whatever happens tonight.

Donghyuck makes out with you in the corner of the living room where people are crumpled, and you like that he doesn’t care that people see. He holds you by the waist and on your neck, and you get it now. You get why women are lining up to sleep with Donghyuck, because if he can kiss like this, what else can he do with his mouth?

You shoot a message to Sungchan with a selfie of you and Donghyuck, thanking him for inviting you to the party and telling him you’ll see him on your next class together (Donghyucks suggests you send Sungchan a picture of you and him making out.) and prompt to leave. Donghyuck says goodbye to a few people he knew, holding you by the waist all the way from the house to where his car is parked.

Donghyuck drives you to his apartment and tells you he’s told Mark you’d be sleeping at his place tonight. The drive itself was intense enough and Donghyuck’s doing an amazing job keeping his cool while you’re practically sweating from the passenger’s seat.

You don’t even get a good look at his apartment when you arrive, because Donghyuck’s already kissing you as he rids himself of his jacket. Donghyuck doesn’t kiss you softly this time; he kisses you like he’s leaving a mark on your mouth, almost like he wants to bruise his presence inside you. He helps you get slip out of your jacket, pulling away quickly to kick his shoes off, before carrying you bridal style and bringing you to his room, kicking the door behind.

Despite the roughness of his kisses, he puts you to bed gently, ridding himself of his shirt and kneeling on the floor so he could help you out of your socks. He leans up once he’s done, one hand on your jaw to pull you down for another kiss, the other caressing your thigh.

“Please tell me this is okay,” he whispers. You nod. “I need your words, baby.”

“Yes, Donghyuck,” you answer, breathless when he starts kissing your neck. “This is okay. Please touch me.”

Donghyuck pushes you a little so half of your body is lying on his bed, your feet flat on his carpeted floor, tugging the loops of your jeans, urging you to lift your hips so he can rid you out of the material. He pulls you back up to take your shirt off from your torso, then he’s helping you back up from the edge of the bed towards the headboard as he crawls on top of you.

“Donghyuck,” you gasp when he goes back to kissing you. You realize that Donghyuck like kissing with the way he’s using his mouth to imprint his presence in you, his tongue licking everywhere it can reach inside your mouth, and he tastes like mint and the soda he had at the party, and he’s everything that you want. “Touch me, please.”

“Like this?” Donghyuck reaches down to rub your clit through the material of your underwear. He rubs slow, teasingly, and kisses you on the mouth when you groan. He dips his head lower and kisses your neck; he bites and nips and sucks and you’re sure it’s leaving a mark you’d have to conceal the next day. “Want me to touch you like this, baby?”

A moan elicits from your throat, and Donghyuck doesn’t waste any more time. He slips his warm hand between your skin and your underwear, really touching you, rubbing your clit gently, his digits dragging itself on your slit slowly, gathering your wetness then going back to rub your clit again, more roughly with the pool of wetness his fingers have now.

“Like this?” he asks again, pushing a finger inside when he finds your hole, urging another moan from your lips.

“Oh my God, Donghyuck,” you gasp when he fingers you gently, your wetness making a sound when he adds another finger. Donghyuck takes his time, biting his lips as he watches you writhe underneath his touch.

“Pull your bra down,” he breathes out, and you do. When your breasts are out on the open, Donghyuck doesn’t waste time and locks lips with your nipple, sucking and licking as he fingers the sanity out of you. He alternates from fingering you with two digits and rubbing you using his thumb, and you’re all putty and messy under him, and you want more, more, more, more.

“Baby, please fuck me,” you beg. “Please, Donghyuck. Please fuck me”

Donghyuck hushes you. “I will, baby. I’ll fuck you so well, you’ll come running back to me tomorrow and the day after, and the day after.”

But he doesn’t. He pulls his fingers out, hold you by your jaw so you could lock eyes while he licks the proof of your attraction to him from his fingers, sucking and showing you just how well he could use his tongue. He doesn’t fuck you get but he rids you of the last garments from your body and does the fucking impossible.

Donghyuck eats you out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. He swirls his tongue on your clit as he pushes his digits back in your hole, fingering you like it’s all he’s ever wanted, and he’s got you chanting his name like a prayer when his tongue laps your sex, even more when he replaces his fingers with his tongue. You’re writhing and screaming and Donghyuck’s holding your legs apart while he pleasures you with his mouth and hands.

You don’t want to cum yet, but Donghyuck’s so, so good, and it looks like he’s not stopping anytime soon. He tongues you back to your clit and fingers you with three digits, fast and rough.

“Donghyuck, I’m going to—” You see white and stars and you stay still when Donghyuck continues fingering you, moving all three fingers in an upward motion, reaching where you want him the most, mouth sucking your clit as you ride the first orgasm you’ve had in months.

Donghyuck lets you have your moment when it’s done, taking the time to lick the slick wetness from his fingers down to his wrist, kneeling between your legs. You push yourself up so that you’re sitting with your legs wide open, your palms flat on his sheets, head tilted for a kiss. Donghyuck leans over and kisses you again, and you never thought you’d like tasting yourself in his tongue. You guess everything tastes sweeter when it’s in Donghyuck’s mouth.

“Off, please,” you murmur, pulling the loops from his jeans. Donghyuck obeys, removing all pieces of clothing until he’s naked.

You marvel at his beauty, licking your lips when you finally see him bare and clean. His golden skin looks like honey and you want to kiss the fuck out of his collarbones and leave your mark for everyone to see. Your eyes travel from his chest down to the trail from his tummy down to his erect cock. He’s hard and red and you salivate from how big he looks and feel yourself getting even more wet at the thought of him fucking you. Before you know it, you’re reaching out, moving so you could kneel, and taking his hardness in your hand. Donghyuck moans for the first time tonight, and you plan to elicit that sound from him all night.

Stroking him slowly, you feel a rush of satisfaction when Donghyuck pants your name. “Oh my God,” he moans when you bend over, a palm flat on his sheets, your other hand stroking him as you take him to your mouth. He gathers your hair and watches you from above, and you purposely stick your ass up higher when you feel him twitch as you take more of his cock into your mouth. When you’re about halfway, you stroke the rest of what you can’t take and start sucking and licking, and Donghyuck makes the absolute best sound ever. You like his voice when he sings, but you don’t think anything could compare with how he’s whining your name as you suck his dick thoroughly, licking and jerking off whatever your mouth couldn’t fit. A part of you wants to ask Donghyuck to fuck your mouth, bruise your throat with his dick and cum straight down your fucking stomach if he wants to, but that could be arranged next time. This time, with his dick hard and wet from your mouth, you want him to fuck you.

You suck him one last time before you pull away, a string of your saliva following when you look up at Donghyuck. “Now, will you fuck me?”

Donghyuck looks fucked out, eyes dazed with lust, and you want nothing more than for him to ruin you. And Donghyuck doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He crawls back up until you’re lying on your back, legs wide open for him, and kneels between your legs. “Ready and sure?” he asks for the last time, stroking himself.

“Pull out when you cum,” is all you say and Donghyuck goes for it. He gives you a kiss and rests one of his forearms beside your arm, massaging the head of his cock on your opening until he’s stretching you out.

“Fuck,” Donghyuck groans when he feels your tightness. “God damn, Y/N, when was the last time you got fucked?”

“I—I can’t remember,” you say. “None of them were worth remembering.”

“And me?” Donghyuck asks as he pushes deeper until he’s fully stretched you and his pelvis is leaning against your clit. “Will you remember me?”

“Ask me next time,” you breathe out. “I think you’ll have to fuck me every day so I can remember.”

Donghyuck gives you some time, kissing you softly. “When was the last time you fucked anyone?” you ask in return.

“I can’t remember,” he parrots. “None of them were worth remembering. All I know is that this is the first time I’m feeling someone raw.” Then he bottoms out, gives you only half a second before he’s thrusting back and out and back and out and back and out, slowly but surely fucking you well.

Donghyuck fucks you like he means it. His hips snap roughly but makes sure you feel all of him before he thrusts out and he’s everywhere. His tongue is in your mouth, then on your neck, his free hand is caressing one of your breasts, playing with your nipples, and he’s making you feel so, so good and you’re not sure how you go back from here. You’re not sure how you could go on with life knowing how well Donghyuck can fuck you. He’s got you squirming and reaching your second orgasm only minutes into fucking the life out of you.

When you’re close, Donghyuck pushes himself up so that he’s kneeling again, and lifts both your legs, resting your calves on either side of his shoulders, hugging your legs so he can fuck you deeper in this angle. The precision makes you chant his name over and over again and he takes one of his hands down to rub your clit. You try your best to hold back from cumming because the way he’s fucking you now feels so damn good that you want it to last for a long time. He thrusts in and out quickly, his balls hitting the bottom of your ass again and again.

“Come for me, baby,” he says. “Let go.”

So, you do, and Donghyuck keeps on fucking you through it. Donghyuck lets you finish, before he’s pushing the back of your knees down so your thighs are pressed up against your stomach, chasing his own orgasm, and fucks you hard, without rhythm, until he is moaning your name like praise and he’s pulling out so he could release on your stomach. You reach up to caress his cheek as you watch him in awe as he finishes, his face contorted in pleasure, lips wet and eyes closed.

When it’s done, Donghyuck kisses you on the forehead and helps you clean up. He leaves to go to the bathroom for a minute to grab a warm, wet towel, cleaning your stomach, and carries you back to the bathroom with him. The shower is warm, and Donghyuck is gentle and sweet when he cleans you up, giving you kisses when he pats you dry once he’s gotten rid of the shampoo and body wash from your hair and skin. Donghyuck tells you there’s a spare toothbrush on behind the mirror and washes himself as you brush your teeth, naked but warm.

Donghyuck tells you to that the right side of his closet is where you can find the clothes he uses at home and you follow as he finishes cleaning himself up. You take the liberty to take one of his shirts that are still too big for you despite Donghyuck’s frame and slip a pair of cotton shorts.

Donghyuck finds you half-asleep when he’s done showering; he sleeps shirtless, you reckon, because he crawls to bed only in sweatpants. He cuddles you from behind, kissing the clothed shoulder, and the last thing you hear before you drift off to sleep is him humming a song your mind can’t recognize and a promise that you’ll talk about this the next day.

You wake up to the smell of Spam, an empty space beside yours, and the sound of Donghyuck singing a song from BOL4, which you learned is one of his favorite musicians.

Donghyuck smiles warmly at you when you find him in the kitchen, just about to finish pan-frying the last piece of sliced luncheon meat. He’s still shirtless, but is wearing a cute pink apron, and he gives you a quick kiss on the lips like it’s the most natural thing ever. The second his lips pull away from yours, you reach up and touch where he kissed, lips tingling—in disbelief that what happened last night is real.

“Good morning,” he hums. “Just in time for breakfast.”

“Donghyuck,” you trail off. “Can we talk first?”

Donghyuck nods, offering that you sit on the high stool across the small kitchen island. He sits next to you, turning the seat so that you’re face to face, knees touching. “What do we want to do?” he asks.

“You know I’m leaving in like, four months, right?” you start.

Donghyuck whistles. “We just started and you’re already breaking up with me?”

“No, no,” you say, exhaling. “This… this. I like. You. I like.”

“Baby, construct your sentences properly,” he laughs.

“I like you,” you confess. “And I like this. I like holding your hands. And kissing you. And what we did last night. I’m just worried because—”

“Because you’re leaving,” he finishes for you. “I know, but I also like you a lot. More than you probably think. And I don’t want to miss my chance getting to know you more just because you’re leaving in a few months. I don’t know what you want, but here’s what I want, you let me know if it works for you, if not, then I’ll still be a friend. Who might cry for two weeks straight if you reject me.”

You laugh but urge him to continue.

“I want to date you, and get to know you even more. Your quirks, the things that make you angry, your comfort food, the movies that give you the ick,” he continues. “Your family, how you were raised, if you like Marvel or DC more, what Hogwarts house you belong to, if you like pineapple in pizza or not, whether you pour milk or cereal first, if you ever kissed Mark Lee, if Mark Lee’s ever had a crush on you.”

“What does Mark have—��

“Shh,” he stops. “It’s my turn. Talk later. Anyway, I want this—” he gestures the space between you and him. “And I want you. I want to keep teaching you the language and I know what’s ahead of us is scary, and there’s only two things that could happen: this is going to be either the biggest heartbreak of my life or you’re going to be the greatest love of my life. It’s a fifty-fifty chance, Y/N. Let’s just say I’m willing to risk whatever if it means I have 50% the chances of having you as the greatest love of my life.”

Oh. You don’t realize you’re staring quietly until Donghyuck holds your hand.

“Now tell me,” he asks slowly. “What do you want?”

You don’t hesitate. “I want you, Lee Donghyuck.”

일어날 수 있는 최악의 상황은 무엇입니까? il-eonal su issneun choeag-ui sanghwang-eun mueos-ibnikka? What’s the worst that could happen?

It doesn’t come out as a surprise to anyone when you and Donghyuck arrive at Arcade holding hands, a shy smile playing on your lips, a proud one in Donghyuck’s. You were thankful that there were no teasing remarks coming from your friends—that they were taking this so well, like it’s normal. Like it’s meant to happen anyway. There’s a knowing smirk on Mark’s stupid face, but you love him and you can’t wait to tell him all about how you feel towards Donghyuck. “Okay, so my birthday falls on a weekend,” Jeno announces. “And I think it’s the best time to go to the amusement park. Will you have work then, Renjun-ah?”

“Most likely,” Renjun answers, mouth full of food as he chews on a bite of pizza. “But I can have Yerim cover for me. I’ll just return the favor if she needs me one day.”

“Sweet!” Jeno exclaims. “So, it’s decided then. We’ll go to the amusement park on my birthday.”

As you and Donghyuck play footsie under the table, Mark stands, turning to you. “I’m going to get another milkshake. Come with me?”

You nod, kicking Donghyuck one last time and standing to follow your best friend. Somehow, you feel bad for not saying anything about your growing feelings for Donghyuck, considering that Mark is your best friend in the entire universe and you’re his. If it were him, he would’ve told you the second he caught feelings to anyone. But Mark knows you’re not the kind to admit feelings like this as soon as it starts inflating in your chest; he knows you’re the type to hold it in until you can’t anymore. Having had terrible relationships in the past, Mark has always known that you’re the kind to be careful.

“I didn’t think you’d actually go for it,” Mark says as soon as you and him are out of earshot. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for you. I just didn’t expect this to happen so quickly.”

“Me neither,” you mumble under your breath. “Sorry for not saying anything.”

Mark chuckles. “You didn’t have to. I mean, we all kinda always known this would happen. I just couldn’t imagine how you and Donghyuck sealed it so quickly, like considering how shy and quiet you always were whenever he was around.”

“I was shy and quiet with everyone around,” you remark. “Donghyuck taught me all these slangs and now I can’t stop talking.”

The woman in the counter asks you what she can help you with when you reach her. Mark tells his order alongside some sides Renjun had asked him to get. He leans on the counter, turning back to you. “Anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re serious serious.” Mark clears his throat. “Like, I’ve known you for so long and you’ve always been hesitant to do shit. I’ve always been the spontaneous and reckless one between us, and you’re the careful one. The one who thinks everything through before deciding on it—this trip to Seoul included on the long list.”

“Your point is?” you ask, even though you know exactly where this is going.

Mark licks his lips before continuing: “What I’m saying is, you’ve never been this certain so quickly.”

That’s right. Not to be cliché or whatever, but this is normally how it goes for you. Relationships used to be difficult for you—from the pining to the confession to its climax to its end, until the bargaining and acceptance—and you’d never been the type to go through things so quickly and easily. With Donghyuck, you’d somehow done it backwards (and Mark doesn’t need to know that you slept with Donghyuck before you even sealed the damn relationship) but for some reason, you had forgotten how you’re supposed to act around people you like romantically. It scares the shit out of you, the connection between you and Donghyuck, but you’ve always been a firm believer that if it doesn’t scare you, it probably isn’t something worth doing. It feels like jumping from a cliff, to the bottom of the unknown, and it’s new, but it makes your heart pound like never before.

“I don’t want to get ahead and say something that’d make you change your mind somehow, because I also like you and Donghyuck together,” he explains when you only stare at him. “But, as your best friend, with the best intentions only, please don’t go breaking your heart before we leave, yeah?”

You nod, understanding and appreciating Mark’s sentiment. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Mark shrugs. “We won’t really know. Take care, yeah?”

You smile stepping closer to hug Mark. “I love you, you know that, right?” he asks. You nod, your face buried on his chest. “Good. I’ll beat Donghyuck’s ass if he hurts you in anyway.”

“I sure hope you do,” you reply, just in time for the staff to call Mark’s attention, the tray of his order ready for him.

Donghyuck is pouting when you return, asking why you and Mark took too long because the seat beside him is all cold now. You kiss him on the cheek and tell him Mark just told you he’s beating his ass if you’re hurt in anyway.

“Mark can’t hurt a fly,” Donghyuck remarks. “What makes you think he can hurt me, huh?”

Mark scoffs. “You’ll be the first.”

계절과 계절 사이 (gyejeolgwa gyejeol sai) – between seasons

When the seasons start to change—from the rainy, cold spring transition to a warm, sunny summer—you and Donghyuck change, too.

From the euphoric blooming of your relationship—the playful dates, the passionate moments in his bedroom (because ever since Mark adopted that cat, Donghyuck could never stay at your place for longer than an hour), the heart-warming feeling of seeing him waiting for your after your class—to the warm, comfortable attachment stage, you feel like you know Donghyuck in a deeper sense now.

The small notebook he’d given you at the beginning of the term is halfway full, its pages messily scribbled with phrase and sentences you had learned—likewise the memories those words carry—and soon enough you find yourself more comfortable with the language, and eventually with Seoul. You find yourself enjoying, and not in a way that makes you think you’d want to visit again soon.

The journey with Seoul was initially a play to learn the language and its beautiful culture: a detour. A diversion from your plans. A stop while you figure out what you want in life. Your last year in university is supposed to be the year you finally decide what to do next. Visiting Seoul was an opportunity for you to really get to know yourself beyond your comfort zone, to really challenge your capabilities, to learn beyond what your hometown had in store for you.

But these days do not feel like Seoul is a place to visit.

In a way, liberating albeit frightening, you find yourself thinking that perhaps Seoul is a place to build a home in. The home is built from arms that hold you on days when it’s extra cold, your nose red and hands frozen, and its shelter is made from Donghyuck’s warm smile and the assurance of him being there for you. And right now, while you sit closely together at the back of your friend’s car, their obnoxiously loud voices singing to some pop song along the radio, you feel it: home.

Jeno likes the phone case you had customized for him, and he gives you a big, bear hug as soon as he take a peek of what’s inside your present.

“I love you. I literally love you with all my being,” he dramatically says as he squishes you.

“That’s my girlfriend, you idiot,” Donghyuck complains, pulling Jeno’s arms away from you. With the way you three are seated at the back of Renjun’s car, you sitting in between them, it’s uncomfortable and Donghyuck insists on taking part of the little moment you’re having with Jeno.

Jeno whines, “Let me love her. This is the best gift ever!”

Donghyuck ends up puffing air out of his mouth, pouting and leaning back so Jeno could hug you. You’re laughing and Jeno whispers how easily they could make him sulk these days because you’re around.

Mark, who’s sitting on the passenger seat beside Renjun, announces you’ve arrived at the amusement park, just as Jaemin’s car halts to a slow stop behind you.

It’s the first time you’ve ever visited the famous amusement park in Seoul, and Mark looks excited with the way he’s jumping as you line up for the tickets. Donghyuck has his arm around you, taking pictures with his other hand. The rest are chattering, talking about the rides they’d love to try.

The secretly group decides to stick together for the entire day to celebrate Jeno’s day, despite the birthday boy himself telling everyone they can go wherever they want to. You could see how much they really care about one another and they all just hide it in their mean, vile jokes. For example, the man who has his arm wrapped around you likes teasing Jeno like it’s his full-time job, but is hiding a birthday present inside the trunk of Renjun’s car (and would most likely give it before you all head home, act like his best friend’s birthday isn’t that much of a big deal).

Most of the day is spent following Jeno around, whatever ride he wanted to try and your ears ringing because of how loud Donghyuck is screaming. The temperature has gone from freezing cold to warm, the humidity making it a little harder for everybody to move around under the warmth of the sun.

“I never realized how much of a scaredy cat you are, Donghyuckie,” you tease as soon as you walk out of the roller coaster ride. “Not much of a tough guy now, huh?”

Donghyuck whines, “I liked you better when the words you spoke were only yes and no.”

Mark laughs, slapping Donghyuck on the back. “Oh man, that was really good.”

“Yeah?” You rebut. “And I liked you better when you weren’t screaming like a kid.”

Donghyuck smirks, “And I like you better when you’re screaming my name.”

Renjun and Jisung cough in disgust, and Mark just straight up slapped the back of Donghyuck’s head. “You two are disgusting. I can’t believe I live with you, Y/N.”

Donghyuck laughs, turning to you. “It’s pretty hot. Want me to go grab you a can of soda? Ice cold water?”

“Water, please,” you say. Donghyuck nods and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling Chenle with him and walking to the opposite side where a small shop is. In the meantime, the rest of you occupy the benches under a shade, Jeno asking which ride to go next.

Donghyuck and Chenle return in a matter of time, bottles of drinks in their hands. They give everyone their preferred drinks, Donghyuck sitting beside Mark and extending an arm so he could hand you your drink from his side.

“Fucking summer,” Donghyuck curses. “I hate summer.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Suddenly?”

“It’s not even summer yet,” Jaemin points out. “What happened to you? You’ve always been so excited about summer.”

“It’s so hot. I can’t stand this fucking temperature,” Donghyuck mumbles.

Renjun scoffs. “You start planning our summer getaway as early as March.”

“It’s already April and you have nothing yet,” Jisung points out.

“Yeah, what the hell, man. I hate your ridiculous ideas, but we can’t survive summer without you,” Jeno adds, then looks at Mark. “Yo, Mark, what about you? What are you doing this summer?”

You and Mark freeze, looking at each other for a second, before the latter speaks for you both: “We’re, uh, we’re supposed to go home.”

It seems like Jeno didn’t know the weight of his question because he apologizes as soon as he realizes it. The group falls into silence, no one says anything, or perhaps nobody could think of anything to say, not even you or Mark.

With your days in Seoul numbered, you realize now that you haven’t really talked about it—not you and Mark, not you and Donghyuck—and it never really felt real. You had always told yourself you’ll cross the bridge when you get there, and the bridge is nearby.

Donghyuck clears his throat. “The sun’s going to kill me. I think I saw a burger joint that has an air-conditioning system down the corner of that street. Shall we go there?”

Everybody agrees and stand to leave. Donghyuck holds your hand, pulling you close and steals a kiss on your cheek. The gesture makes your heart flutter. Donghyuck is warm, but not in the way the sun is hot right now—in a way that gets you thinking: can this warmth reach Vancouver?

Your skin hurts when the sunlight hits you. You hate summer.

오해 하지마 (ohae hajima) – Don’t misunderstand

Donghyuck had a face that looked like what an artist would draw in a whim—spontaneously—like it was done in a rush, like a portrait from a park done by a street artist, something done with a pencil. Ink stains are harder to wash off, and anyway, figments aren’t mean to last—and he’s almost unrecognizable in this light.

You can’t recognize him on the night of his birthday.

His Mother had gone above and beyond and invited all of their closest relatives and family friends for his 23rd birthday, and it’s also your first time meeting them.

It’s nerve-wracking to say the least, but his Mother smiles at you kindly when she greets you from the entrance of the restaurant they rented for the evening. You could tell his family was wealthy, and it makes sense because Donghyuck got the most bare minimum job he could find, and it’s most likely because he doesn’t need to get one; he probably only got one so he could talk about work, too, just like the rest of his friends.

The birthday party is a surprise and it was Renjun who connected with everyone to make sure they attend here tonight. You had to make up some excuse to Donghyuck when he asked why you can’t join him for dinner with his family tonight and had promised to make it up to him the day after.

You’re sat in the same table as Mark, Renjun, Jeno, and Jaemin, a bit far away from Donghyuck’s family’s table, as you wait for the birthday boy, your present sitting on top of the round table. Mark talks about his cat, letting Jaemin watch snippets of his pet from his phone, and Renjun is narrating a story about his “ridiculous and absurd encounter with Liu Yangyang (and you and Jeno can’t pass up the opportunity to tease him about it).

Then, someone comes sit beside Jaemin, the boys gasping when they see her.

Karina is beautiful, and even saying that isn’t enough to describe the woman’s beauty. Soft-spoken and brilliant, Karina naturally allows everyone to gravitate towards her. All, including yourself, are pulled like magnet when she arrived. Jeno introduces you and you allow yourself to throw a quick and inaudible “hello” when she reaches over and asks you how you are.

Donghyuck’s Mother almost screams when she sees Karina, excitement filling up the air as she hugs her and thanks her for attending.

“I wouldn’t miss Hyuckie’s birthday for the world, eommoni,” Karina answers, and before you could ask Renjun how she’s related to Donghyuck, Jisung, who’s seated in another table with Donghyuck’s younger siblings, announces that the birthday man himself has arrived.

Donghyuck enters the hall, surprised and happy when he sees everyone, a dramatic cry leaving his lips as everyone greets him happy birthday. He feigns complaint, whining that he’s no longer eight years old, but hugs his parents anyway.

His parents thank everyone for joining a precious day and celebrating their eldest son’s birthday with them. Donghyuck bows and starts to go around to thank people.

You don’t recognize Donghyuck when he finally reaches your table and he gives you small smile, hugging you quickly before moving on to the next person. You don’t recognize Donghyuck when he goes to Karina, lifting her as he hugs her tightly, and thanking her for being able to come. You don’t recognize Donghyuck when his Mother joins the little reunion and he laughs when his Mother jokes about them missing each other too much.

“She’s the one who left me all alone here in Seoul,” Donghyuck pouts. “We wouldn’t have missed each other this much if you had stayed!”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Hyuckie,” Karina says, rolling her eyes. “You visited me in Tokyo literally six months ago.”

Six months ago, which means, it was right before you arrived in Seoul.

You want to be anywhere else but here, and you don’t want to listen any further, but the scenario runs like a comedy show and the punch line is you.

“You two better decide whatever the hell you want to do with your lives by the end of the year,” Donghyuck’s Mother comments. “I mean, no one’s stopping you from moving to Tokyo, Donghyuck. You and Karina can rekindle whatever light was burnt last year. I’m glad you stayed best of friends despite the long distance. You’ve always made a great couple.”

Your breath hitches like your lungs had just been punch. Donghyuck, it seems, finally remembers you’re watching this unfold. Mark holds you, and bless him because your legs feel like they’re about to give up. You and Donghyuck make eye contact, but you don’t recognize him at all.

“Eomma,” Donghyuck clears his throat. Everything else he’s said come out like a blur, and Mark is just holding you close.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Renjun whispers closely. “They’re just friends.”

You don’t recognize Donghyuck when he watches you leave.

천천히 말씀해 주세요 (chun-chun-hee mal-sseum-heh ju-seh-yo) - Please speak slowly | 집 (jib) - home

Karina turns out to be the one that got away. The one true love. The greatest love. The childhood best friend who’s always been there. The leading woman. She turns out to be the protagonist in Donghyuck’s story.

You learn all of these from Renjun. Even when he refused to say a single word and had begged for you to talk to Donghyuck instead, you learn the truth by asking Mark to ask Renjun.

Donghyuck and Karina. Karina and Donghyuck. Two peas in a pod. A tight knit. Knowing each other like the back of their hands. A buy one, get one kind of deal. Where one is, the other would follow. And everyone and their moms know that it has always been like that, will always be like that.

Donghyuck and Karina, born on the same year, grew up in the same small village in Jeju island. Having been inseparable since, they ended up moving to Seoul together in high school. Donghyuck’s parents were supportive of Donghyuck pursuing a career in music, and they believed that moving to Seoul was the first step for their beloved son to find his spotlight. Karina’s parents, however, couldn’t afford moving alongside the Lee family despite wanting to support their daughter, too. Donghyuck begged his parents to have Karina move in with them so her parents would only worry about paying her tuition and allowances. The Lee family agreed, of course, because Donghyuck and Karina were fifteen, and they were the best team the world has ever known.

Karina is a talented dancer, and with a face like hers, it would be a shame to keep her in a small town in Jeju island. Her moving to Seoul had been the first step to her early success, because as soon as she reached puberty and had gained a butt and a pair of breasts, agencies were scouting her, creepily waiting for her outside of hers and Donghyuck’s high school. She’d declined, of course, with a promise to Donghyuck that they’d go to stardom together, but Donghyuck wanted to study and make music, and he felt as though he needed to go to college for that.

Karina eventually moved to another dormitory when she started training. Donghyuck moved downtown to start college. They were in different places, but they were still inseparable.

Pretty much every day Donghyuck would meet up with Karina when she started training; if not, then he’d be on Facetime with her during the hours when she’s not working. He had brought her to SNU many times, and they had started dating by the time Donghyuck is in his second year. All the other guys know Karina and her place in Donghyuck’s life. Somehow, a bitter part of you feels betrayed that none of them ever mentioned about Donghyuck’s great love, but you can’t really blame them for not saying anything.

They broke up on the latter months of last year because Karina had to move to Tokyo. There was no big fight apparently, just the decision that it’s most likely not going to work because—listen to this; this is the biggest punch line of this comedy show—Donghyuck can’t handle long distance.

You had answered one of Donghyuck’s calls by mistake. He’s mad for some reason, perhaps angry of the fact that you’re ignoring him and he doesn’t have much control like he normally does.

“Y/N, for fuck’s sake, why haven’t you answered?” he had cried out as soon as you answered.

“I was busy,” was all you could come up with. You brain had not been working good enough to translate things to Korean.

“What do you mean you were busy?” he had asked, voice loud and angry. “You literally disappeared on me! On my fucking birthday! And I’m done playing nice and cool because this is unfair. Whatever the fuck you’re doing is unfair you’re not letting me in. If you could just let me explain, things—”

“Please speak slowly.”

“—would be easier for the two of us. Whatever Karina and I had, it’s been over since last year. It’s over way before I met you. I never thought of her, not even for a goddamn second since we got together. I wouldn’t fucking betray you like that—”

“I can’t understand you.”

“—and I can’t believe you don’t trust me enough to let me at least tell you what happened! I never mentioned her because I never even thought about her! My Mother doesn’t know anything! I’ve wanted you to meet my Mother for a long time, but given our situation, a fucking time bomb ticking, I didn’t know if it was too early to go to that stage.”

“Time bomb?” you had asked, repeating the syllables slowly. “What’s that?”

Donghyuck sighed on the other line. “The thing that explodes at a predetermined time.”

“Oh, a time bomb,” you asked in English, chuckling. “That, we are.”

“Huh?”

“We’re a fucking time bomb,” you said, again in English, because if Donghyuck could keep talking in his mother tongue without considering if you’d understand a single word, so could you. “We’re ticking and we’re just waiting for this shit to explode. And I can’t wait and watch myself burn, Donghyuck. I can’t.”

“Please speak slowly,” he pleaded in Korean. You don’t.

“This isn’t going to work,” you responded, still in your mother tongue. “Maybe this is a clear sign for us, Donghyuck. Goodbye.”

Mark finds you crying on floor of your living, your back leaning on the feet of the couch, two weeks after Donghyuck’s birthday.

The first week, you had convinced your friends you were fine and that you just needed time. Donghyuck’s been reaching out to everybody, and Mark, being the best friend he is, lies regarding your whereabouts every time Donghyuck visits.

You don’t know how many calls Donghyuck had tried to make and how many text messages he’d left because you had completely abandoned your phone for the last couple of weeks and only relied on your computer to check any e-mails from your professors.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, and you feel a rush of relief when he talks to you in English. You’ve had enough of Korean and Korean men these days. “It sucks, man. I don’t even know what to say. I’m so fucking disappointed with Donghyuck.”

“Shouldn’t you be more disappointed with me?” you sniffle. “I should have listened to you. We were moving too fast.”

Mark shakes his head, pulling you closer so that your head is resting on his shoulder. “I couldn’t blame you. Donghyuck’s charming, and I genuinely thought he was in love with you. I mean, I could say is, because I really think he’s sorry about everything.”

“We didn’t even get to properly break up,” you cry. “Our flight back home is in like, two weeks. I was supposed to talk to him and decide what we’d do with our relationship. For his birthday, I made a stupid mixtape that he could keep in his car and a very expensive and fucking cheesy set of touch lamps I found online for whenever he would miss me. And I keep making stupid letters like a fucking idiot so I could leave him with a bunch of poorly constructed letters just so he knows how much I’ll fucking miss him.”

Mark stays silent as you sob your heart out.

“And can you believe I actually thought it’d work?” you say, exasperated. “I’m so fucking sorry to myself. I’m just glad it’s over before I did shit I’d regret later on.””

“Shit like?” Mark asks.

You sigh, sniffling and screaming internally because the tears would stop. “I was already looking into internships here. For my last semester in college. I had already decided to decline the internship they were offering back home—thank God I haven’t sent that e-mail from my drafts—and I’ve found really good companies here. And if I’m lucky, I was thinking of moving here after college.”

Mark clicks his tongue. “All because of Donghyuck?”

“Because he feels like home, Mark,” you reason out. “He’s warm, and I can’t believe I’m admitting this now, but I love him. I love him so fucking much.”

“Oh, Y/N.”

“And we would have been happy. I would’ve done everything I could,” you confess. “And this fucking language barrier will be the death of me, but I would’ve learned more. I’d be an expert by the end of the year. And now, this whole Karina thing made me realize how much more I need to know about him.”

Mark holds you closer as though holding you would make things better. “When we were kids,” he starts. “Whenever I told you stories about how much I miss all the people I had to leave behind whenever we had to move from one country to another, one state to another, you’d always tell me to never build houses out of people.”

You remember. You always admired how Mark could move from one place to another, his suitcase and the ghost of the friendships he made following his trail, and he’s always told you about the loneliness it comes with.

“You used to tell me shelters aren’t supposed to be made of arms wrapped around you on a cold night, or hands that hold you when you’re feeling lonely,” he continues. “And I can’t blame you, because humans are known not to follow their own advice. But I hope you find home in things you’d never lose.”

You nod. “I’m sorry for breaking rule number three.”

“You’ll get over him,” he assures. “If you decide to really end things here, I mean. I’m sure you can get over him. It’s easier to get over people when you don’t see him.”

You nod, “Let’s go home, Mark.”

“Back home?”

You smile. “Yes. Back home.”

갈망 (galmang) - longing

It’s Giselle who picks you up from the airport.

You reunite like old friends, but Giselle really didn’t change that much. Even the weather didn’t change much. The same old. You wish you could say the same to yourself.

The flight to Vancouver was the most painful ten hours of your life, both literally and figuratively. It was hard watching your friends bid you goodbye, and you could tell they were dreading your departure as much as you and Mark were. Mark assures them you and him would save up to visit them again this year and as much as you’d wanted to stay, your student visa would allow you only six months. Mark promises he’d work on a tourist visa or whatever because despite being 100% ethnically Korean, but legally, he can’t just visit whenever he wants.

The pain from your breakup with Donghyuck is nothing compared to seeing Mark leave his friends again. You know how much they mean to him, and by extension, how much they mean to you regardless of what happened before your departure.

The head of student exchange program sends you warm greetings through text, followed by a series of messages from your friends and family. You’re glad Giselle had decided to pick you up from the airport, because you don’t think you’re in a good state to pretend like you’re okay, and Giselle knows.

Of course, she knows.

Giselle’s been your anchor during your last weeks in Seoul. Mark reckons that if anyone would understand you best during this time, it would be Giselle. After all, she’d gone through the same thing.

Like Mark, Giselle moved to Seoul with her parents for a few years. She had a similar experience with Mark, considering that her parents are constantly moving around—from Japan to South Korea then to Vancouver. Giselle was only in Seoul for two years before her parents moved back to Vancouver again, and in between those years she had met Kevin Moon, the love of her life.

They have been dating for almost four years now, two of those years, they dated long distance.

“How’d you make it work?” you had asked Giselle over Facetime once.

“It wasn’t perfect,” she admitted. “We broke up a couple of time because it was really difficult. And neither of us were willing to move for each other. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Kevin and I, we love each other. Truly we do. But I wouldn’t want to plant my entire life in Seoul for him. In the same manner, I don’t want him to move from Seoul to Vancouver for me when we both know for a fact that he’d be more successful in Korea than here. I guess, I don’t know, I don’t have an advice I could give you.”

“I’m not asking for advice,” you denied. “I mean. Donghyuck and I have only been dating for like, two weeks. I wouldn’t think that far at this time.”

Giselle had laughed at the other end of the line. “Let me tell you one thing, though.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s all a matter of choice,” she had said slowly, like she wanted to imprint the words to your brain. “Your heart isn’t made of diamonds. Your lungs aren’t made of steel. Somehow, inevitably, you’d grow tired—tired of timezones and how you never get the timing right, tired of not having someone to hug when you need it, tired of having to compromise—and it’s not an easy game.”

Giselle was smiling when she’d said the rest: “But Kevin is so worth it. I’ll grow tired of the baggage long distance comes with, but I don’t think I could live without him, you know? And it’s exaggerated, I know, and neither of us know what the future holds, but we’re choosing us. We chose to stay.”

It would have been beautiful, you think, if things worked out between you and Donghyuck. You would have written poems and prose in places about how you chose to stay. You would have learned about time zones and the best time to call, could have learned how to purchase the cheapest flight tickets to see each other, would have learned love and compromise together.

But you’re here, back in Vancouver, the voices of Mark and Giselle all blurred out from the backseat, and all you could think of is how much you miss Donghyuck.

예기치 않은 (yegichi anh-eun) - unexpected

The head of the student exchange program asks you to write an article about your experience in Seoul and gives you until the fall semester begins, just in time for the university’s own publishing house to produce this year’s school paper. You’re stuck at two hundred words and a stupid title Mark came up with: “Learning Languages”—and you’re thinking about withdrawing from that spot in the newspaper but Mark keeps calling you a heartbroken loser and you’re not about to let Mark Lee get the last word.

You’re eating cereal and watching an episode of Suits to prepare to write again (yes, a 30-minute preparation time is needed for such task) when someone knocks at your door.

You know how, in movies, the main character would see things in slow motion as soon as the love of their life enters the scene? That’s exactly what happens when you open the door and find Lee Donghyuck standing outside your dorm room, a too-large for his body backpack on one shoulder and his heart upon his sleeve.

미안해 (mianhae) – I’m sorry | 사랑해 (saranghae) – I love you

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that Lee Donghyuck comes up with, and truthfully are the words you needed to hear from him. He says it in his mother tongue and you feel his heart in his voice.

“Mark?” you ask, knowing full well it’s Mark who helped him.

“Yes but no,” he answers. “He said he’d only give me your address but he’s not picking me up or helping me. My flight landed literally six hours ago and I’ve been looking for you since.”

Donghyuck sits across you on the small table you own inside your small room. His backpack is sitting on his feet and his shoulders are slumped. Donghyuck allows himself to look small compared to all the times you were with him.

“Y-you look good,” he comments, eyes glued on you. “I’m glad you’re healthy, at least.”

“You, too,” you mumble. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Water would be fine, please and thank you.” You reach over to hand him a bottle. “And who are you kidding? I look awful.”

He does. He looks exactly what he said he had done to get here. Look for you for six hours after a ten-hour flight from Incheon. Donghyuck downs the bottle of water. Poor guy probably hasn’t eaten.

“Why are you here, Donghyuck?” you ask as soon as he’s done drinking.

Donghyuck clears his throat. “I don’t really know what I want out of this trip.”

You keep your arms crossed over your chest.

“And I’m not about to beg you to take me back,” he continues. “I just wanted to explain. I just want you to know what happened. I can live without you, but I can’t live with you thinking I had betrayed you.”

“Donghyuck, there’s really no need to explain. Renjun has told Mark all I needed to know.”

“No, let me say it please. I spent a fortune to come here, and I’m going to make you listen if it’s the last thing I’d do. After this, I’ll leave. I have a ticket back home tomorrow, and I’ll leave.”

Ridiculous. Who would spend a fortune on a set of roundtrip tickets only to leave a day after? Of course, only Lee Donghyuck.

“Karina and I go way back,” he says. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. And she’s not someone I could just get rid of just because our relationship didn’t work out. We’re better off as friends, and that’s a fact we had come to learn when we tried dating. And it was painful, but I couldn’t lose her just because we didn’t know how to date, how to play boyfriend and girlfriend to each other. That’s the first thing I need you to understand.”

“Like I don’t know that already?” you remark sarcastically.

“Karina is a part of me.” Shit’s painful.

“But now like how you are a part of me.”

Oh.

“She’s my best friend, almost like a sister now, and my parents care about her,” he continues. “It was a mistake that we even tried to date just so we could relate to everyone dating everybody. It almost ruined us, and Karina and I, we can’t afford to lose each other just because of that. The person who I am now, part of it is because of Karina. But Y/N, the person I’m about to become, I want it to be because of you.”

He clears his throat again. You look at the bottle of water he finished drinking because you really can’t look at Donghyuck now. Not when he’s vulnerable and out in the open. Not when he’s exactly the way he was when you fell in love with him.

“And I had plans. For the long run,” he says like a promise. “I had started looking up how to get a tourist visa to Canada and how to get you a tourist visa to Korea. I’ve been saving all my allowances and the money I’ve been earning from work so I could book a ticket to Vancouver for the summer and spend it with you. And I was supposed to tell Mom, but I haven’t had the chance yet—that one I have no excuse for. But the timing was off and she met you before I could tell her. She had no idea and she’s genuinely sorry she made it seem like she wanted me to end up with Karina. If she had known I was already in love with someone else, she wouldn’t have said that in front of you. She would have loved you.”

Donghyuck pauses. You look up to see him wiping his tears from his cheeks. “And I’m sorry that the timing didn’t go well for us, but I promise you I had plans. I just didn’t want to spend the rest of your weeks in Seoul thinking about you being gone as soon as the semester is over. I wanted to seize the moments with you and make you—I wanted to make you feel that I love you.”

Your breath hitches. Donghyuck locks eyes with you.

“I love you. I love you and I’m so sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t,” he confesses, bursting into tears and you do, too. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t try hard enough to make you stay. I’m so sorry that I talked to fast that time I finally got you to answer my call; I should’ve explained more calmly. I’m so sorry that we’re here, in Vancouver, hearts broken. But I love you, and I wish I could say all of these in English if that’s what would make you believe it’s real and it’s true.”

But he doesn’t have to.

“I love you,” you say in your mother tongue before switching to Korean. “I love you. And I know you love me. And I’m so sorry for jumping to conclusions and not trying hard enough. Just like you, I had plans to. For the long run. And I can live without you, too, but I can’t live without you knowing how much I love you.”

Donghyuck giggles through his tears and reaches out both hands to wipe off yours. “Let’s not live without each other.”

It’s him to moves, standing a little, so he could kiss you.

The kiss says everything the language barrier can’t. I love you. I missed you. I’m sorry. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. You are everything I’ve ever wanted.

Donghyuck spends the night tracing your body with his mouth like he’s writing a love song and he needs to taste you first before he could write the first melody. You spend the night underneath Donghyuck’s love, whispering his name like praise, taking, taking, taking everything he’s giving you.

You wake up to arms around you and the love of your life kissing the back of your neck. You and him spend the entire day (or at least, the seven hours he had until he had to take the flight back home) talking about your plans and making a list of thing you have to talk about over the phone, but today, you’re taking him out on a date under the warm, sunny skies of Vancouver.

And you do. You and Donghyuck have the best day ever together. Donghyuck gives you the other pair of the touch lamp you’d given to him as a birthday present—you’d forgotten you left it when you ran off; you were supposed to watch him open it so you could show him how it works—and makes you promise to touch the lamp whenever you missed him. He thanks you for the mixtape and confesses he cries whenever he plays it inside his car. He also gives you your small notebook of learning languages back (because you had dramatically left it to Renjun before you boarded the plane), saying you’d need it again.

Mark refused to come because he wants you and Donghyuck to talk and spend the day creating a game plan to make your relationship work. At the end of the hours you had with him, you don’t come up with a solid game plan.

Because Giselle was right, after all, it all comes down to the choices you make. There was no formula on how a long-distance relationship would work. Neither you nor Donghyuck had survived one, but you knew one thing:

Today, you and Donghyuck choose each other.

It’s only the beginning, it seems.

The sun is out and bright when Donghyuck boards the plane.

It’s a lot warmer than the rest of the year, but you don’t really mind.

#nct fanfiction #haechan smut #haechan fluff #haechan fic #haechan au #haechan scenarios #nct dream #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck fix #donghyuck fic #donghyuck smut #donghyuck angst #haechan x reader #faye's moving castle

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flowerfan2 · 2 years ago

Text

Steve doesn’t notice there’s something else wrong until he gets his glasses. The thing with his vision had been getting worse, and so he finally gave in to Robin’s nagging and went to an eye doctor. And to the surprise of no one, the glasses help.

With his sight, that is. But they also, strangely, show him something he hadn’t expected. He’s having trouble hearing, too.

He can see clearly now that his friends act differently around him than they do each other. When they want to get his attention, they stand right in front of him, and move in close. If they are too far away, or off to the side, it’s sometimes as if they aren’t there at all, his hearing is so bad. He can see them having conversations among themselves, heads thrown back in laughter and smiles pulling at their cheeks, but he can’t always make out what they’re saying.

Steve’s at Eddie’s one night, relaxing on the couch with beer and pizza. They’re supposed to be talking about who’s driving which kids to a dinner at the Byers’ tomorrow, and Eddie’s playing a new tape that Max gave him. Steve should be happy, safe and comfortable, hanging out with his favorite person. But Eddie’s bouncing around with excitement, pulling his hair over his mouth and jumping up to change the music, and Steve realizes he’s entirely lost.

“Could you just, maybe not-” he says, sharper than he meant, and Eddie turns to him, startled.

“Maybe not what, babe?”

Steve waves his hand towards the tape player. “The music’s really loud. It’s making it hard to…”

Eddie’s face falls, and Steve rushes to take it back. “Sorry, no, the music’s fine-”

Eddie plops himself on the couch, sitting cross-legged and pulling at Steve until they’re facing each other. When he speaks, it’s clear and his hair is firmly tucked behind his ears. “Hey, no, don’t apologize. It’s my fault, I should have realized. I’m usually better at this.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide and understanding, and Steve has to look away for a long moment. He knows.

Eddie touches his knee and waits until Steve looks back at him before he continues. “We can get help for this too. When you’re ready. And, you know, there are other ways of communicating.”

“Ha ha,” Steve says dryly, thinking Eddie is flirting, but Eddie’s expression is too earnest for that.

“Okay, that too. But also this.” Eddie holds up his hand, rings and all, and forms his index finger and thumb into an L. Then he lifts his pinky finger too, keeping his other fingers curled towards his palm, and directs it at Steve.

“What’s that?”

“It’s sign language for ‘I love you,’” Eddie says, picking up one of Steve’s hands and showing him how to do it. “My mom taught it to me when I was little. She said that way we could always talk to each other, even if we were far apart, like on the playground.”

“You know sign language?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Not much, but I’ve been working on it lately. I mean, I know plenty of words in fantasy languages, there’s no reason I can’t learn a real one. Dustin and Robin are learning, too. We just… didn’t know how to bring it up…”

Steve feels his eyes fill. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

Eddie gives Steve a pleased smile, then leans in for a kiss that soon turns into the kind of communication Steve thought Eddie was joking about earlier. Later, lying in bed curled around each other, Eddie makes the “I love you” sign again, and Steve wants to kiss him forever.

“Guess there’s an advantage to having a nerd for a boyfriend,” he whispers, and if he can feel more than hear Eddie’s laugh in response, at least he knows they’re in this together.

#Steddie #Steddie fic #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Stranger Things #Stranger Things fic #Steddie ficlet #Stranger Things ficlet

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icallhimjoey · 15 days ago

Text

Almost, Always

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: part four! are we learning from our previous mistakes? TAKE A WILD GUESS! after this, have one more chapter to go, and i know ive been consistently posting every week, but im afraid that the last part is going to take me a whole extra week to finish (bc ill be out of the country for a sec) so, my apologies! but i hope this long chapter makes up for the extra wait! <3

Wordcount: 6.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“I didn’t say he doesn’t… I just said, he has never actually said it.”

Emily’s jaw dropped, and you immediately regretted saying what you just said.

“No, stop. He has said it. Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

You knew exactly what she was going to say.

She’d alluded to it from the start. Rolled her eyes at him. Made faces of outrageous confusion that told you, how can someone behave like that, without having to say the words aloud. Without making you hear them.

“I’m just saying…” Emily started, and showed you a facial expression that made you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“It’d be better for you to leave him.”

You laughed, like she made a joke, yet so aware that she absolutely wasn’t.

But listen, if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry, because you knew, you knew somewhere in the back of your mind that it probably was better for you to leave him.

Not a truth you wanted to face though.

There were still too many easy excuses for you to make.

So... you made them.

But Emily’s face remained quite serious.

“Emily. You don’t mean that.” You said on the back-end of a giggle.

“Are you joking? My God, it’d be so much better if you left him. Better for you, better for, well, me. Can’t even tell you he loves you? What is he on?!”

You shushed her, and looked over your shoulder in the general direction of your bathroom and listened for a few seconds. The shower was still going. He couldn’t have heard her.

Good.

Not that Emily’s general opinion was a huge secret. But still. It was nice if the peace could be kept for the night.

“He does tell me that.” you argued, much softer. “Just...”

“Just does it when he’s about to hang up the phone? Just a quick, casual, love ya, when he’s saying goodbye?”

“Well, he–”

“Or does he only say it when he’s about to come?”

“Emily.”

“Oh, God. You’re so beyond help, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore.”

For a moment, you avoided eye-contact. Pressed your lips together and looked around the room whilst your friend tried her best to get it into your head that Joe really just wasn’t it.

“You know you’re in second place.” Emily said, suddenly much more earnestly. “You don’t deserve to be in second place.”

Which was a nice sentiment. A thing a best friend was meant to tell you. A bit like a parent calling their baby a genius because they accidentally made a bit of babbling sound like a real string of words.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath in and giving Emily your best smile. “So is he, so I guess we’re even.”

He wasn’t.

These were two different leagues.

But suggesting that Emily was in first place with you was the quickest way to make her feel appreciated even though her advice went untaken.

It always did.

Emily was a good friend and always gave excellent advice. And you were a good friend because you always listened to what she had to say. Or, you thought you did. Would tell yourself you did.

But then you simply wouldn’t follow any of it.

You hadn’t taken her advice when she’d told you to stop fucking around in a fourteen month situationship.

“I like how this just… works, don’t you?” Joe had said one evening when you were wrapped up on his sofa together. You’d made a comment that someone had flirted with you and had asked if you were single. You hadn’t known what to tell them.

Joe had just shrugged then.

“Let’s not push for something if it doesn’t need it. Something not broken doesn’t need a fix, does it?”

And you’d disagreed then. Had hoped that he’d grow a little protective and would’ve gone, um what do you mean of course you’re not single. For a while you also hadn’t wanted to define anything, because fuck commitment, right? But it had been over a year and Emily said that you should ask him to just fucking label it already.

You hadn’t.

You also hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy wasn’t going to make you happy.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy was ultimately just there for a bit of fun, but not really much else.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you to just leave him already when you told her he had never sincerely told you that he loves you.

“I know you’re smart enough to know that it’s absolutely wild that he’s not said–”

“It’s because you just hear all the bad things, I’m sorry. I should also tell you about the good shit.”

“Oh, yea? Like what?” Emily challenged, and in the silence that followed, you heard the shower turn off.

“Like... look! Look what he got me!” you said, picking up a bag from a dining table chair.

Your friend looked at it for a moment, blank faced, and then narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Got you? Like, he went out and bought that for you? Or, was that sent to him by the brand, and he just passed it on?”

You looked at the bag you were still holding, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. He still gave it to me.”

It was a nice bag.

“Not exactly the same is it.”

No, it wasn’t. But... you know. You could pretend it was.

“Still counts.”

“Okay. If you think so.”

You didn’t think so, not after what Emily had just said, but you were willing to accept it for the nice gesture, and that was all you cared about. Or, what you told yourself was all you cared about.

“I think so.” You definitively told Emily, breaking into a smile to really sell it.

Just when she was about to roll her eyes at you and maybe try her hand at talking a little more sense into you, Joe called you from the bathroom.

You left Emily on her own for about a minute before joining her again.

“Okay. Let’s go. He’s not coming.” You grabbed your coat and found your bag. The one Joe had given to you, but hadn’t spent a penny on.

“He’s– what?”

“He thought of something that still needs doing. He’s not coming.”

Emily stared at you from where she was sat, watching you hurriedly wrestle your arms into the sleeves of your coat as she slowly caught up to speed.

“So, I’m sorry, but have we just waited for him for ages for fucking nothing then?”

You ignored her tone, finding your phone, your keys, and then Emily’s coat as well.

“Let’s go. If we hurry, we might beat the rain.”

You chucked Emily her coat, and she almost didn’t move her arms in time to catch it. With the front door already open, you gestured for Emily to make her way through, calling, “Bye! We’re off!” into the flat.

Emily, under her breath, very mockingly sing-songed, “Love you!” in that same tone as she walked past you, making her point once more.

You didn’t repeat her, but instead rolled your eyes at what you decided was a joke, and then loudly said, “Don’t wait up!”

You didn’t wait for Joe to answer before you slammed the door shut.

It’s been weeks.

Months, technically, although it doesn’t feel it.

“Please be home, please be home, please be home,” you mutter to yourself as you rush your way down his street. “Please be in the fucking country, for just this fucking once…”

You’d texted and had gotten no coloured ticks from him. So then you’d called, but it just rang for ages before you were eventually sent to voicemail, and that’s something you don’t do. Especially not now. Not about this. Hell would have to freeze over before you’d leave a voicemail message. You could delete a text thread, or a voice note. But, a voicemail? Once a voicemail sends out, there is no undoing that.

Maybe you’re crazy, but what you’re doing now feels safer.

It’s after midnight, dark, the streets wet from earlier rainfall, but you feel wide awake. You’ve got Emily’s words ringing in your ears still, and you’ve not been able to shake them yet.

Her advice.

Or, well, it was more just her opinion. She had expertly dressed it up as a fact, though, which is probably why that one sentence still held you in a vice grip.

Telling her about how you’d had a few… moments, with Joe, since you’d broken up with him, turns out, was the wrong thing to do.

You just really wanted to tell her about the wine.

The expensive bottle you’d satisfyingly dunked into his kitchen sink.

It’s been weeks by now, but you still think about that all the time. And every time that you do, you feel pure glee spark inside of you.

You thought she’d be the same.

You thought she’d absolutely love it.

But then, after you had told her all about that night, she’d just looked at you with so much disdain and disappointment, it startled you into rambling excuses, none of which sounded true to your own ears, let alone hers. She then had shook her head, and sort of muttered something to herself that you asked her to repeat.

It’s those words that haven’t left the forefront of your mind since.

You didn’t ask Emily to clarify herself. You hadn’t gotten into an argument, either. You had just… moved onto a different topic. A lighter, easier to digest thing to talk about.

It left those words to rein freely, left those words at liberty to inflate themselves until they were all you could think about, and the feeling had clawed at your chest for the rest of the day. The rest of the night.

You hadn’t been able to answer the question, what’s wrong, that you were repeatedly asked until it made you upset.

“Nothing’s wrong! Stop asking me what’s wrong! God! You asking me what’s wrong a million times a minute is what’s wrong!”

Something is wrong though.

Obviously.

You just left someone in your bed for this.

Ringing Joe’s doorbell is a quick action, fingers pressing that familiar button before you can have any doubt of what you’re doing. It takes longer than a few seconds before you hear a small beep.

“Joe? I texted you, can you reply to my text?”

A silence follows, and for a moment you think maybe the intercom doesn’t work properly, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you.

“I– I sent you a message, check your phone–”

A loud click of the door unlocking and a loud shrill buzzing sound interrupts you.

“No you don’t have to– just text me back, will you?”

No answer follows, but the loud buzzing persists. After a few more seconds of it, you know Joe’s just holding down the button until you go inside.

That wasn’t the plan.

With a frustrated grumbling sigh, swearing under your breath, you push yourself into Joe’s building and make your way to his front door.

In the lift you decide you won’t let the doors close properly when they’ll open on Joe’s floor. You’ll tell him from half inside the lift that he just needs to check his phone.

You just want an answer.

But then the lift doors open and one foot steps out as you lean into the hallway, expecting to see Joe waiting by his front door, yet he isn’t.

You make an angry face, nose pulling up and showing your clenched teeth with a frown. You’re in a building where people are asleep so you can’t make any noise, but you absolutely would have otherwise. Joe leaves you no other choice but to get out of the lift, and begrudgingly, you make your way over to his doormat.

When you get closer, you can see how the door’s been left open.

“Hey,” you whisper-yell into the flat, “Joe?”

You get no answer, and take a few careful steps inside to find him standing in his kitchen in a T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. He’s got his back turned to you, and is seemingly busy cleaning up mess he’s left out from dinner.

It’s the fucking middle of the night.

It’s dark in Joe’s flat, the only light in the room coming from his under cabinet LEDs, and it’s weirdly warm for the time of night, you think.

“Hey, I–” you start, voice low because it’s late, but you quickly get cut off by Joe.

“Did you close the door?”

You blink a few times and watch Joe very carefully load some things into his dishwasher, making little to no noise at all. No plates softly clashing, no rattling cutlery.

“What? No. I–”

“Will you close the door, please?” Joe asks, but it sounds like a demand. Sort of cold, a little detached.

“All I’m here to say,” you try again. “Is that I want you to check your phone...”

Joe stands up straight and finally looks at you. Whilst maintaining eye-contact he slowly closes the dishwasher until it latches, machine clicking shut, and when he then just... keeps staring at you, you throw your head back like an annoyed teenager, and reluctantly do as you’re told.

You go to close his front door.

In the kitchen you hear the tap go, and when you join Joe there again, you can see how he’s filling up a glass with water.

Joe is about to take a sip when he suddenly decides against it and lowers the glass.

“Water?” he then asks, and holds it out to you with a stretched arm.

You’re slightly confused, but you take it, and then watch Joe reach for another glass from a cabinet and fill that one for himself.

“Thanks, but…” you place the glass on his counter and hold two hands up to Joe. “I’m just here because I need an answer to a text.”

Joe, with his mouth in his own glass, sort of looks at you a moment as he gulps water down.

He looks tired.

Which, yea, that checks out.

You fucking woke him up, didn’t you?

There’s so many reasons to declare yourself clinically insane right now, but you’re holding onto the notion that this is actually all totally normal with all of your might. If you pretend to believe it, you might just be able to trick Joe into it as well.

But Joe just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to give the real reason of why you’re there.

“So, if you could just, check that. Answer it. That’d be great.” You force a polite smile and step back. “That’ll be all.” And you turn to leave again.

“You’ve been crying.” Joe stops you in your tracks.

You turn back to him.

“No. Well, yea I was, but that’s not– I’m fine, that was about something else, not this. You don’t have to– stop, I’m going to go, please... respond to my message. I’ll read it when I get in, and that’ll be that.”

“Wait.”

Joe picks up the glass of water you’ve just put down and gives it back to you. When it’s in your hands, he even gives it a little push upward to ensure that you have a sip.

“I’ll go get my phone.”

And he’s so calm and agreeable that it feels rude to do anything else but take a sip and wait for him. You watch Joe walk out of the room to go get his phone, and it’s a lot of opening and closing doors, everything done as quietly as humanly possible. Then, you suddenly notice how hot you feel in your coat. It’s really fucking warm in here.

That’s new.

That’s... weird.

When Joe comes back, he closes the door behind him again and looks at his phone as he unlocks it.

“Why did you call me?”

“Just–”

“I’ll read the text.”

In silence, you stand and watch Joe open his texts and read your message. Messages. There’s several. Then, he starts typing back, and, this is what you came here for, but now that you’re standing in Joe’s kitchen in the middle of the night, having pulled him out of bed for this, you almost want to tell him he’s being an idiot. He can just as easily answer your question in person.

His message sends, and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Joe places his down and gives you a tired stare.

“Yea, okay. Th-thanks.”

“Read it.”

It startles you.

“No, that’s…” You’re so stupid. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Read your message.”

You feel like a fucking child that’s being scolded by a parent.

Guilt.

Regret.

Self-inflicted, which makes all of it so much worse.

Every feeling sits dark and sticky and bitterly uncomfortable in your gut, clinging to all the edges, stretching longer until the shadows overtake all of the previous excuses you had for being here.

You shouldn’t have come.

You shouldn’t have gone to wake up Joe over something so insignificant and, well, dumb. It’s embarrassing, and you want to leave.

“You’re here now. I’m up. Read your message.”

You inhale deeply. Hold it there for a moment.

He’s right.

The damage has been done.

You’ve dipped a toe into this strange pond, and now you might as well canon ball yourself right into this uncomfortable mess, no matter how cold the water might be.

The only way out seems through.

You pull your phone from your pocket with a clammy hand, and fucking damn it, you’re sweating underneath all of your layers.

“I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

Joe just lets his eyes drop to your phone before he looks right at you again, his very stance issuing the orders.

Read the fucking text.

You see the notification and open your phone with face ID. Your own messages to Joe catch your attention first, before you see his reply.

“Were we as good as we’re going to get?”

“What we were together”

“Was that really as good as it can get?”

“Ever?”

You didn’t have to send the same question in various different ways, but that’s what had happened.

Emily’s reaction to the stand alone get-togethers you’d participated in with Joe hadn’t been what you’d expected. You’d hoped for a level of girl power encouragement. For a loud get it girl, or a, yea babe get what you want.

Instead, you’d gotten a sigh and shake of her head, followed by a soberly mumbled, “You really do deserve each other…” that you’d asked her to repeat.

Before she’d always said that Joe didn’t deserve you. That was always the point she tried to get across. The idea she tried to sear into your brain. Joe was beneath you, and you were far above. Always.

And then suddenly, now you are no longer too good for him?

Suddenly you’re on equal footing, and you deserve each other.

What the fuck.

You look at your own messages and realise in that very second that you have no idea what kind of answer you are after from Joe. This isn’t a coin toss situation where you know what side you want that coin to land on the moment it get’s thrown into the air. Fear strikes you lightning fast. No matter what Joe is going to tell you, it’s going to be wrong.

What the fuck are you doing at Joe’s flat?

And why is it so fucking hot in here?

The only way out is through.

You read Joe’s text.

“Darling it’s late, let’s not do this over text”

A non-answer.

You look up at Joe, who is now leaning against his kitchen counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts to the side a little and neither of you speak.

It’s oddly unexpected that the guy in his underwear exudes more confidence than the girl bundled up in heavy layers of clothing.

You frown and read the message again.

For a second you debate what to do next. What to say. If this is going to be the end of this interaction, or if it’s going to be just the beginning.

It’s late, though.

You inhale deeply. Slowly.

Then, resign.

“Okay.”

Because honestly, what were you really even expecting from him?

Your soft little defeated okay isn’t what Joe expected though, you can see it in the minor change on his face. The eyebrows that quirk up slightly, his jaw that loosens, the eyes that round out...

“I’ll um...” you say softly, letting your phone sink back into a pocket before pulling at your sleeves to let them cover both hands.

Joe steps forward and bends to look at the clock on the oven behind him before he says, “Well. Since you’re here. Might as well.”

He gestures an arm at his dining table. At one of his chairs. It’s hard, but you do your best to ignore the memories of the last time you were there, sat in one of these chairs. Well, technically, you hadn’t sat in one of the chairs... Joe had sat on one of the chairs and you–

“Am I going to get an explanation of what’s going on?” Joe asks as he pulls out a chair for you.

Finally, you remove your coat.

“It’s a long story.” You say, then think for a moment and add, “No it’s not, actually. Emily said–”

“Ah. Emily.” Joe sits down in a chair opposite. “How is Emily doing?”

“Shut up. She’s fine.” You exclaim, voice a little raised in defense, and you’re immediately shushed by Joe. He holds up a hand as he perks up, and you get the message, lowering your tone as you add, “This isn’t about her.”

“It’s not?”

“No. She just said something. I…” you trail off for a second.

Your head’s a scrambled mess of doubt and insecurities and it doesn’t help that all you’ve done in the past few hours is overthink every single thought that’s popped into your brain. It’s a bit of a journey to retrace your steps and go back to the start of all of this.

“We were talking, and suddenly she... she said something and I’m just… I wanted to know if you think that… if you think what I texted you is true.”

“You just… wanted to know… if I think…” Joe narrows his eyes up at the ceiling as he thinks, slowly repeating your words.

It’s condescending.

Patronising.

Joe’s making fun of you.

“All right, be fucking honest or–”

“No, no. I’m sorry. Sorry. It’s nearly two in the fucking morning,” two already big eyes comically enlargen, but don’t make you laugh. Wrong audience. “But, yea, you’re right. Honest. I’ll be honest.”

You take a deep breath in preparation of what he’s about to say.

Were we as good as we’re going to get?

“Imposing question, though.”

Yea, you’re aware. It’s why you hadn’t been able to sleep and had eventually decided to just get up and out of bed, leave the boy you had in there on his own, and make your way over to Joe’s.

“I don’t know.”

Wild how you feel about five inches tall whilst simultaneously feeling like you’re taking up too much space in the room.

“You don’t know.”

Typical.

“Well. No, I… was it as good, wait, what was it?” Joe looks past you and sees that he’s left his phone on the counter. “Was it as good as it could be?”

You exhale through flared nostrils, frustration forcing your eyes shut for a moment.

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get for us?”

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get... I mean, I think so? I– But–... you tell me. Were we?”

And Joe’s right. It is late. You have spent hours thinking that question over, and you couldn’t answer it when you weren’t as tired as you are now, so it’s useless to even try at this hour.

You shrug, and for a moment, it’s quiet. You don’t know how to go about leaving now. You came here for something you aren’t going to get and so, fucking now what?

“Why um... why have you been crying?”

“Oh, I...” your fingers find your sleeve to rub. “I was asked why I couldn’t sleep, and I... well, I couldn’t really explain, so...”

Joe frowns in confusion, not understanding.

“I don’t know, you try listening to someone say shit like, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help you, fifty times in a row, and try not to fucking snap.”

They’d been tears of angry frustration, mostly with yourself, and they’d actually surprised you. You hadn’t expected to cry, but, you felt hurt by words your best friend said to you, so you guess that does add up, actually.

Something slowly dawns on Joe before he then leans back in his chair and nods, scrunching his nose, and he whispers, “Jasper.”

“Jasper.” you confirm, and it makes you chuckle a little before a yawn breaks it up.

Joe watches you. Lets his eyes take you in. It’s the middle of the night and you’re very clearly going through something, but he hasn’t got the answers to the questions you’re asking him, and he hates it.

Wishes he could help.

Wishes the questions you wanted answers to weren’t so impossible.

Joe watches you yawn. Watches your eyes blink slowly as you stare into space for a moment. It’s so quiet, he can hear his clock tick on the other side of the room. Then suddenly, you smile.

“I told Emily about the wine... about how I was a complete bitch and poured that bottle right down your drain.”

And Joe can’t help but feel more amused at your smile than feel annoyed about his expensive wine being wasted. He won’t let his face show it though.

“Bet she enjoyed that.”

“Yea I thought she would, but... she just... she said that we deserve each other. Whatever that means.”

Joe watches your fingers rub along your sleeves. Knows what that means.

“That’s not true.” he suddenly says, voice low and sincere.

“Oh, right,” you huff a laugh and half-heartedly joke, “I don’t deserve you, of course.”

Joe doesn’t laugh.

“No, I mean... well, yes. Technically.” Before he continues, Joe shakes his head in an attempt get his thoughts in order. It’s late. “But not in the way you just said it. In that... you probably deserve better.”

“Probably?”

“Yea. And so do I. Probably.”

Hmm.

You silently mill that over for a second. Aren’t sure what to make of it. If there’s even anything to agree or disagree with there.

“But, who’s to say. All we know is that we weren’t the best before.”

Joe stresses that last word and then lets the words float in the air for you to draw your own conclusions from. It’s certainly true that you weren’t the best together - hence the break up that eventually happened. But Joe’s expertly sharing the blame, which is not a fun truth to face.

The before saves it, a little.

The before makes it sounds like Joe’s talking about two people who no longer exist. Like, those people are gone. That door is closed. And look at you now. You’re a whole new set of two different people. It’s a different world, and you’ve changed. Grown. Learnt.

Who knows what you’d be like now.

Joe can’t predict the future.

And neither can you.

“Hmm.” you hum, eyes trained on the surface of the table, body flushed with conflicting feelings you don’t know how to put into words. Instead of stumbling through words until you find ones that make sense, you remain silent and pull at your sleeves so there’s more fabric for your fingers to run across.

“Hey,” Joe leans forward a little and catches your attention. “Are you okay? Do I need to be worried about you?”

You smile and let it take over your whole face as you shake your head no before you bring your hand up to cover another yawn.

“No. But I should go. This was never meant to be– she just… I don’t know, Emily got into my head and I didn’t know how to get her out.”

Joe contemplates in silence. Wonders if he’s okay with the idea of you walking out and going home right now, in this state. It’s almost three o’clock.

“I don’t make the best decisions after midnight. Sorry.”

You push your chair back and get up on your feet, the plan being to give Joe a quick polite hug goodbye before you make your way back to his front door.

You’re tired, but you know the second you step outside into the cold air that will make your lungs feel sore, you’ll wake up enough to make your way home without any problems.

But then Joe decides you can’t just go.

You can’t just leave.

He’s stuck.

You’re stuck.

You’re stuck in it, together, in this muddy sludge of whatever the two of you have become now. One of you is going to have to step out of their shoes and escape, and Joe thinks it should be you, because you’ve escaped this quicksand of a relationship before. You know how to get out.

It’s weird that you willingly came back.

Keep coming back.

And it’s awful that Joe just keeps inviting you in. Welcomes you with open arms every single time.

But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.

He decides he’s not just going to let you leave, so when he stands up and you go in for a hug, he takes hold of you by your upper arms and starts moving you towards his sofa.

Says, “Come sit for a second.”

And no resistance comes from you. Joe thinks it must be because you’re tired. You’ve cried and you’ve worried and you’ve let all of it eat away at you until you decided to reach out to him, and now, he wants you to stay. He’s not a fan of how, from a certain angle, it looks like he’s taking advantage of the situation, but... you’re both adults.

He’s not doing anything illegal.

Well.

There’s a girl in his bed.

It’s why the flat is warm and why all the doors are closed. Joe shouldn’t have let you inside. Shouldn’t have made you come in and shouldn’t have made you close the door behind you. Shouldn’t have given you a glass of water and shouldn’t have sat you down.

He doesn’t want you to leave now.

There’s a girl in his bed.

And you’ve got a Jasper in yours.

Joe’s closeness to you will come at a price, he’s aware. But it’s one he’s willing to pay. One he’s got the cash for, no problem. Name the sum and he’ll double it.

He’s got you by the arms and is walking you over to his sofa. You are stopped just before you’re about to step onto the area rug.

“Shoes off,” he says, like he gives a shit. You know he doesn’t, but listen to him anyway, and know that taking your shoes off means you’re not going anywhere. At least not for a while.

You get turned around and get sat down, and immediately, you feel far too comfortable. The seat’s too soft. The cushion’s too fluffy. Memories of the hours spent snuggled up on this sofa shoot into the forefront of your mind and you want to warn Joe that it’s not going to take much for you to fall asleep.

But before you can, he pulls a throw blanket from the other side and hands it to you, and you realise that getting comfy and cosy is actually the goal here.

There’s a guy in your bed, who you’ve just… left. Didn’t tell him anything. Just got out, got dressed and left.

You take the blanket from Joe.

It’s probably a good idea to at least let him know something. Send him a text. Let him know you’re okay. But that little voice of reason in your head gets drowned out when Joe sits down next to you and helps sort out the blanket so it covers you both.

“Sit for a second?” you ask through a soft half-suppressed laugh as Joe settles in beside you, your thighs touch underneath the throw. “Am I staying the night?”

“I don’t know, I don’t control what you do. I just want to sit for a second.”

Joe stretches an arm behind you that you think he’s going to rest on top of the sofa, but it moves your head forward a little as it grabs hold of your bicep to pull you in a bit more.

“Joe...” you warn, but it sounds lighthearted and sleepy.

“What?” Joe acts all innocent, but you can hear his amusement when he adds, “Just for a second.”

Joe is still shuffling in his spot, using his other hand to sort the cushion behind him, then pulling the blanket and tucking it under his leg, followed by him using his chin to fix the bit of flipped cotton of his T-shirt sleeve – it’s a lot of faffing for someone who wants to sit for just a second.

He’s nearly done, a centering sigh half way out of him when, suddenly, you feel how he pipes up a little and see how he looks across the room. His phone’s still on the counter, and for a second, Joe debates getting up to go and get it.

You determine on his behalf that he doesn’t need his phone by draping your arm across his stomach and snuggling up.

It’s warm in Joe’s flat.

And this little nest is perfect.

“Fine.” you mutter softly. “Jus’ for a second.”

Joe pauses for a moment as he looks down at how you let your nose brush his arm, your eyes already closed, and he grins as he sinks back down into his sofa.

You don’t make the best decisions after midnight.

Neither does Joe.

Maybe you do deserve each other. Maybe you don’t.

But you deserve this, you think. And you mean that in the best way possible. You deserve to be comfortable, and cosy, and toasty warm in a dimly lit room with a man who smells really nice.

You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.

You fall asleep in the soft glow of the under cabinet LEDs with the knowledge that the next morning is bound to be awkward. But this is still infinitely nicer than trying to fall asleep with Emily’s words on your mind. It’s difficult to think about impossible-to-answer questions when you’re wrapped up in strong warm arms that want you there, so you allow yourself to sink and to drift until dreams fully take you.

A loud bang of a door slamming shut wakes the both of you with a violent jolt.

Two pairs of tired bleary eyes look around the room, and there’s a fleeting moment of confusion. Your mind scrambles to piece together where you are and what just happened, but all your mind can focus on is how dry and heavy your eyes feel as you blink to adjust to your surroundings.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe croaks, groaning as he goes to sit up. He looks over his shoulder, then rubs a heavy hand across his face before he goes, “Yea…”

You feel disoriented and frazzled, and move to sit up just enough to look over the back of the sofa with squinty eyes to see what Joe is even looking at.

All you see is an open door to the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“What was that?” you ask, thinking maybe something dropped or knocked over somehow. When Joe gets up and walks over to his bedroom to check, you think that’s it. Something fell because gravity finally got a hold of whatever Joe had been precariously balancing on a bookshelf.

But then you hear Joe audibly sigh and dejectedly go, “Yea, she won’t be coming back.”

That takes minute to land.

It’s too early for your brain to comprehend what just happened, but slowly, puzzle pieces click together.

Oh.

Oh, that’s fucking detestable, isn’t it?

When Joe walks back out, he’s wearing joggers and is holding a ball of socks, and you hope there’s a different explanation than the correct one you just concocted. He looks at you for a moment, and you can tell by the look on his face that he feels awful.

Right.

Emily can fuck off.

You don’t deserve each other.

You deserve better than this.

Okay, so, yea, admittedly, you aren’t really one to talk, seeing the personal choices you have made over the past eight hours. But the choices Joe has made in that same span of time are just as bad, if not worse.

You decide to give into the feeling of wanting to lay back down rather than to face whatever this morning has on offer for you. You disappear from Joe’s sight, and cover all of your face with your hands that press and pull at your skin.

This is such a mess.

“Emily can fuck off.” You mutter into your own palms, hoping Joe can translate that and connect the dots of your disdain for him in this very moment.

You should leave.

Should check your phone for any messages or missed calls, and you should leave.

Never come back.

Learn your fucking lesson already and never set foot into this flat ever again.

But then Joe leans over the back of the sofa, and with knitted eyebrows that show off every single line on his forehead, he softly asks, “Do you want a coffee?”

You drop your hands.

Look up at him. The kind face. His short hair sleep messy. Jaw line. His mouth.

You should leave.

“Um…”

Oh... oh no.

“Yea…”

Fuck.

So close.

“Yea?”

You almost had it.

“Yea. I could use a coffee.”

Almost.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @cowboymcflurry

@demonsanddemogorgons, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson

@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby

@gri959, @hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719

@mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq

@niallersfreckles, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid

@readergf, @royale1803, @skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac

@solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle

@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #joe quinn fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #rpf #almost always

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writetheidea · 1 month ago

Text

A Promise to Hold

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. This time, it involves Max. I hope you find it enjoyable. I think my brain just wanted a reason to scream at Jos. As always, I have anonymous ask available for those who would like to express their opinion anonymously.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x named!female character

Plot: Max has bought a promise ring, Jos disapproves.

Tag: hurt/comfort, fluff, happy ending.

Word count: 2326

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

The girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.

Max stood in the middle of his bedroom, a small velvet box resting in his hands, each moment stretching longer than the last. He had thought about this for weeks, imagining how he would present it, how he would capture the significance of his feelings for Ali. It wasn’t a proposal—not yet—but it felt just as monumental to him. The promise ring inside the box symbolized his commitment, a tangible representation of the life he envisioned with her—a life so different from the one he had always imagined.

With Ali, everything was grounded. Their relationship wasn’t filled with the glitz and glamour he had always known. She wasn’t a celebrity, she didn’t come from a rich family, but that was exactly what drew him to her. After years of navigating a world where every action was scrutinized and dissected, Ali had become his sanctuary. She didn’t care about red carpets or flashing cameras; she was content simply being with him. With her, he didn’t have to wear a mask. He could just be Max.

His previous relationship with Kelly had felt suffocating, a constant performance where he was expected to adhere to an image that didn’t entirely fit him. He had nothing but respect for Kelly, but their love had been overshadowed by the public’s insatiable curiosity. Every outing, every shared moment, had been fodder for gossip. In contrast, with Ali, he could breathe freely. She welcomed him into her world with open arms, a space where he could unwind after the pressures of racing and the relentless pursuit of victory.

Yet, even amidst this serene backdrop, there were shadows looming. His father, Jos, had never been shy about his opinions, especially regarding Ali. To Jos, she was too “ordinary,” too far removed from the high-octane world Max thrived in. Jos had painted a picture of success intertwined with fame and fortune, and to him, Ali didn’t fit the mold of a champion’s partner. Max knew this, but he also knew that his father didn’t truly see Ali—didn’t understand her fierce support and unwavering belief in him. She had taken the time to learn about his world, to understand the highs and lows that came with being a Formula 1 driver, yet she still chose to stand by him quietly, away from the spotlight.

“Max?” Ali’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Startled, he tucked the velvet box back into its hidden corner and stepped out of the bedroom. The sight of her curled up on the couch, a book resting in her lap, filled him with warmth. Yet there was a flicker of concern in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“You okay? You’ve been in there for a while,” she asked, her voice soft yet probing.

“Yeah,” he replied, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

Ali tilted her head slightly, studying him as if she could read the unspoken thoughts swirling in his mind. “You sure?”

Max took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of the impending conversation he knew would come. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... stuff with my dad.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t push him further. She understood the complexities of his relationship with Jos, the tension that always seemed to hang in the air whenever they were together. Instead, she reached for his hand, pulling him closer, grounding him in the moment.

“Come here,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him.

In her embrace, everything felt right again. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the comforting scent of her hair. It was a brief relief from the storm brewing in the back of his mind.

---

A few days later, the tension in Max’s body was palpable as he sat across from Jos at the dinner table. This was meant to be a simple catch-up before the next race, but Max could feel the storm brewing, could sense the conversation shifting toward the topic he dreaded.

Jos had entered the evening in a mood that sent a chill down Max’s spine. The sharp comments started flying before the first course was even served, his father’s disapproval evident in every critique of Max’s recent races and lifestyle choices. As the night wore on, it became clear that it was only a matter of time before Ali would be the target of Jos' barbs.

“So, I hear you’re planning on giving Ali a ring,” Jos remarked casually, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Max.

Max froze, his hand halfway to his glass of water. He hadn’t shared his plans with his father and hadn’t wanted to. “Who told you that?” he managed to ask, though dread curled in his stomach.

“Does it matter? I hear things,” Jos shrugged, a dismissive wave of his hand. “I thought you’d have learned by now that nothing stays secret for long in our world.”

“Yeah, I am. It’s a promise ring,” Max said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “Not an engagement ring. Just something to show her I’m committed.”

Jos scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a condescending smirk. “Committed? You’ve only been with her for what? Two years?”

“Two years is enough time. I love her.”

The words slipped from his mouth more boldly than he had anticipated.

Jos' expression darkened, the gleam of disapproval in his eyes intensifying. “Love. Right. And what exactly is that love doing for you, Max? Is it making you faster on the track? Helping you win championships?”

Max felt his jaw clench, a familiar frustration rising within him. “This isn’t about racing. This is about my life.”

Jos’ smirk deepened, a condescending note taking over his voice. “Everything is about racing. You know that. You didn’t get to where you are by playing house with some girl. You got there because you’re focused. You don’t let distractions get in the way.”

Max felt the familiar ache of his father’s words dig deep. He had heard this narrative before, the relentless pressure to be perfect, to never let his guard down. But now, with Ali by his side, it felt even more suffocating.

“She’s not a distraction,” Max said, his voice a low growl, filled with quiet determination. “She’s the one who makes everything bearable. When I’m with her, I can actually breathe.”

Jos’ eyes narrowed, a challenge lurking within them. “And what happens when you start losing races? When you begin to slip because you’re too comfortable? Do you think Schumacher got where he was by worrying about some girl? No, he stayed focused. You think anyone cares about your love life if you start losing?”

Max’s heart pounded. He had always known that Jos' priorities lay elsewhere, but hearing it so plainly stung more than he could articulate.

“I’m not going to start losing,” he muttered, fighting back the anger threatening to spill over.

“Not yet. But give it time. This girl, Ali—she’s too soft. She doesn’t belong in your world. She’s going to make you weak. You need someone who can keep up with the demands of this life, someone who understands what it takes to be a champion.”

Before Max could find the words to respond, Jos pressed further. “You think I don’t know what I’m talking about? I’ve been through it, Max. I’ve seen careers go down the drain because of things like this.”

The familiar pang of disappointment settled in Max’s chest, his father’s harsh words becoming a dull throb in his mind. It wasn’t just his words; it was the feeling that no matter how much he accomplished, it would never be enough for Jos.

“I’m not like that,” Max said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m not going to fall apart because I’m happy. Ali doesn’t take away from my focus—she helps me stay grounded.”

Jos shook his head, his expression hardening. “Grounded? That’s the problem, Max. You don’t need to be grounded. You need to be relentless. You need to be hungry. That’s what makes a champion, not... this.”

Max stared at the table, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to defend himself, to shout that Jos was wrong, but all he could feel was the weight of disappointment—disappointment in himself for not living up to his father’s impossible standards. The bitterness in Jos’ voice cut deep, a reminder of everything he had endured to earn his place in the world. But this time, it wasn’t just about him. It was about Ali.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Both men turned to see Ali standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, fury etched across her face. Max’s stomach dropped as he realized she had heard everything.

“Ali,” Max started, but she cut him off, eyes blazing as they locked onto Jos.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” she demanded. “Max isn’t weak. Matter of fact, he’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. And if you think I’m some kind of distraction, you clearly don’t know your own son.”

Jos blinked, clearly taken aback by her boldness. But he quickly regained his composure, his expression hardening. “I know exactly who my son is,” he said coldly. “And I know what it takes to be a champion.”

“Do you?” Ali shot back, her voice unwavering. “Because from where I’m standing, Max is the one with championship wins. All you’re doing is tearing him down. You’re acting like Max can’t be successful and happy at the same time, like he has to choose between his career and his personal life. That’s not fair, and it’s not true.”

Max sat frozen, heart swelling as he watched Ali defend him, her passion igniting a fire within him he hadn’t known he needed. She wasn’t just angry; she was furious, and it was exhilarating to witness.

“Ali, it’s fine,” Max muttered, wanting to ease the tension, but she shook her head, her expression resolute.

“No, it’s not fine,” she insisted, her eyes locked onto Jos. “Your father has no right to say these things about you. Max, you’re incredible at what you do. You don’t need to sacrifice your happiness to prove that.”

Max felt a rush of gratitude as her words washed over him, soothing the ache left by Jos' criticisms. Ali turned back to him, a flicker of vulnerability shining through the fire. “And I’ll never let you think you have to choose between me and your dreams.”

With that, she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to grasp his firmly. The warmth of her touch radiated through him, grounding him amid the chaos.

Jos stared at them, eyes narrowing, disbelief etched across his features. “You think this is the way to handle things? This isn’t how champions are made, Ali.”

“I’m not trying to make him a champion,” she replied, voice steady. “I’m trying to help him be happy. If that means standing up to you, then so be it. He deserves more than this. You are welcome to the door. I would appreciate it if you had left by the time we return.”

With that, she turned away from the table, pulling Max with her, leaving Jos speechless in their wake. As they walked toward the door, the tension of the night lingered behind them, but Max felt lighter, empowered by Ali’s strength.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly as they stepped outside, the night air cool against their skin.

Max took a deep breath, the weight of his father’s words still clinging to him, but there was also a newfound clarity. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

Ali turned to him, a small smile breaking through the tension. “You don’t have to thank me. Just promise me you won’t let him get to you. You know your worth, Max.”

He nodded, feeling the velvet box pressing against his palm, a promise waiting to be made.

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you.”

Ali’s eyes softened. “I love you too.”

---

The following evening, Max found himself sitting with Ali on the couch again, the tension of the previous night still lingering but fading slowly as they spent time together. He was ready to take the leap, ready to present her with the promise ring.

“Hey,” he began, his heart racing as he reached for the hidden box. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us and where we’re headed.”

Ali looked at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”

He opened the box, revealing the simple yet elegant ring nestled inside. “I want you to have this. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s a promise—a promise that I’m committed to you, that I see a future with you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the ring, her expression shifting from surprise to pure joy. “Max...”

“I know my dad doesn’t see it, but you’re everything to me. You’ve shown me that happiness doesn’t mean weakness; it means strength. You make me want to be better, to fight for what matters.”

Ali’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached for the ring, taking it gently from the box. “This is beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He took her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger. “You deserve this and so much more. I don’t want to hide you, to hide us. You’re a part of my life now, and I want everyone to know that.”

With her free hand, she cupped his face, her expression softening. “I promise to stand by you, no matter what. You’ve shown me what love really means, Max.”

They embraced, the warmth of their connection wrapping around them like a cocoon. In that moment, everything felt right, the promise of their future unfurling before them like a bright horizon.

They sat there together in the quiet of their apartment, the weight of his world slowly fading away as they held onto each other.

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theetherealbloom · 5 months ago

Text

NORMAL THING

Summary: It's a normal thing to fall in love with movie stars.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap(ish), Huge Crush, kind of Power Imbalance (cause you’re a fan but nothing absolutely weird), Hurt-to-Comfort, Infatuation, Fluff, ANGST, Dog, Older Sister, COVID-19, Pandemic Era, Cheesy, Awkward, Hallmark-ish Vibes, Whirlwind, Work,

Word Count: 3k

A/N: That mf voice note-turned-song has me sobbing and dying every time I listen to it. Then I was also listening to "Normal Thing" and was like, “ohhhh this song is for me… help.” I wrote this fic in a place of just… feeling sorry…? Like apologetic that Pedro had to go through that kind of feeling all alone for a while. Anyways, there's a few sentimental moments here inspired by poetry and things I've read and learned, hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: "Normal Thing" by Gracie Abrams, "Pedro" by Omar Apollo

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

| Main Masterlist |

You had gone to visit your sister during your last summer break before graduating. Then, the second wave of COVID struck Europe, making it uncertain when you could return home. However, since all classes had shifted to online learning, the timing wasn't as critical.

Your older sister calls your name, snapping you out of the book you were absorbed in. "Hey, I’ll be out later getting groceries… do you mind taking Hershey for a walk after dinner?”

Her chocolate brown Labrador retriever, Hershey, a retired service dog, perks up at the mention of his name. You can't help but smile at his eager expression. “Yup, I can take him out later.”

She reminds you, “Don’t forget your mask!”

You playfully roll your eyes at her. “I won’t.”

Your sister thanks you and leaves for the store, leaving you alone with Hershey. You decide to take a short break from studying and take the dog for a walk around the neighborhood.

As you make your way down the quiet streets, Hershey happily sniffing at everything in sight, your thoughts drift to Pedro Pascal. Ever since watching him in The Mandalorian, you couldn't help but develop a bit of a crush on him. His charm and charisma on screen had captured your heart, making it hard for you to focus on anything else.

But it was just a normal thing, right? To have a celebrity crush? You reassure yourself as you continue walking.

You've always been drawn to movie stars and actors. Growing up, you had posters of your favorite celebrities plastered all over your bedroom walls. It was just harmless admiration, nothing more.

But with Pedro, it felt different. You found yourself constantly daydreaming about meeting him or even just catching a glimpse of him in person. You even shamefully admit that you've watched his interviews multiple times just to hear his voice.

It's ridiculous, really. You were fully aware that it was just a fantasy and that nothing would ever come out of it. And even if by some miracle you did meet him, what then? He would never be interested in someone like you - an ordinary college student from a small town.

You sigh and shake your head, trying to push away these silly thoughts as Hershey tugs at his leash to sniff at yet another tree.

But then something catches your eye - a poster for an upcoming film starring none other than Pedro Pascal himself. Your heart flutters at the sight before reality comes crashing down on you once again.

You shake your head and continue walking with Hershey, wondering when this infatuation will finally fade away.

Your older sister had always been supportive, albeit a bit concerned about your celebrity crush. "It's sweet, really," she would say with a soft smile, "but just don't lose yourself in the fantasy, okay?"

Your friends, on the other hand, found your crush hilarious. During your video calls, they would tease you mercilessly. "Come on, you'll never meet him!" one friend would laugh. "It's just a harmless crush, right?" another would add, their tone light but the message clear.

In the privacy of your room, you sometimes found yourself talking to the mirror, practicing speeches you would never give. "Hi, I'm a huge fan… and I just wanted to say..." you'd trail off, feeling foolish. You even practiced smiling and having conversations with yourself, hoping to perfect that effortless charm you admired so much in Pedro.

Yet, your self-awareness kept you grounded. You knew it was just a fantasy, a way to escape the stress of your real life. With a sigh, you would push those daydreams aside and focus on finishing your papers and remaining projects.

You wished one day to work in production, to be a part of the magic that created the worlds you loved to escape into. As you typed away on your laptop, you allowed yourself a small smile. Maybe one day, you would be behind the scenes of a film or a series. But for now, you had work to do, and dreams to turn into reality.

The sun sets late in Switzerland, casting a warm, golden glow over the tranquil residential area. You enjoy these walks, the peacefulness a stark contrast to the bustling city life you're used to.

Right after dinner, you take a stroll with Hershey, you notice a man sitting on a park bench, his shoulders slightly shaking.

Frowning, you glance down at Hershey, who looks up at you with curious eyes. Adjusting your mask, you make your way down the sidewalk, intending to walk past the stranger. But Hershey has other ideas, pulling you towards the bench with a wagging tail.

Instinctively, the man begins to pat Hershey, his touch gentle yet shaky. “Oh, Hershey, wait—” you start to say, but then you notice the tears streaming down the man's face.

You pause, feeling a pang of sympathy. “Do you mind if I sit down?” you ask, gesturing to the far end of the bench.

He looks up, eyes red and puffy, and nods. “It’s fine.”

You sit down, giving him space but staying close enough to offer comfort. You give him your name then look over to your adorably friend-shaped labrador, “And this is Hershey.”

“Pedro,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

There’s a moment of silence, broken only by the soft sounds of Hershey sniffing around. Then, gently, you ask, “So… what’s on your mind?”

Pedro hesitates, struggling to find the words. “I… I don’t even know where to start.”

“I know it might seem a bit strange, but sometimes it's easier to talk to someone you don't know. No judgment, just listening,” you say, offering a reassuring smile.

He chuckles softly, a small spark of warmth in his eyes. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Besides,” you add with a playful grin, “I promise I’m a great listener. I even have a certificate in listening from my sister's dog.”

He laughs – a genuine, heartfelt laugh that seems to lift a weight off his shoulders. Your laugh follows, a sound so infectious and bright that it makes people around you feel lighter, happier.

“Your laugh,” he says, a hint of wonder in his voice. “It’s... special.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread throughout your face and chest. “Thanks. So, Pedro, what’s been going on? Are you visiting family or…?”

“Oh, no, no. I just… I finished a job.”

“That’s nice. What do you do if you don’t mind me asking?”

He looks a little uncomfortable admitting it but he settles, “I’m um… an actor.”

You smile, your eyes crinkling as you do, “Do you like it?”

“Like what?” He asks in confusion.

“Y’know, acting?”

He takes a deep breath and begins to talk, the words spilling out in a rush. He speaks of the pressures of fame, the loneliness that comes with it, and the crushing weight of expectations. You listen intently, offering empathy and understanding.

“You know…?” he asks, surprised. “You know who I am?”

You nod and shrug. “I… I figured it out after you mentioned some of your projects.”

“You didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

Pedro looks confused for a minute, and you offer a simple smile. “I’m not famous or anything extraordinary like you. But I can only imagine how exhausting it must be, constantly looking over your shoulder. Not wanting to mess up or upset people must make you feel like you’re always on the edge, always holding your breath.”

He nods, his expression softening. “That’s exactly it.”

“I've done my fair share of pacing and reeling,” you say with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I even thought it looked cute at times. But I know there's more to life than just this feeling of uncertainty. Even though right now, it feels like there isn't any moment past this one.”

You sigh as your eyes get misty. “In the end, if any of us are going to make it, we simply have to believe. We have to believe that we aren’t alone, that people see us for who we are and what we can be. You have to visualize it; cling to whatever fills you with courage, because the world needs you here. It needs you.”

As the night wears on, you both share stories and laughter, the conversation flowing naturally. By the time you part ways, Pedro looks visibly lighter, as if a burden has been lifted from his shoulders.

Beauty no longer has an effect on Pedro. It takes more than physical appearance to impress him. Instead, it's the ability to intrigue his mind and provoke his thoughts that truly captivates him. That is what he considers someone as magic.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

“Anytime,” you reply. “Had a good time, but I guess I'll see ya. Take care, Pedro.”

Years later, when the world isn’t as plagued by the pandemic, you’re working in New York, living your own life but occasionally checking in on Pedro’s career through social media. He’s become a prominent figure, his face everywhere. Yet, you can’t forget the vulnerable man you met on that bench.

One night, you’re at a bar in the Bowery Hotel with friends. The atmosphere is lively, filled with laughter and chatter. As you share a joke, your laugh rings out, catching the attention of someone across the room.

Pedro looks up, his heart skipping a beat. That laugh – he knows that laugh. His eyes scan the room until they land on you, and for a moment, everything else fades away. He feels an uncanny sense of familiarity, a powerful pull towards you that he can’t quite place.

Your friends laugh at a joke you made, but your mind is already miles away. Tomorrow, you’re heading to Glendale, California, to work as a sound engineer on an upcoming project at DreamWorks Animation. The excitement and nerves flutter in your chest as you excuse yourself to start packing.

Pedro starts to make his way towards you, determined to find out if his instincts are right. Just as he’s halfway across the room, a fan stops him, asking for a picture. He smiles warmly, grateful for the support, and agrees.

“Thank you so much, Pedro! This means the world to me!” the fan gushes, snapping a quick selfie.

“No problem at all,” he replies, his gaze drifting back to where you were sitting. He quickly wraps up the conversation, eager to see you again. But when he looks back, you’re gone, as if you vanished into thin air.

Pedro’s heart sinks. He scans the room, hoping to catch another glimpse of you, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Meanwhile, you’re outside, heading towards the subway station and waving goodbye to your friends. “I have to pack and get some sleep. My flight is early tomorrow morning,” you explain, your excitement barely contained.

Your friends hug you, wishing you luck on your new endeavor. As you descend down the stairs and board the subway train, your thoughts drift back to all those years ago, on the little bench, and now the bar, to the man whose presence had stirred something deep within you. You shake your head, putting on your headphones, distracting yourself with your favorite songs on your playlist.

Inside the bar, Pedro stands in the exact spot where he last caught a glimpse of you. A strange mix of disappointment and determination fills him, knowing he must find you again. The connection he felt was too strong to ignore – he needs to see if it was genuine or just a fleeting moment between two strangers on a park bench all those years ago.

The next day, you arrive at the DreamWorks Animation campus in Glendale, California. The excitement and nervousness intertwine as you step into the studio, ready to start your new role as a sound engineer.

Your supervisor gives you a brief overview of the project, "The Wild Robot," an animated film in production. "We need you to record and mix the voice actors' takes for each character," he explains. "Attention to detail is crucial – the right sound can bring the characters to life."

You nod, absorbing the requirements of your new role. "Got it. I'll make sure every line is perfect."

As you glance at the cast sheet for the voice actors, you notice that a few roles are still being finalized. Your mind drifts back to the previous night, to the man in the bar who looked so familiar. Shaking off the distraction, you focus on the task at hand.

Your days are filled with recording sessions and mixing tracks, immersing yourself in the world of "The Wild Robot." The work is demanding but rewarding, and you throw yourself into it with everything you have.

Despite your busy schedule, thoughts of the bench in Lucerne and the glimpse of him at the bar keep creeping back into your mind. The way Pedro had looked at you, the sense of connection you felt—it all seems so surreal now. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again. The story you want is the story you get. Are you special, or was this all scripted in his head?

Back in his home in LA, Pedro can't shake the feeling that he needs to find you. He starts making discreet inquiries, hoping to track you down without drawing too much attention. The memory of your laughter and the warmth in your eyes keeps him going. He knows he needs to see you again, to see if what he felt was real.

As you finish another recording session, you glance at the cast sheet again. A new name catches your eye—Pedro Pascal as Fink the fox. Your heart skips a beat. Could it be him? The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.

Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on your work, but your mind keeps drifting back to the possibility. What if it really is him? What if fate has brought you together again? The anticipation builds as you wait for the next recording session, hoping that your paths will cross once more.

When the day finally arrives, you’re setting up the recording equipment, your hands trembling slightly with nervous energy. The door opens, and you hear footsteps approaching. You look up, and there he is—Pedro Pascal, standing in the doorway, looking just as surprised to see you.

“Hi,” he says, his voice soft yet filled with emotion. “It’s you.”

You smile, trying to steady your racing heart. “Yeah, it’s me. I didn’t expect to see you here. Well, I mean,” you start to fidget with your fingers, stumbling over your words, “I read the call sheet and I—”

“I didn’t expect to find you either,” he admits, taking a step closer. “But I’m glad I did.”

There’s a moment of silence, both of you taking in the significance of this unexpected reunion. Then, with a gentle smile, Pedro says, “Do you have time to catch up after this?”

You nod, feeling a rush of warmth and excitement. “I’d like that.”

As the recording session progresses, you can’t help but steal glances at Pedro, who seems equally distracted. When it’s finally over, you pack up your equipment, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Outside the studio, the two of you find a quiet corner to talk. Pedro takes your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’ve thought about you a lot,” he admits. “Ever since that night in Lucerne, and then seeing you again at the bar… I knew I had to find you.”

“I’ve thought about you too,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know if it was real or I just made it all up in my head.”

“It’s real,” Pedro says, his gaze intense and sincere. “And I want to see where this goes, if you do too.”

You smile, feeling a sense of hope and possibility. “I’d like that very much.”

The air between you and Pedro is charged with electric energy as you talk and laugh, baring your souls to each other like old friends. Time seems to stand still as you swap stories and reveal your deepest desires, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment. This is more than just a chance encounter; and the both of you can feel the spark of something new and thrilling forming between you.

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backwardsbread · 9 months ago

Note

Your “Hazbin Hotel Characters Forgetting an Anniversary” has become a comfort post of mine. You did such a good job with it and did amazing in capturing their personalities as well!

I was wondering if I could request an Adam fic? Like one where he realizes that he actually cares about reader, but he goes about showing that in the strangest ways? He may be a massive obnoxious jerk in the show, but he somehow made his way to being a favorite of mine in the show.

My heart- opening my inbox and seeing this made my day-

I’ve also been obsessing over Adam fics lately so seeing something with Adam get requested made me SO happy! I am happy to oblige~!

Adam x Gn!Angel!Reader

~Feelings are Fucked~

Warnings‼️: Adam being Adam, mutual pining, swearing, maybe OOC?

~Not proofread~

Listen. I don’t gotta tell you that Adam is always up his own ass.

Dude is OBSESSED with himself.

He would be the type of guy to be like;

“Oh yeah, have you heard of the BIBLE?? I’m kinda in it, no big deal.”

He’s on his own mind 99.9% of the time. His needs, wants, desires.

He’s so Self centered it’s not even funny-

So IMAGINE how he feels when you start to pick your way into his thoughts. And he has no idea why.

(Obviously Adam was the superior being, why should you have all people be on his mind??)

It’s easy for him to brush away these random thoughts of you. He could easily distract himself with material things to get his mind off the topic.

Eventually when distractions stop working, he feels like he’s going crazy.

He’s got a lot of things to do in Heaven, yet you feel like the most important ones to him.

I can see Adam being a huge flirt in the beginning. If he can get you to fall for him as hard as he has for you, he’ll consider it a win.

But he doesn’t really realize how much of a dick he comes off as. He absolutely makes a fool of himself majority of the time.

Gives the vibe of him saying something lowkey offensive while laughing and you just staring at him blankly and asked ‘What’s so funny?’

It’s frustrating for him how he can’t seem to get to you.

He doesn’t ask for advice from anybody, but I can definitely see Lute giving her 2 cents while Adam is ranting about how ‘annoying’ you are.

Her biggest piece of advice being for him to just stfu sometimes and actually listen to you.

Adam will never admit how much that actually helped him, it seemed like such a simple solution that he just hadn’t been doing.

So instead of being this overbearing flirt, he’ll just listen to you talk, occasionally chiming in with his own banter. Through this he learns a lot more about you.

And he makes an effort to show you he’s been listening.

You mention your favorite candy? He grabs some for you whenever he’s out getting snacks.

You mention a favorite scent of yours? Suddenly his whole house smells like it whenever you come over.

Got a favorite flower? He just so happened to see some at the garden and brings you one.

Of course he makes sure to follow up his kind gestures with a flirty or snarky remark. Trying to be this big tough guy despite how sweet he’s being to you.

He doesn’t realize how much of a total sap he’s being and how obvious his feelings are for you.

I can totally see Adam’s love language being gift giving and physical touch.

He’s not good with words. Never has been, never will be.

So he often shows his care for you by poking your side or cheek, resting his head or chin on your shoulder, ruffling your hair, or keeping one of his wings behind your back to make sure your close to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adam was walking along the streets of heaven with you, ranting about how his superior Sera, was supposedly being a Karen.

In his words she ‘wouldn’t get off his dick’ about his behavior and language. You listened to Adam’s ranting, letting him express his frustrations despite how petty the situation might’ve been. You occasionally let out hums of acknowledgment and nod towards him to show you were listening.

While you’re paying attention to him, a few angels who seemed to be in a rush, nearly bump into you from behind. Adam catches a glimpse of the angels coming your guys’ way, and extends his wing out to shield you from the other angels.

He grabs your hand, bringing you closer to him while his wing wraps around your torso. He waits for the angels to pass by, giving them an extremely fake smile as they flew by. Once they were out of sight, Adam’s smile falls and he grumbles to himself, pulling his wing back to his side.

“Stupid, fucking… can’t watch where they’re going?”

He keeps your hand in his own, continuing to grumble how some angels needed to mind their business and watch where they were going. The two of you continue to walk, but Adam’s voice seems to drown out, and you can only really focus on your hand in his own.

Sure Adam had been affectionate to you many times, but never in public. It wasn’t something that bothered you either. You just felt anxious butterflies fly around your stomach, a sense of pride welling up in your chest that Adam was holding your hand. As the two of you are about to reach your destination, you finally speak up to Adam before you would have to depart from him.

“Hey, are you.. doing anything.. tomorrow evening?”

You ask, scratching the back of your neck a bit with your free hand. Warmth spreads across your face as Adam just kind of stares at you for a moment, pondering.

“Uhh, got a few boring ass meetings after noon, but otherwise, I’m chilling for the rest of the night.”

“Would you.. want to go out to dinner tomorrow? If you’re up for it.”

Your question seemed to go over Adam’s head of what your intentions were. Free food was free food, (and time spent with you was a plus)

He lets his ego take over for a bit, putting a proud hand over his chest. His grin shines across his mask, spreading from ear to ear.

“I suppose I can make some time for you. As long as I get to pick the place.”

You can’t help but chuckle, face flushing hues of pink when Adam agreed. You smile brightly, finally letting go of Adam’s hand.

“Sounds good! Let’s say around 5 or 6?”

“Don’t rush me babes, I’ll text ya when I’m headed over.”

Adam says nonchalantly, crossing his arms. Despite his attitude, you watch his eyes shift away from you, avoiding your gaze. He’s embarrassed and you can tell by how his guard started to come back up. You had learned these little telltale signs Adam had. You chuckle, simply waving to Adam, wishing him good luck on his meeting and telling him you’ll see him tomorrow.

Adam smiles genuinely, giving a small wave back, before turning towards the large angelic building to head inside. Lute was waiting by the door for him and she just so happened to hear your guys’ little exchange. Adam’s whistling to himself, his heart beating fast in his chest but he can’t put his finger on the exact reason as to why.

Lute looks towards him, raising a suspicious brow. She sighs seeing how Adam was oblivious to what he had just agreed to. While holding the door open for Adam to enter the building, she speaks.

“You know they just asked you on a date, right?”

Adam’s whistling comes to a complete stop, his body freezing where he stood. Lute glances up at him, pressing her lips together so she doesn’t laugh at Adam’s look of shock.

“They fuckin’ what??”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin adam x reader #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin x reader #x reader #character x reader #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel lute

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sugudoe · 6 months ago

Text

── ✎ CHERRY SODA, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘰‧₊˚ ୨୧

✶ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: June has arrived with a constant presence of heat waves, which your hot self is happy about — after all, now you have an excuse for your red cheeks and sweaty hands whenever 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙠𝙤 𝙞𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙞 is near you.

✶ 𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: happy pride month! i love loving woman. at the end, i got heavenly inspired by gatsby’s love for daisy, if you’ve seen the movie with leo, you will understand which scene i’m referring too. fun fact: the movie they are watching is bodies bodies bodies, and i wanted to explore more of reader’s ct, but i couldn’t, cus is all fluff. there is always gojo slander in my fics where he is not the love interest lmao. I ALSO LEARNED HOW TO MAKE DE DEGRADE TITLE MWAHHH. divider by: @cafekitsune

✶ 𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬: fem!reader / pure fluff / modern!au / curse!au / crackfic! / all are minors so no smut or sexual innuendo / everyone is gay / english is not my first language / too many swear words / lesbian!shoko / reader’s sexuality is shoko, and only that.

✶ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4k

The happiest day of your life in Jujutsu Tech was the day you found out your upperclassmen, Shoko Ieiri, was lesbian.

That’s it, it was a simple statement made by her when you heard Gojo Satoru flirting with the girl and receiving the news as an answer. You nearly fell to your knees thanking whatever deity is taking care of this universe and you, the sky was clear of clouds, but you could hear perfectly the fireworks of celebration in your head and heart.

“And then, she said ‘Gojo, I’ll rather eat raw liver than be dating a man, specially you.’” You recall the talk while walking from side to side in your room, while Haibara and Nanami are seated in your bed, one with a enchanting smile and the other completely bored. “And…”

“And what?” Haibara bounces on his crossed legs, hands gripping your sanrio plushie of Cinnamonroll, his favorite of your vast collection.

“And she is vegetarian!” You clap your hands, Yu following your movement. “So, Gojo turned to me, and he said ‘and what about you, hot stuff?’ ”

“What did you answered?” Nanami is the one to ask, although his eyes are fixated on the album cover of the vinyl in his hands, disco playing in the background, his ears are all focused on the gossip.

“So, you see…” Scratching your head, you sighed. “I fumbled for real, just went back to you guys.”

Haibara happy expressions morph into disappointment.

“You’re so stupid, with all respect.” He offends you, though. “This was your chance, it’s not everyday we can be going around telling people we are gay, specially our crush.”

“You do all the time.” Both you and Nanami answers the boy.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m me, Yu Haibara, the one that can’t shut his mouth. No one tells me their secrets, Kennie had to bodyslam me multiple times because I was always about to tell everyone, when we fist stared going out.” Although he said with energy, the boy had his lips in a pout.

“That’s not true, you haven’t told anyone I’m sapphic or about my crush on Shoko.” Your pacing has stopped, as you tried your best to comfort him.

“Not yet, at least.” Nanami snorts his small comment, before whipping the smirk of, and groaning. “Listen, I’m not in the mood to have you two whining, one is already hard enough to deal with, and I’m dating him! So you need to fix this, Y/n.”

“Huh? Fix what? What did I do?” You stare at Haibara, but he seems as confused as you.

“You need to make sure Shoko knows you’re into women as well. Make this your plan of life or whatever, soon as she knows, then comes plan b: get her on a date, it’s not that hard.”

“Yes it is!” You argue your friend’s really good plan. “She is Shoko Ieiri, pretty and popular and strong, and I’m little old me.” You dramatically falls on your carpet, hands on your forehead like a damsel.

“Girl, be for real, this school does not have that many people to be calling her popular. It’s just that you both are the only girls.” Haibara throws the sanrio plush at your face after his statement. “And you are as strong as her, in fact you are stronger than her, you literally are the strongest at the school.”

“So close! That’s the albino with the blinding eyes, actually.” Says Kento, coming to sit on the floor by your side. Both of you with large doe eyes staring at an energetic Haibara.

“She knows what I mean, your cursed technique is literally the more fucked you get, the more stronger you become. If Gojo bitch slapped you, you would break this world with your energy.”

“What are you saying, baby?” You stare agape at Nanami, is not always he uses the pet names, but the boy is as shocked as you with Haibara’s statement, so it slipped.

“Yeah, what’s with you and this weird coach talk? I don’t wanna be slapped by Gojo.” You mumble awkward, thoughts going straight into the cursed image of having Satoru’s large hands slapping your face — goosebumps follow your disgust in your skin.

“You need to shoot your shot, make her see you as not a school friend but as a potential future girlfriend.” The brunette gets up from the bed and points to your calendar. “It’s june, time to proud!”

You are proud and extremely hot, days later when summer has made its presence everyone’s problem. The students at school discards the purple jackets of their uniforms to only wear the white shirt underneath. You have to do a double take when you see Shoko and her classmates coming your way at the vending machine.

Ieiri looks so beautiful. She always does — but there is something about the short box braids she has, or how she tied her blouse on her waist, the way her skin is glowing with sweater, or the way she is smiling and right in front of you — glossy lips tinted pink moving. Oh shit, she is talking to you.

“I’m sorry what?” You catch yourself saying before staring at her eyes, she is smiling and they are almost closing. Adorable. “My brain is melting, it’s so hot.”

Lame excuse, but she buys it, you think.

“I was asking if you bought your soda yet.” You can sense her eyes on your empty hands, and smiles more when you sign no with your head.

“No..No! I was about to, you want some? I can buy for you.” You cringe at your own desperation, but Shoko sweetly laugh.

“No! I want to buy for you. I’m you senpai, it’s my job.” She goes for the machine and presses the number for cherry coke twice, before paying with her card. Shoko gives you your can before saying her goodbye and moving back to her waiting friends, both males smirking at you.

Walking back with a maniac smile before sprinting to your bedroom, you where once again greeted by Nanami and Haibara in there, startled by your sudden entrance of nearly breaking the door down.

“SHE KNOWS MY SODA!” You scream before falling to your knees, the cold can pressed against your hand reliving you.

“What does she mean?” Haibara asks to his boyfriend, but Nanami simply shrugs, annoyed.

“Don’t know, but clearly you don’t know ours. I’m thirsty and melting.” The blond whines before leaving the room to grab his and his boyfriend’s beverage.

“Hai, you don’t understand.” It’s a second after the door closes, you are in front of the boy, happy expressions in contrasts to his alarmed one. “She payed for my soda, and she knew what was my favorite.”

“SHE KNOWS YOUR SODA.”

When Nanami returns, minutes later, he is appalled to see you and his boyfriend screaming happily and jumping on your carpet, while on the background, wedding bells are heard from your music box. He sighs desperate.

Friday comes quickly, and luckily for you, it’s the first of the month, therefore, movie nights in your room: the perfect hangout spot, as always. It’s been a tradition since your friendship with Haibara started, and Nanami shows up whenever he was bored, which pretty much was all the time — specially now that he has his own boyfriend to cuddle.

You love them both to a crazy extent, is true! But no one in their right minds enjoy third wheeling, so you keep mumbling while setting your room up with the help of Yu while Nanami is out buying the snacks. It’s in the middle of your one person rant while adjusting fairy lights on your bed, small couch and plushies’s shelf, you feel something being throw to your head.

“Ow! What was that for?” You turn around to a pissed of Yu, hands on his hips and scowling face.

“I’m so tired of you, Y/n.” The boy comes closer to you, you fear he is going to throw any other thing, but instead he hugs you. “Please, don’t be stupid. Shoko likes you, everyone can see as much as we see you like her. So stop wasting time.”

It’s not supposed to work, because after all, you are the second most dramatic person in this school — coming after Satoru. For some reason, you might blame the summer heat waves that burn your skin much like Shoko’s attention does, and your brain has always been fogged with thoughts of only her. The thing is, Haibara is partly right. You like her lots and lots, and she likes girls lots and lots, and you are a girl, a pretty girl that can make Shoko laugh and feel comfortable — a pretty girl she knows what’s the favorite soda flavor.

Haibara is startled when you leave his embrace to move out of the room, he follows you after a few second of astonishment, and when the boy notices where you are going, a large smile is plastered on his face. He is so proud of you.

Both of you stop in front of a black door decorated with a cat rug and painted with flowers and vines, handmade by Shoko herself. You take three long breaths before knocking the door, and nearly jump back when it’s opened less than a second later by a six foot tall white haired freak with devilish smile. Gojo doesn’t have his glasses. Bitch knew you were coming.

“Shoko, your girlfriend is here.” Satoru sings before opening the door more, giving you a sight of Shoko’s perfectly cleaned room and minimal decorated, a total contrast to your own.

“Y/n?” Ieiri jumps from her bed besides Geto and comes your way at the door, pink cheeks much like yours. “Hi!”

“Hi…” Your soft voice you have reserved only for her comes out, before you scratch your throat and looks at everyone. All eyes are on you. “Uh, the boys and I are doing a movie night. We- - we thought of inviting you guys, if you want.”

“We would love to, we were so bored, actually.” Shoko answers right away, before turning to her friends.

“Huh? Weren’t we going to the mall?” Gojo asks turning towards Geto, but the black haired only shakes his head. “Oh, oh! Yeah, yeah, we are totally bored, no mall! Just movies with friends sounds amazing.”

“Great!” You smile triumphantly. “Nanami is getting snacks. Hai, can you send him a message asking to buy more?” You turn to your friend, but he is already with his phone in hand, texting, one of his hand making a positive sign. You turn back to face Shoko, shivering while noticing she is already staring at you. “So, see you… You guys, in fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah, see ya.” She whispers back.

It takes Haibara hands on your shoulder, much like Gojo’s on Shoko, for you to realize both of you had been quietly staring at each other. You wave her goodbye before moving back to your dorm. While in there, you and Haibara prepare the room for the others. The sofa would be for him and Nanami and your bed for you, as always. Your friend goes to his room before returning with his inflatable neon pink couch, which prompt you to change your neon lights to pink, as well.

The room is cutely decorated before you both fall on the bed to rest, and then a knock come. You don’t get up, Nanami just bursts into the room before dropping his bags on your coffee table. He scoffs.

“Why did you had to invite them?” Is all he says before falling on his sofa. “I mean, I like her, Geto I can handle…” Kento moves his face to stare at you two before whining. “But Gojo?!”

“Damn, I thought this was going to be a good time, not an offending me time.” The three of you jump at hearing Gojo’s voice, he is by your door, annoying smile decorating his face. Besides him, is Geto and Shoko.

“Every hour is a offending Gojo time, sorry bud.” Geto taps his friend head before moving inside your room, his eyes scan the place before deciding to fall on the neon sofa. “Nice room, Y/n, very you.”

The “thank you” is at the tip of your tongue, barely leaving through your voice, before stagnating when you look at the door, where she is. And fuck, you don’t think you’ve said anything in this world before, words become nothing in your mind in that very moment, all you can think is compliments and her name — Shoko is wearing a different outfit than earlier, she discharged the shorts and shirt for a flourished sundress, and two strands of her hair are braided. You can also catch glitter on her eyelids and her signature pink gloss on her lips.

“Shit.” Someone say, and you quickly realize it’s your voice. You cough before shifting your face to the boys, all again staring at you. “Uh, than… Fuck, thank you, Geto.” You say before moving towards the coffee table and grabbing two sodas of cherry coke and twizzlers. You go towards Shoko, who is still by your door, and you handle her the soda with a happy smile she copies.

“Am I going to have to share the pink couch with them giants?” Shoko whispers, motioning her head towards Satoru and Suguru, both playing fighting in the inflatable couch.

“No, no.” Couching again to refrain the embarrassment of answering so quickly, you sigh after, containing your nervousness. “You can share the bed with me.”

You close the door behind her, and soon your hand is in her back, moving both of you towards your comfortable bed and sitting on it, legs sprayed all over while your backs are resting on your comfortable headboard. Shoko is near the wall, caged by your body.

You toss the controller to Haibara, and he starts to go through the movies in the playlist showed on your wall, by your projector. You are not interested in movies anymore, if you could you would move everyone away and be with only her. You can sense her face moving towards the boys and you, but you keep staring at your soda. The cold in it keeps you in check.

Taking a gulp, tasting the faint cherry, you wonder what kissing Shoko would taste like. You could bet it would be like strawberries with sugar sprinkled on them, maybe a spoon of honey as well. And obviously, a tinted bitter of the cigarettes she smokes from time to time — it used to be worse, until you commented on the bothering of the smoke, and now she never smokes whenever you are near.

Maybe, you head and heart wonders, she likes you. There is nothing wrong with you, after all. You are pretty, smart, strong and sometimes funny. You could be liked by her as much as you like her, right?

The movie is already playing when Shoko pokes your arm, your mind goes blank and you move to her, tilting your head.

“Can I have a licorice?” She quietly asks. You want to give her anything, in fact.

“Yeah, here.” You open the package, giving her one of the red tubes. Trying not to, but failing, your eyes focused on the way her lips closed on the candy, wetting part of it with her gloss.

“Hey! No snoggin in there, I’m already third wheeling these two.” Gojo’s voice makes you realize how close you were to Shoko’s face, you grunt before staring at Nanami and Haibara, and they are just holding each-other.

“You’re bitter ‘cause Suguru won’t cuddle you.” Shoko answers after biting harshly her licorice, Nanami laughs at her answer when an offended gasp comes from Gojo. He doesn’t deny.

You laugh at Gojo’s offended face, and to add more fire to his bitterness, you move your arm to Shoko’s shoulder, she goes stiff for a moment before resting her head to your neck.

“Traitors.” Gojo mumbles and goes back to staring the movie, you see Suguru smirk before doing the same you did to Shoko to his friend.

After more minutes of the movie, in a particularly funny scene, you sense Ieiri’s head moving, you look down and she is already facing you. You grab another licorice and give it to her, straight to her mouth, she bites it before you take a bite on the other end.

If that’s the closest your mouth would come to hers, you would take it. By the gods, anything she would give you, would be precisely loved by you. Her presence, her scent, her glittery eyes staring solely at you. You would trade anything for her in that moment, if only to keep her attention on you and yours on her. What’s heaven to a woman’s love anyway?

You want to kiss her when the licorice is devoured eagerly. You almost do, lips reaching closer, and her eyes flattering shut, but a bombing laugh of Suguru takes you both apart. No one noticed, all eyes on your wall. You sigh gulping, groaning once more, but smiling while hearing her quiet giggles.

When the movie ends, everyone but you two get up, cracking their bones and talking loudly.

“Y/n, what was your favorite scene?” Haibara is the one who asks you, smirk in his face he shares with Gojo. “My favorite was the cruise one with the bananas’s costume, so funny.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, my favorite as well.” You answer while caressing Shoko’s arms, she starts to giggle more and you smile as well. “There was no cruise scene, right?”

“No, there wasn’t.” Shoko moves her head up, laughing sweetly now.

The gods really took their time with her, appreciating every little detail, from her laughs she emanated such good feelings, your insides would go warm and butterflies would rip your ribcage. But truthfully, you felt the weight of all your emotions while staring lovingly at her. Someone coughed.

“Well, I don’t know ‘bout you guys, but I’m tired. Should we go?” Gojo says and everyone agrees, they all say goodbye to you before stopping at the door, Nanami moves towards your music box, playing a calm song he knows you listen to before sleeping.

“Aren’t you coming, Shoko?” Suguru asks with malicious in his voice. She yawns, but doesn’t move.

“I’ll walk her to her room, don’t worry.” You say, making her nod and soon all the boys are gone. Is just you and her, in your bed.

Shit. Shoko Ieiri is in your bed. The perfect girl, the one you adores, the most beautiful human being is laying on you in your bed and she is not complaining, she even hugs your waist tighter when the door closes.

“Ieiri.” It’s rare for you to call her by her name, and she always seems happier when you do, this time is no different, she moves her head up with that cute smile you adore. “I like you.”

You always wondered how to confess to someone — her — in the most majestic and perfect way. In your mind, much like Haibara did to Nanami, you should give her plenty of her favorite food and flowers to match her sun kissed cheeks. It’s not something you planned, because you’ve never thought this day would come. Although it all changed with her in your arms, like she was always meant to be, you were designed to hold her.

So, in the pink and yellow lights of your room, under a shelf of dozens of plushies and Novo Amor playing in the background, your eyes focus shifting from her glitter eyeshadow to the gloss in her lips, that was heaven to you. That was the perfect place. She smiles, and you know you did the right thing.

“I like you too, Y/n.” Her sweet voice is melody to your ears, you barely register what she says, but is nothing to worry about, her lips are quickly on yours by the end of her sentence.

It’s cherry.

Shoko Ieiri tastes like cherry, in fact, she tastes like your favorite soda, a part of you who loves the beverage, unknowingly already choosing her. Her gloss is passed to your lips, giving you more of her taste, and when the kiss gets deeper, you feel like heaven has been given to you. In that moment, you know you are lost.

You separate yourselves for a second, finding yourself hovering over her, and stare at the her pretty crimson face, for just a moment appreciating that after her you would never be the same again. And how happy you were for that. So you go back for a second kiss, and a third, and more, more. All the kisses she wants, you will give to her, for the whole eternity you’ll have by her side — you are hers, and she is yours.

#♱ 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ on stage ! ᯤ #shoko ieri x reader #shoko ieiri #shoko fluff #shoko x reader #shoko x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk shoko #shoko x you #jjk x y/n #pride month #wlw

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nebulous-library · 2 years ago

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how they fall in love - tokrev boys

aka the april 14th "i made it through valentine's day AND white day without any romantic attention" special. happy singles day to all who celebrate. hcs for a selections of my personal tokyo revengers blorbos, including: Mikey, Draken, Baji, Chifuyu, Kazutora, Hakkai, Taiju, Koko, and Inupi.

Mikey falls in love with uncertainty. He’s used to feeling so much all the time at once that he isn’t sure he could pinpoint love in the middle of all of it. But until he knew you, it didn’t matter. As you get closer to him, he becomes more acutely aware that he definitely has positive, pleasant feelings toward you. He may even get himself in trouble by picking fights with others who steal your attention from him. It probably takes Draken, Takemichi, or Emma to be like, “So, about this crush you have….” and he’d be like, “...the what.” Be patient with him, he’ll come around, and when he realizes both his own and your feelings, he’ll be the sweetest boyfriend. Please do not accept anything he cooks for you though. No chance in hell that he can cook.

Draken falls slowly. He starts by noticing how cute you are when you do mundane tasks, or the little things that make your eyes sparkle, and he finds himself wanting to know more. He’s very observant when it comes to details, and might surprise you here and there by bringing you your favorite drink or a treat of some sort, but his love language is definitely quality time. Whatever your hobbies are, he’ll definitely start feeling a stronger attachment to you if you do that thing in his vicinity while he’s working on fixing up a bike or something. It’ll take him some time to come to the conclusion that it’s love, but in the meantime he’ll settle for the warm swell in his chest that he feels when you’re around.

Baji falls quietly, behind the scenes. If he doesn’t know you like him back, he’ll operate under the assumption that you don’t and just be content with just being by your side and will express his feelings via little gestures that show he cares and listens to you. This can range anywhere from noticing you’re warm and turning on the AC, or torching a vending machine that ate your change. Depends on his mood. Another way he’ll show his affection is by sharing things with you; food, beverages, etc., yes, but also hair ties. And he won’t even ask for them back. If you keep the hair tie he gave you and wear it on your wrist? He’s as good as gone. Please confess to him soon, this boy is down worse than he lets on.

Chifuyu falls in love like an idiot. He doesn’t fall for just anyone, but when he does, he’s immediately head over heels. In a borderline insufferable way, too. We’ve seen how clingy he was with Baji. He is gonna make himself your personal guard dog, whether you want it or not. He’s gonna go out of his way to bring you tokens of his adoration like a courting magpie. I’m so serious, this is the boy who will bring you a really fucking shiny rock he saw that made him think of you. If you try to talk to him normally, though, you’d better be prepared for him to get all flustered and formal about it. But once you get him out of his own head about it, he’s loyal and dedicated and affectionate.

Kazutora falls in love like he isn’t sure what love really is. Sweet boy has been through so much, especially growing up in a family situation like his. He doesn’t know what love looks like, and he worries that if he were to be in love, he wouldn’t do it right. He’s one you’ll really have to take initiative with imo. But if you show him your love, he’ll slowly but surely follow suit. Show him that love can be gentle and playful and fun. Show him that it can be tender or sweet or passionate. Show him the love he’s never gotten, and he’ll learn to show you his love in return.

Hakkai falls hard and fast, but you wouldn’t know it. He knows he likes you the moment he sees you, but if you so much as make eye contact with him, he freezes and is immediately beet red. It will take at least three people shoving him directly at you and coaching him through what to say to actually ask you out.

Taiju falls in love stubbornly. When love isn’t what he thought it would feel like, when it ends up making him feel all mushy in his core, he rebukes it. He denies it. He tries anything in his power to keep this weakness from entering his body. He’s never known what it is to be soft and doesn’t understand why you make him feel this way. He might be cute and a little tsuntsun about it, but you’ve already cracked his shell and he can’t deny it forever.

Koko falls hesitantly. He’s nervous when it comes to vulnerability, but devoted nonetheless. Think toned down and bottled up version of Chifuyu. On the surface, he seems like he has mad game, but we all know he’s a weenie at his core, and he knows it too. He’ll seem calm and collected around you, he may even be a little flirty, but just know he’s dying inside. I suggest putting him out of his misery and confessing first, but c’mon, we all know it’d be so much cuter if he accidentally blurted it out and then was all surprised when you tell him you feel the same way. But he’s most definitely gonna keep it bottled up until he bursts.

Inupi falls in love quietly, similarly to Baji. He trusts quickly, and when he knows, he knows. He’s not going out of his way to make some big, dramatic confession, though. But he will absolutely be glued to your side. Just existing near you. He won’t be the chattiest person, but you’ll find that he’ll always have something meaningful to say. You’ll probably get more out of him if you can get him alone, honestly. Let him take you for a ride on his bike to someplace you can just enjoy each other’s company and he’ll bare his soul to you.

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thisblogisaboutabook · 10 months ago

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Bad Idea, Right? - Part 5

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

Azriel has a heart-to-heart with Y/N. Eris gets the cold shoulder. After a night out, Y/N learns that Eris has yet another secret.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual content

A soft rap at the door brought me to consciousness. Slowly I sat up, rubbing my palms over bleary eyes in an effort to wipe the heavy weight of sleep from them.

Azalea must have snuck out of bed at some point early in the morning. I huffed a laugh at the kid clearly valuing sleep as little as privacy.

“Come in.” My groggy voice rasped, barely more than a whisper.

A pause and then the door slowly opened. I knew this was inevitable but gods, first thing in the morning?

“Hey…” my father said, quietly padding in with a tray in his hands.

“Hey...”

With a shrug of his shoulders he gestured the tray toward me “I, um- I brought food.”

at least the awkwardness was mutual.

A half smile crossed my lips. “I see that.”

Sitting the tray down next to me, he looked down at the edge of the bed, “May I?”

Best get it over with, I suppose.

“Sure.”

He sat, situating his wings so that they wouldn’t knock over the tray. “I know chocolate croissants are your favorite. Your mom offered to make them but I know how much you love the ones from that bakery down by the Sidra so….”

“Thanks, dad.” Avoiding eye contact, I stared at the pastries before me.

We sat in silence for a moment, my eyes finally meeting his. “Want to share one with me?”

Relief crossed his features at the invitation. “That would be great. If you don’t mind.”

I rolled my eyes. “When have we not shared our croissants with eachother? Besides, I see you included two tea cups - or were you expecting me to dual-fist them? I typically reserve that for shots.”

He chuckled. “You used to have tea parties with your toy pegasus, you know. Your shadows would lift the tea cup and pastries to its mouth. That extra cup could have been for anyone.”

“Oh gods. How embarrassing.”

He stared off for a minute, a flash of longing overtaking his features before returning back to the croissants. “Not at all. Your imagination, Y/N, you’ve always known how to sprinkle joy into life. The bond you created with your shadows at such a young age is nothing to be embarrassed of. It’s so different than when I-“

His voice cut out, those damned memories too painful to verbalize.

I extended my hand, resting it atop one of his scarred hands. “I know. I hate them for what they did to you.”

“I don’t need you to hate them for me, love. I just love you and, selfishly, hope that a little bit of that joy was sparked by the environment you grew up in.”

“Are you fishing for a compliment, father?”

His lips quirked as he gestured toward himself. “Me? Never.” he mocked.

I squeezed his hand lightly. “I love you, dad.”

We ate our croissants in companionable silence. Once finished, he paused, taking a breath as if to brace himself.

Aaaand here we go

“So, you and Eris Vanserra?”

“Ugh.. do we have to do this?”

“Can’t we talk about it a little bit? I just want to know that you’re okay.”

Dramatically, I grabbed my pillow and let out an exasperated scream into it.

“I promise this is as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.”

“I really don’t want to discuss it.”

“Please, Y/N, don’t shut me out. You don’t have to give me details, I don’t think I can stomach details anyway. Just, please tell me you’re okay. That you’re safe and comfortable in his care?”

“I care for myself dad. I’m an adult female completely capable of making my own decisions. This was MY choice. He has never pressured me into anything that I am not comfortable with. Consent is very important to him.”

He sat contemplatively for a moment. He was carefully toeing a line that he didn’t wish to trip up.

Running a hand along the back of his neck with a wary expression. “As long as you are safe and happy. That’s all I can ask.”

“Happy.” I scoffed to myself.

Agitation immediately shifted my father’s expression “You’re not happy?”

“I’m fine dad. But, don’t expect him to come to family dinner anytime soon. I’m not sure that I’m going to pursue things further with him.”

“What happened?”

I looked to the side in an attempt to hide the hurt in my expression. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sensing the finality of my statement, he sighed. “Okay. If you change your mind, just let me know.��

He stood up, kissing my forehead as he picked up the tray, placing the remaining tea on the side table. “Please talk to your mother about her vision. She’s worried about you too but isn’t as… persistent as I can be.”

“Spymaster, indeed. Speaking of - tell the sneak she can come in.”

“Wh-“ he began, clipping the question as he opened the door to find my sister’s ear pressed up to the other side.

“Azzy, we talked about this.” he chastised.

“I was just listening to see when I could come in! You said it’s rude to interrupt conversations.”

“Touché.” he called over his shoulder as he walked down the hall.

Azalea’s little feet padded over. “Are you okay sissy?”

“Yeah, Azzy. I’ll be fine. Want to have a tea party?” Her face lit up with joy at the question, little wings twitching in excitement.

——————

That evening I was reading a particularly salacious smutty novel and - as if he had a sense for such things - as my fingers dipped below the band of my silken shorts a note appeared on my night stand.

“I’m lonely without my favorite little Shadowsinger spread out on my bed.”

“I’m sure you are.” I muttered to myself, eyes rolling impossibly far back into my head. I chucked his note into the fireplace and did not deign to respond.

Two hours later another note appeared.

“Don’t be shy - come spend the night.”

“Awww. I’m sure your hand can keep you company. Get fucked, Eris.”

“Are you offering, little one?”

Why’d he have to fuck up our perfectly suitable arrangement with his scheming? Truly there was nothing more I wanted than to go bask in the warmth of his bed while he worshipped me from head to toe but…

Ugh. Once again, another note lost to the fireplace. Let the conniving prick stew on his choices. He’d eventually get the message whether I wrote to him or not. He can keep his secrets just as I can keep my hands and mouth among other assets to myself.

——————

Two days and five flirtatious unanswered notes later, I needed to get out of the house. Considering I was pissed at my obvious choice for release, I had to seek an alternative source of entertainment.

Unfortunately, Nyx was out of town “on emissary business” aka “fucking around in the Spring Court.” but at least Adish was available for a visit to Velaris. He winnowed in from Day bringing a gorgeous female with bronzed skin, braided black hair, and golden-brown eyes. A male with dark skin and braids accompanied them, his eyes appearing even more golden than the former, and muscles that could have been handcrafted by the gods. Damn. I had heard of these two, two of Adish’s close friends in his court, but he’d certainly undersold their beauty. Rhys must have approved them for a visit to Velaris with Adish. Luckily for me - I was suddenly available to mingle.

“Y/N” Adish introduced the female first, “This is Hemera, Hem for short.” The female held her chin high before giving a warm, confident nod of greeting. Gesturing toward the equally beautiful male, Adish continued, “This is Apollo - who is rivaled only by Helion in his reputation with the ladies and males of the Day Court.” The tall, broad male only grinned - a beautiful, devious thing - in return. Oh, he was well aware of the amount of eyes lingering on him in this establishment. I couldn’t blame them. Hell, I was one of them.

The night included many shots, mostly compliments of those hoping to garner the attention of Hem and Apollo. And maybe it was the liquor talking but Apollo only seemed to have his eyes on me. After several “accidental” brushes of our hands and thighs - I garnered up the nerve to pull Apollo out onto the dance floor, with Hemera and Adish closely behind.

The dance floor was a blur of colors and bodies and music and motion. My backside pressed tightly against Apollo as his considerably large hands gripped my waist. And unless he had snuck a large dagger onto the dance floor with him, something as hard as steel was pressed against my back.

Damn, those hands correlated quite nicely if my drunken assessment was to be relied upon.

Turning to face him I was greeted by his gorgeous smile and pupils blown wide with lust. The very evident scent of arousal flooding my nostrils. He wanted me, bad. And I just so happened to feel particularly uncommitted at this point in time.

We swayed against eachother for a while longer before Apollo tilted his head in silent question toward a dimly lit corner of the bar, a corner I knew quite well from past endeavors. I only smirked in return as he took my hand and led me over.

Nobody could see us as my shadows shrouded us effectively blocking any view that the darkened corner hadn’t already obstructed. His mouth was on mine in an instant. My hands roamed his broad chest as one of his hand found the curve of my ass and another caressed my jaw. I opened my mouth, allowing access. He was so fucking attractive. My body practically screamed for more but something in my chest pulled as a pang of emptiness tore through me. Fuck it felt so-

So…

Wrong.

“Wait.” I pulled away.

Apollo instantly pulled back staring at me in question.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…”

Disappointment briefly flashed over his features before he gave me a sad, knowing look. “Adish warned me before coming here that you might be otherwise engaged - but when I saw you. Can you blame me? I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in a mirror. Please accept my apologies for taking it too far.”

Relief flooded over me. I owed this man nothing, but his understanding was reassuring. “I appreciate it and I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in the mirror as well. Can you blame me for falling into temptation? You have nothing to apologize for considering I was rather eager to sneak off with you.”

He only extended an arm, “Come on, let’s get back to our friends.”

We headed to the dance floor but that damned pang jolted through me again. Was it guilt? Fuck, I couldn’t feel guilty. Eris and I were not committed and he certainly didn’t deserve my guilt after keeping secrets from me.

The only logical solution to numbing this foreign feeling was-

“Another round of shots!” Hem called out, walking up beside me. She nudged me playfully, “You look like you could use one my friend.”

I fluttered my eyelashes toward the gorgeous female. “We’ve only known eachother a few hours and you get me! You really get me.”

The shots appeared before us and we cheers’d eachother before throwing them back. The rest of the night filled with dancing and more shots, until Adish proclaimed he was going back to the inn he was staying at.

“Why not just stay at Nyx’s place? He’s out of town.”

A gleam shone in his eyes that only meant trouble. “I don’t think Nyx would appreciate the activities that would be taking place tonight in his bed, among other surfaces.”

I looked behind him to see Hem and Apollo staring hungrily toward him.

Oh.

Oh!

“We’d offer an invitation but you seem to be missing a certain Uncle of mine too much to partake.”

“I refuse to respond to such nonsense. Regardless, you feel too much like family at this point. Which, gross, don’t read into that - but I’m going home. Thanks for coming out to cheer me up tonight.” I kissed my friend on the cheek before exclaiming loudly enough for his companions to hear. “As your High Lord himself would say: Don’t do anything Helion wouldn’t do!”

——————

Typically I would winnow home but alcohol and winnowing are not my specialty. I’ve ended up in too many wrong places over the years and had far too many shots tonight to even consider.

My body was overheated from the liquor and dancing and my heart still kept getting hit with waves of…. Ugh, feelings.

Like a raving lunatic, I strolled alongside the Sidra. Cursing Eris, bargains, feelings, great sex, and everything else that came to mind. Fortunately, Velaris has a very low crime rate and I wouldn’t have to worry about anybody with ill intentions approaching the sweaty female shrouded in manic shadows, stumbling around and talking to herself.

No matter how hard I’d try, my thoughts kept circling back to him. And I must have hit the alcohol way harder than I realized as a blur of red came into view, coming closer and closer to me.

“Adish?”

“Hello, little one.”

The unmistakable seductive voice that I knew far too well caressed my senses as a warm, muscled arm wrapped around my shoulder.

“Eris.”

“It appears you’ve had a lot to drink, darling. You’re literally stumbling in the wrong direction. Let’s get you home.”

Fuck. How much did I drink?

I opened my mouth to speak but pain tore through my stomach, nausea rolling through me. It was all I could do to turn away from Eris and puke onto the street.

“I…. I need to sit for a while. I can’t go home like this.”

“Come on Shadowsinger, we’ll go back to my place then.”

“Fuck.” I muttered. My vision spinning. “I can’t make it home! Let alone” I paused as another wave tore through me. “Back to the Autumn Court.”

Eris paused for a moment, seemingly in a moment of uncertainty before releasing a long sigh.

“I know love. We’ll go back to my apartment - it’s two blocks from here. Think you can make it?”

My only response was to turn away and throw up onto the sidewalk again before blurting out:

“What the fuck?”

———————————————

Tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy

#sarah j maas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #daddy eris #eris x oc #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #bad idea right #acotar x Olivia Rodrigo #inspired by olivia rodrigo

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smoothoper44tor · 8 months ago

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Tortuous love

(⛓️‍💥) Pairing: max verstappen x male! reader

(⛓️‍💥) Summary: Mark is willing to give Max a love he has never experienced before.

(⛓️‍💥) Genre: mostly fluff, angst

(⛓️‍💥) Warning: jos verstappen, child abuse, daddy issues, use of bad language, kinda cheesy, English is not my first language

masterlist

Can you blame Max for finding relive in tortuous love? That’s all his father has ever taught him. Now he’s looking for his rude, soul devouring, soul taking love in everyone, and when he finds that person he holds them deeply with his long arms filled with hate.

He can’t love like a normal person, and he can’t give a healthy expression of his love to the persons that deserve it. That’s the most likely reason to why Max hated him at the begging. He was easy to love, he liked most of the things Max did or said, admired them even, and called him out respectfully when he did something he did not agree with, he was open about his feelings. Open. About his feelings. A true nightmare of a teammate if you had to ask him, especially after Daniel.

“God, Max- you’re so fucking amazing” his rookie teammate was hugging him as if his life depended on it, his sweat and the champagne rushing against Mark's blue helmet. He had won, but the brunette finished fourth, the first loser to miss the podium.

Max didn't felt that as a win, his father made sure he knew finishing first was his duty. Mark sure felt that as a win; he was congratulating him, telling him how amazing he was, and genuinely feeling happy for him. Truly a nightmare.

"Thanks" he murmured, before letting himself be dragged by the crowd of Red Bull employees.

Months after that, as they were preparing for the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix, Mark had insisted in flying a couple of days early to enjoy the wonders of Italy. He had been trying to learn Italian for the last month, and Max can vividly remember the brunette hovering all over him with Italian catch-up lines.

When the brunette invited him to join his early flight he did, for some reason. He wasn't sure why he accepted, or why Mark invited him in the first place, but Max was happy about it.

At least, until he founded out his teammate had also invited Lando. It was understandable, after all, you two started in f1 the very same year, and were also known for having a very deep, heart moving friendship. Max wished he hadn't felt as relieved as he did when he saw Carlos approaching with the papaya pilot. Carlos was never mentioned in the first place, but he was relieved the Spanish was there, hoping he would be enough to take Lando a bit away from Mark, so that way he wo- Wait, why the fuck did he wanted Mark’s attention in the first place?

“Maxie” He was caught by the very one disturbing his mind. The brunette was giggling, his iPhone headphones hanging from his freckled neck. “You okay? You are not looking that good” Before Max could come with a cheap excuse, his teammate spoke again “I mean you do look good, you- shit! No. I didn’t mean it like- It’s not that I checked you out or anything, I just-" he was flustered, burning red colored all of his face. Max hadn’t even notice, been too focused on the other’s neck and the constellations forming there.

“It’s cool, I know what you meant” Mark sat next to him, hiding his face in between his hands. A brief smile danced in the blond face as he spoke again “I’m just thinking” Max leaned against the other, picking his shoulder “What are you listening?” The sudden, unexpected question seemed to erase every sight of blush. He jumped in his seat, practically throwing max one of the headphones in excitement.

Perhaps, Max had underestimated Mark’s abilities with language. When they arrived, he started speaking Italian more loosely than expected, not just catch-up lines, but actual sentences.

“You sound great” Max congratulated as the brunette handled him the ice cream he had just asked for.

“Grazie mille, signori” Max giggled, provoking on the other a soft pink blush. Mark was quick to lace their arms together, as he guided the dutch to the McLaren drivers, that were rambling over their ice creams some meters above them.

Max was still mad about his DNF in Belgium. He was demolished, not even the previous win in Germany was enough to make up for it. It was his duty after all, and every time he didn’t stand in the highest podium he was neglecting said duty.

In Italy, he finished eighth. Mark made it to podium, third place. Max wanted to hug him and congratulate his job as much as the other always did. He even ignored his dad calling him out about today just to rush over Mark. They hugged, and it felt great, it compensated all the insults and daggers Jos throw at him later.

“You’re coming to the party, right?” Mark big chocolate eyes were begging him, with a puppy gesture. He was ignoring all the congratulations, all the pats in his shoulder, everything, just for Max.

“Of course” He giggled, “Can’t miss your party”

Damn, maybe he should have missed the party. Max was blinded by the flashing lights and the stupidly loud music. Mark was nowhere to be seeing.

Daniel was the first person he bumped into. He was already tipsy, and offered the Dutch a shot of tequila. In a normal situation Max would have accepted it, hoping to easy his mind, but right now certain brunette who happened to be his teammate was the only thing occupying his mind, and the last he wanted was to kill that thought.

“Have you seen Mark?” His voice was came out a bit loud, hopping the Australian would hear him in between the nose. A subtle shade of red was covering his cheeks and the top of his ears.

“Markie?” Daniel screamed into him, making Max nod with discomfort. ”He was with Nando I think”

“Nando?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the mention of the Spanish man.

“No, wait. Not Nando, Lando!” Maybe Daniel had drink more than he thought in the first place. “I meant Lando! Yeah!” He screamed with a wide smile. Max gave the man a shy thanks, before starting his search for the other.

Mark was dancing with the other pilot, but soon left him when his eyes meet Max’s. Approaching him.

“You’re actually here” Max couldn’t bring himself to answer, too stunned by the way Mark’s big brown eyes seemed to shine. The man was truly beautiful.

“Can we go somewhere more private?” Max leaned into the other’s neck, almost brushing the freckles that adorned said skin with his lips. Mark shakes over the heat of Max breath hitting over him, gently rubbing the blond’s waist with his hand. He nodded, giving Lando a final look the dutch wasn’t able to describe. “It’s a great party” he said when they made it to the alley, his teammate’s hand was still in his waist, and Max was not going to be one to complain.

“You did well today. I’m not sure if I told you” Max got shy, again, when Mark mumbled his reassuring words. At this point Max found relieve in them, he no longer wanted to scream at him or punch him for them. Max had slowly come to terms with himself.

“I should be the one congratulating you” Max found himself leaning closer to the man, and the heat he emanated. “You did great Mark” His cocky grin expands at the dutch’s words.

“Thank you” Mark had his eyes glued at Max’s as they leaned closer. “Do I get a prize?” His other hand found the blond’s bareback as he still caressed his waist.

“For a third place?” Max mirrored the brunettes cocky gesture. They were centimetres apart, their breathings mixing in a heated sigh, battling to keep their hands for themselves.

“I did great, didn’t I?” Max leaned closer until there was no space left. He was kissing Mark, he was kissing the pink lips his found himself watching so often. Finally.

Mark pressed Max body against his, leaving no space between their bodies either. Right when the heat was emerging between them, Mark cracked a laugh, founding a confused pair of eyes locked at him. “That was great, like actually great”

#f1 #formula 1 #male reader #mv1 #max verstappen #jos verstappen #max verstappen x male reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris #hard to love #red bull f1

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tqlepatiia · 2 months ago

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the space between us | b. barnes & c. barton

masterlist | pt.1

summary: y/n struggles to heal after ending her turbulent relationship with bucky. in her quest for solace, she finds unexpected comfort in clint, whose genuine connection helps her reclaim her joy. as she navigates the complexities of moving on, bucky grapples with his regrets and the consequences of his actions. amid moments of laughter, heartfelt conversations, and emotional confrontations, y/n learns to embrace a new chapter in her life, ultimately discovering that it's okay to love again. can bucky come to terms with his choices and accept the happiness y/n deserves?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader x clint barton

warnings: angst, emotional distress, heartbreak, complex relationship dynamics, confrontations, mentions of mental health struggles, potential triggers related to emotional abuse, strong language, and themes of self-discovery and healing.

notes: hi lovelies! here is part 2, as requested by @idontcareforausernamesblog! <33 i can’t even tell you how emotional this one was to write – i may or may not have cried while putting this together (okay, i totally did 🥲). i poured my heart into this, so i really hope you all enjoy it as much as i did! thank you all so much for your love and patience. you guys are the best, and i can't wait to hear what you think! 💌

word count: 18.5k

Weeks had slipped by since you walked away from Bucky, and the silence in the compound seemed heavier with each passing day. Every corner of the place was filled with memories of laughter, warmth, and moments you wished you could forget. Now, all that remained was the thick air of unresolved feelings and the ache in your chest whenever you caught a glimpse of him in the halls. You had made the decision to leave, to break free from the endless cycle of hurt and frustration, but that hadn’t freed you from the weight of the heartbreak.

You pushed through the door of the training room, and the familiar smell of sweat and metal greeted you. Once, this room had been a place of comfort—a shared sanctuary for you and Bucky, filled with playful banter and moments when the world seemed to disappear. But now, it felt like a space you had to reclaim for yourself.

Standing in the middle of the room, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on the way your muscles stretched as you prepared for the workout ahead. You had to stay present, focus on the strength you were trying to rebuild.

Hey, take a breath, doll. You’ve got this. I believe in you.

Bucky’s voice echoed in your mind, uninvited. His hands had once steadied you in this very room, his presence strong and reassuring.

You shook your head, trying to push the memory away. No. Not now. You couldn’t afford to get lost in the past again. But as you began to stretch, you could still feel that heaviness lingering in your chest. Why did everything with Bucky have to be so complicated? The lightness of being with Clint felt so different—like a breath of fresh air—but guilt washed over you at the thought of moving on so quickly. How could you enjoy this moment when Bucky was still reeling from the breakup?

The sound of the door opening broke the silence, and you turned to see Clint Barton walking in with his usual swagger. He was wearing a fitted black tank top and workout shorts, his smirk firmly in place as he spotted you. There was something about the way he carried himself, a lightness that seemed almost contagious, even when you were feeling your worst.

“Hey, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!” he teased, though you noticed the slight hesitation in his voice. “You ready to get your butt handed to you today?”

You managed a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “More like I’m ready to kick your butt, Hawkeye.”

Clint chuckled, his smirk widening, but there was a brief flicker of something in his expression—an awareness, perhaps, that the teasing had to be balanced carefully. You could see he was trying to keep things light for you. “Big talk from someone who's fresh off a heartbreak courtesy of the Winter Soldier,” he quipped lightly, but his eyes softened immediately, watching for your reaction.

You let out a hollow laugh, not entirely sure if you found it funny or if it was just a defense mechanism. “Trust me, I’m ready to channel all of that into training.”

He nodded, respecting your space, and you squared up, hitting the pads with more force than necessary. The sound of your fists connecting with the pads echoed through the room, each punch a release of the pent-up frustration and pain that had been swirling inside you for weeks.

But even as you punched, the memories came back. You could see Bucky’s face, the way he looked at you during those quiet moments when it was just the two of you, when you believed that maybe everything would be okay.

His hands on yours, teaching you to throw a punch properly. His voice, low and soothing, telling you to relax.

Suddenly, you found yourself instinctively moving as if Bucky were right there beside you, guiding you through a complex maneuver. The memory hit hard, freezing you mid-punch, the muscle memory overwhelming. For a split second, everything blurred around you—the pads, the room, even Clint’s presence faded into the background.

“Y/N!” Clint’s voice broke through the fog, softer this time, and you blinked rapidly, coming back to the present. “Hey, focus up. You’ve got this. Just remember, it’s not a Hawkeye thing; it’s a you thing.”

You stumbled slightly, shaking your head as you regained your balance. “Right. Sorry,” you mumbled, the weight of that unspoken moment lingering between you.

“Just take a breath,” he said, his voice calm yet steady. “You’ve got this. Just find your rhythm. You’re doing great, I promise.”

With his reassurance, you continued to hit the pads, but the memory of Bucky’s touch lingered, a ghostly reminder of what you had lost. Each punch felt heavier now, laced with the weight of your heartache. You could almost feel the tightness in your throat, the sting behind your eyes, the tears you fought to hold back.

“Y/N!” Clint called out after a while, concern creeping into his voice. “You okay in there? Talk to me.”

You paused, chest heaving as you caught his eyes, the question lingering in the air between you. His worry was palpable, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet it fully. Instead, you swallowed hard and nodded, trying to shove down the emotions clawing their way to the surface. “Yeah,” you replied quickly, a little too quickly. “I'm fine. Let's just keep going.”

Clint gave you a skeptical look but didn't push. He nodded, stepping back to give you space as you squared up again, channeling everything into the next hit. This time, you weren’t just striking the pads—every punch felt like it was trying to break through something deeper.

The sound of your fists connecting with the pads echoed sharply in the room, each impact reverberating through your body, but doing little to quiet the storm inside you. As much as you wanted to stay in the present, your mind betrayed you, tugging you back into memories you'd been desperately avoiding.

Bucky's hand, steadying yours as you stood together, his voice low and teasing as he corrected your form. The way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, the weight of his gaze grounding you in ways nothing else could.

You grit your teeth, hitting harder. It wasn’t fair—the way those memories clung to you, even after everything that had happened. The harder you tried to push them away, the more vivid they became, like a fog that thickened the more you struggled against it. Every punch felt like a futile attempt to exorcise his ghost from your heart.

“Look at you go!” Clint called out after a while, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “At this rate, you’ll be gunning for my job in no time. Might have to start watching my back, huh?”

You smirked, catching your breath. “You’re just saying that because you’re scared I’ll take your place, Hawkeye.”

Clint gasped dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. “Accuse me of treachery? I'm wounded.” But the playful look in his eyes quickly shifted to something more serious, his expression softening as he added, “But seriously—you're tougher than you think. I’m impressed.”

For a moment, his words sank in, and you felt a brief sense of pride warm your chest. But that warmth was fleeting, replaced by the all-too-familiar gnawing guilt that surfaced when your thoughts strayed too close to Bucky. You wanted to be strong. You wanted to believe Clint’s words. But a part of you still felt like you were breaking, piece by piece, under the weight of your past with him.

You slowed down, your punches growing weaker. “You’re slowing down,” Clint said, dropping the pads, stepping closer as your breath came in ragged gasps. “Hey, you alright?” he asked softly, his earlier lighthearted tone replaced with something deeper, something understanding.

You hesitated, your guard still up. “Yeah, just… tired,” you said, though you knew that wasn’t entirely true. The emotions bubbling just beneath the surface were harder to contain.

Clint didn’t push, but he also didn’t move away. He stood there, waiting, giving you the space to decide if you wanted to open up. And as the silence stretched between you, something in you shifted. Maybe it was the way he was just there, steady and unwavering, that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could let a little bit of the wall down.

“It’s hard,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I thought leaving him would make it easier, but it hasn’t.”

As the words left your lips, a tightness gripped your throat, and you felt a sting in your eyes, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill over. Clint’s expression shifted to one of concern, and before you could stop him, he reached out to wipe away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

You flinched slightly at the touch, the tenderness foreign after the chaos of your relationship with Bucky. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Clint’s hand dropped back to his side, his expression softening with understanding. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s normal to feel this way.”

You looked down, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “It doesn’t feel like the right thing,” you whispered, the guilt gnawing at you again.

He stepped closer, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you're tougher than you give yourself credit for. It’s not gonna be easy, but you’ll get there. And don’t worry—I'm not going anywhere.” he said, sincerity lacing his words. In that moment, you realized that Clint’s presence felt like a refuge, a safe space where you could process your pain without the complexity that came with Bucky. You were seen and supported, free to be yourself as you navigated the emotions swirling inside you.

You felt a swell of gratitude for Clint in that moment, for his unwavering support and understanding. As the moment lingered, Clint reached over to grab a towel from the nearby bench, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed it to you. The brief contact sent an unexpected spark through you, and you looked up to see him watching you intently.

“Drink up, champ,” he said, bringing you a bottle of water next. “I’d hate to be the one who has to drag your unconscious ass around.” He held the bottle out with a playful grin, and as you took it, your fingers lingered for a moment, the connection both comforting and electric.

“Thanks, Clint. It means a lot to me,” you said, feeling the warmth of his kindness wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

After a moment, Clint jokingly flexed, striking a mock superhero pose. “How’s this for an emotional support system?” he quipped, his voice lightening the mood, but then he quickly pulled you into a side hug instead, wrapping his arm around your shoulders in a gesture that felt intimate yet effortless.

You were caught off guard by the gesture but surprised at how comforting it felt. Clint’s warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, all the heaviness seemed to fade away.

“I can’t wait to tell Bucky how weak you are,” you teased lightly, leaning into him, your heart feeling just a bit lighter.

“Hey! No one’s supposed to tell him about this!” Clint replied, mock-horrified, but you could see the glimmer of understanding in his eyes, the way he respected your process.

As you both stepped back, a small, quiet laugh escaped your lips, an unspoken understanding passing between you. There was a lightness that hadn’t been there before, a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

As you wrapped up your session, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting golden rays through the windows of the training room. The way the light filtered through felt almost magical, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. It mirrored your emotional journey—where dark shadows of the past with Bucky began to fall away, replaced by the warm glow of hope and new beginnings. The suffocating atmosphere of the compound started to fade, replaced by the golden promise of something better.

With each passing moment, you felt the connection with Clint growing stronger.

“Same time tomorrow?” you asked, excitement bubbling up within you.

“Yeah, can’t wait,” he replied, matching your enthusiasm.

As you stepped out of the training room, you felt lighter than you had in weeks. Maybe moving on was not just about leaving Bucky behind but about embracing the friendships and connections that could flourish in their place.

Could it be that you were starting to feel something deeper for him?

The thought lingered as you shook your head slightly, trying to dismiss it, but it wouldn’t leave you. With Clint by your side, you felt a little more ready to face whatever came next. The potential for something new and beautiful was just beginning to blossom in your heart.

The training room buzzed with energy, sunlight streaming in through the high windows and illuminating the dust motes swirling lazily in the air. Over the past few weeks, you and Clint had settled into an easy rhythm; morning sessions had become the highlight of your day—an escape from the shadows that had lingered since your breakup with Bucky. There was something comforting in the routine, the laughter and sweat shared with Clint grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

But today felt different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but a new energy crackled beneath the surface, a subtle charge that sent your heart racing as you warmed up. The anticipation buzzed just below your skin, and you found yourself glancing over at Clint more than usual, as if waiting for something—though you weren’t sure what.

Clint was already in the room, stretching and chatting casually with Natasha, who was overseeing the session. As you approached, Clint glanced over and shot you that familiar, easy grin. But this time, there was a warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter—a mix of mischief and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Ready to get your butt kicked today?” he called, raising his eyebrows in playful challenge, his grin widening.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes with mock indignation. “Please, I’m pretty sure I kicked your butt yesterday.”

He laughed, the sound rich and unforced, but there was a softness behind it that sent a thrill through you. “Only because I let you.” His tone was teasing, yet there was a sincerity that sent a thrill through you.

Natasha, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, caught your eye just as Clint spoke. Her knowing smile widened, and her eyebrow arched slightly, a hint of mischief dancing in her gaze as she observed the exchange. You felt a heat rise to your cheeks under her watchful eye, and you quickly looked away, trying to focus on Clint instead.

“Just don’t break anything, okay?” Natasha smirked, her amusement clear. “We need you both in one piece for the next mission.”

Clint flashed her a cheeky smile. “Don’t worry, Nat, I’ve got this under control.” Then he turned back to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come on, Y/N, let’s see if you can back up that cocky attitude.”

You squared up against him, your body humming with adrenaline. “Bring it on,” you said, your voice steady, but beneath it all, your pulse raced.

The first few minutes were easy, familiar—the two of you moving in perfect sync, your bodies weaving in and out of each other’s reach. But as the sparring picked up, the playfulness began to fade, replaced by something sharper, something more visceral.

You feinted left and struck right, your fist connecting solidly with the pad Clint held. The impact sent a jolt of satisfaction through you, and Clint’s grin widened, a competitive glint flashing in his eyes. Yet as you ducked and weaved, your mind drifted to memories of Bucky—a stark reminder of how he once made you feel, how his presence had filled you with warmth and security. You could still recall the way he had looked at you, his gaze intense, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world. His laughter, a soothing balm in the chaos of your life, and the way he would hold you after training, his warmth wrapping around you like a protective shield.

But just as that warmth felt distant, it was replaced by a new feeling—one that had crept in gradually since you started spending time with Clint. You couldn’t deny that he was beginning to make you feel something different, something lighter. Yet with every laugh shared, with every teasing remark that fell from his lips, a pang of guilt twisted in your stomach. Wasn’t this betrayal? Could you truly allow yourself to enjoy his presence when the echoes of Bucky still lingered in your heart?

That guilt grew heavier as you continued to spar, and just as the memory threatened to pull you under, Clint’s voice broke through the haze, grounding you in the present. “Hey,” he said, his tone softer now, concern etched on his face as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. “You okay?”

You blinked, pushing the memories away, forcing a smile that felt a little too strained. “Yeah, just… got distracted for a second.” Your heart raced, both from the recollection and the need to reassure him.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze still searching yours, lingering with a hint of worry. But there was something more in his eyes—an unspoken longing that tugged at your heart, a reminder that Clint was starting to fall for someone who was still healing. “Just remember, I’m here for you. And if you need a bow and arrow, I’ve got you covered.”

The simplicity and sincerity of his words nearly overwhelmed you. A lump formed in your throat, and you struggled to hold back the rush of emotions that threatened to spill over. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear those words, how badly you needed someone to offer their unwavering support, to promise you wouldn’t have to face your struggles alone. It struck a chord deep within you, bringing a mixture of relief and vulnerability that left you momentarily speechless.

“Thank you,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really appreciate that.”

Clint nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “I mean it. You don’t have to go through this alone. Trust me, it’s way more fun with company—just ask Natasha about our last mission.”

As you continued to spar, the camaraderie and laughter returned, yet the undertones had shifted—an unspoken understanding lingering between you, blending the thrill of new beginnings with the weight of the past. With each interaction, there were subtle hints of Clint’s longing—how he lingered a moment too long after brushing past you, the way his gaze softened when you laughed, a silent acknowledgment of the connection growing between you. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Yet the emotional weight pressed down on you, the guilt that moved in tandem with the warmth you felt toward him. You were still healing, still piecing yourself together after the heartbreak, and the fear of moving on loomed over you like a dark cloud.

“Clint,” you said slowly, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you. You’re so… I don’t know how to explain it.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and he stepped closer, the concern in his gaze deepening. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the walls you’d built around your heart trembling under the weight of your admission. “I like being with you. You make me laugh, and I… I enjoy this, but I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying Bucky. Like every moment I spend here with you is a reminder that he’s gone, and I shouldn’t be moving on so fast.”

Clint’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, his presence steadying you as you spoke. “Y/N, you’re not betraying him. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. It just means you’re letting yourself heal.”

His words resonated with you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt the pressure in your chest ease ever so slightly. “I just don’t know how to let go. I miss him, and I feel guilty for feeling… anything for you.”

He nodded, understanding evident in his eyes. “It’s okay to feel both—what you had with Bucky and what’s starting here. You don’t have to choose right now.”

The warmth in his gaze made your heart swell, and you realized how desperately you needed to hear those words, how vulnerable you felt in this moment of honesty. “Thank you, Clint,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

As you resumed your sparring, the atmosphere shifted, filled with a blend of laughter and shared understanding. With every moment together, you felt the possibility of something new blossoming between you—a chance to reclaim your heart, even as the past lingered in the shadows. The guilt of moving forward loomed like a cloud, but with Clint by your side, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let yourself begin again.

The training session came to a close, both of you panting and grinning, the laughter still echoing in the air. As you gathered your things, the moment felt suspended, charged with the unspoken words that hovered between you.

Clint picked up his towel, tossing it over his shoulder as he stepped closer, and in that moment, your fingers brushed against each other—just a fleeting touch, but it sent a spark through you, igniting a warmth that spread through your chest.

You both paused, caught in the simplicity of that shared connection. His gaze held yours, the world around you fading away, and in that silence, the moment felt intimate, laden with promise.

Finally, Clint broke the tension with a soft smile, but it lingered in your mind long after he turned away, leaving you with an ache in your heart and a flutter of hope—a quiet promise of what could be.

The training facility hummed with energy, filled with the cacophony of grunts, laughter, and the occasional thud as bodies met pads or the mat. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and metal, the faint tang of iron lingering like a shadow over the vibrant activity. Bucky stood off to the side, leaning against the cool metal of the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He tried to focus on the training routines of the other Avengers, but as he locked eyes on the sparring match taking place in the center of the room, the surrounding sounds faded into a dull roar, almost as if he were submerged underwater.

You were there, your movements fluid and confident as you trained with Clint. The way you laughed, the sparkle in your eyes, and the ease with which you both interacted made something in Bucky’s chest twist painfully. The laughter felt like shards of glass, cutting into him as he stood there, paralyzed by his own thoughts. Another memory surged—the day he had held you close after a tough mission, whispering reassurances as you broke down in his arms. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you,” he had promised, the sincerity in his voice echoing in his mind. You had smiled through your tears, your trust in him palpable. How could he have let it come to this? How could he have broken that trust?

As you sparred with Clint, Bucky's jaw clenched involuntarily. He watched Clint’s hand brush against your arm as he guided you through a new technique, and a surge of frustration coursed through him, coiling tightly in his gut. Bucky's heart sank as he watched you and Clint share playful jabs, the way your laughter intertwined with his. It was the kind of easy banter he used to have with you, and now it felt like a dagger twisting in his heart.

In that moment, a flash of memory surged through him—the night you both had curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket as you watched a movie. The comfort of your head resting on his shoulder, the warmth of your body against his. You had looked up at him, eyes sparkling, and said, “I'm really glad you're in my life, Bucky. You make everything better.” The simplicity of that moment haunted him, a stark reminder of the connection they had shared and the way he had let it slip away. Each joyous laugh felt like an echo bouncing off the walls, magnifying his isolation in a space that had once felt like home. The ache inside him grew sharper, a rawness he couldn't shake, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

As you lunged at Clint, your movements were fluid and precise, catching him off guard with a swift kick that sent him stumbling back. The sight made Bucky's fists clench at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to storm over there and drag you back to him. It wasn't just the fun you were having; it was the way Clint looked at you—like you were the center of his universe. That was supposed to be him.

As the echo of your laughter faded, Bucky felt the weight of his decisions press heavily on his shoulders. Memories crashed over him like waves—every shared moment, every late-night conversation filled with warmth and hope, the way your smile could brighten his darkest days. Now, he felt like a ghost haunting the remnants of what they once shared, a mere spectator to the happiness he'd pushed away.

“Look at them,” Natasha said, her voice low as she joined him by the wall, arms crossed similarly. Her gaze was fixed on the two of you, and though she spoke, the words felt muted to Bucky, lost in the haze of his spiraling thoughts. “They’ve got a real connection, don’t they?”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” he replied, his voice tight, his jaw clenched even more. The world around him dimmed further, the laughter and shouts of the training session fading into a distant hum. All he could see was you, the light in your eyes brightening with each playful exchange, while shadows loomed over him, reminding him of his failures.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Natasha asked, glancing sideways at him. “You know, if you want to talk to her—”

“Talk?” Bucky interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. “What good would that do now? I pushed her away.” The weight of those words hung heavily in the air between them, and he felt a pang of shame wash over him. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the metal of his bionic arm groaning slightly under the pressure, a physical manifestation of the regret that threatened to consume him.

“Look, Bucky,” Natasha said softly, her gaze penetrating. “You need to face what you did. You’re not the only one hurting.”

He exhaled heavily, frustration mixing with regret as he pushed off from the wall. “I know that, Nat. But what’s the point? She’s moving on. I can’t just waltz back in and act like everything is fine.”

“Maybe it’s not about waltzing back in,” Natasha countered, her voice firm but gentle. “Maybe it’s about acknowledging what went wrong and making it right. You can’t keep running from your feelings.”

Bucky watched as you and Clint exchanged another playful jab, your eyes sparkling with joy. That joy had been a rare sight during the last weeks of your relationship. All the arguments, the anger, the hurt—Bucky had convinced himself that pushing you away was for the best, that he was protecting you from himself. But now, seeing you smile, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d made a terrible mistake.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting memories flood back. The nights spent watching movies curled up on the couch, sharing popcorn and stolen kisses; the quiet mornings where you’d both linger in bed, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence; the way you’d laugh at his terrible jokes, lighting up even the darkest corners of his mind. Those moments felt like echoes of a life that was now slipping away from him, fading like the soft morning light.

He was alone. The thought echoed in his mind, drowning out everything else. His heart ached as memories flooded back—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the comfort of your presence. Moments that now felt like distant dreams, lost in a haze of regret.

“Do you ever think about how you might’ve messed up?” Natasha asked, her tone shifting. “I get that you thought you were protecting her, but did you really think pushing her away was the answer?”

“Of course I do,” Bucky muttered bitterly, shaking his head. “I thought… I thought it was better this way. I thought she’d be safer without me.”

“Safer? Or happier?” Natasha challenged, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not some monster, Bucky. You deserve to be happy, too.”

He let out a heavy sigh, frustration and regret coiling tightly in his chest as he pushed off from the wall. “I get that, Nat. But what’s the use? She’s already moving on. I can’t just show up like nothing happened... like I’m not the guy who screwed it all up.”

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She still cares, even if she’s trying to move on. But you need to take that step,” Natasha urged, her voice cutting through his reverie. “Before it’s too late.”

The fight in her words ignited something within him, stirring a long-buried determination. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still hope. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the fear that threatened to consume him.

“Okay,” he said, voice steadying. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good,” Natasha replied, her smile returning. “Just be honest. It’s all you can do.”

With newfound determination coursing through him, he took a step toward you, a surge of hope igniting within him. But as he approached, doubt clawed at his insides. The laughter rang in his ears, and with each step forward, it felt as if an invisible force was pulling him back, reminding him of the pain he had caused. He hesitated, caught in the gravity of the moment, every step feeling heavier than the last.

He could almost reach out, touch your shoulder, feel the warmth radiating from you. But the closer he got, the more overwhelming the memories became. The arguments, the tears—each one a reminder of how he had pushed you away. His heart raced as he faltered, a sickening churn in his stomach.

Just a few more steps, he thought, but then he froze. The distance felt insurmountable, filled with all the unsaid words and the weight of his own mistakes. His chest tightened, and he swallowed hard, feeling the suffocating grip of uncertainty tighten around him.

As he stood there, the weight of regret crashing down, he felt the edges of a discarded photo under his foot—one of you both at a picnic, the sun illuminating your smiles. He didn’t need to look at it to remember the way you had leaned against him, a comfortable weight that felt like home. Watching the connection between you and Clint grow stronger, he felt the pain of realization wash over him. He had pushed you away, believing it was for the best, but now he was left standing alone, haunted by the choices he had made. The thought of losing you completely loomed over him like a dark cloud, threatening to swallow him whole.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered to himself, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. “Not now.”

With a final glance toward you and Clint, laughter still ringing in the air, Bucky turned away. The cool air hit him like a slap, stark against the emotional turmoil churning inside him. Each step felt like a retreat, a surrender to the pain that had become all too familiar.

As he walked away, he could almost feel Natasha’s disappointment echoing in his mind, a reminder of the support he had failed to embrace. He imagined her rallying the others, attempting to keep the team together in the face of his absence. But how could they be whole without him? Each one of them had their struggles, their scars, and he felt the weight of the burden he was leaving behind.

The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. It wasn’t just about him anymore; it was about the team, the friends he had fought alongside, the ones who had stood by him through thick and thin. They needed him, even if he felt like he was more of a liability than an asset right now.

A deep sense of dread settled over him. The consequences of his decision would echo beyond just his heart; they would ripple through the very fabric of the Avengers. Each step he took away from the training room felt like a step further from the family he had fought so hard to protect. The thought of them continuing to thrive, to train, to bond without him gnawed at him, a reminder of the fragility of connection.

As he stepped outside, the cool air brushed against his skin, but the chill within him ran deeper. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was not just leaving behind a relationship, but a part of himself. The determination he felt just moments ago was now shadowed by despair, and the hope he had clung to began to feel like a cruel illusion.

What if I never find my way back? he thought, feeling the burden of his choice weigh heavier than before.

Maybe some things were meant to be lost forever.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the compound as Y/N stepped outside. The late afternoon air was filled with the distant sounds of training—clanging metal, the rhythmic thud of feet against the ground, punctuated by laughter and the occasional shout of encouragement. But today, the ambiance felt heavier for her, the vibrant colors around her muted under the weight of her emotions. She found herself wandering to the garden, a peaceful escape from the chaos of her thoughts, the fragrant scent of blooming flowers wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.

As she strolled along the winding path lined with vibrant flowers, she caught sight of Natasha sitting on a bench, a sketchbook balanced on her lap. The faint sound of rustling leaves above accompanied the soft scratching of pencil against paper. Natasha’s eyes were focused, but she looked up as Y/N approached, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted, setting the pencil down. “You look like you could use some company.”

Y/N nodded, her heart heavy with unspoken words. She shifted her weight, biting her lip as memories of Bucky flooded her mind—his laughter echoing in her ears, the warmth of his hand intertwined with hers. She could almost feel the sun on her face as they sat together at the lake, splashing water at each other, his laughter ringing like music. That day had felt endless, each moment dripping with joy, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled her in for a playful kiss, whispering, “You know you’ll always be my favorite partner in crime.” But now those memories were tinged with pain, the ache of what they had lost haunting her every thought. “Yeah, I guess I could.” Her voice was soft, laced with uncertainty, as the once-bright flowers around her seemed to dull in color, mirroring her mood.

“Want to talk?” Natasha asked, her tone straightforward as she patted the space beside her on the bench. She opened her arms slightly, inviting Y/N into her embrace. “I can put the sketchbook away for a while if you need to vent. Just don’t expect me to draw you a superhero.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, recalling a time when Natasha had accidentally spilled paint all over her favorite outfit while trying to teach her how to paint. “Remember when you tried to teach me how to paint? And I ended up looking like a color palette instead?”

Natasha smirked, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “I was trying to bring out your inner artist, not your inner disaster.”

“More like my inner disaster,” Y/N replied, shaking her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “But I still have that painting you made—it’s one of my favorites.”

“Only because I painted over the disaster,” Natasha teased, a playful glint in her eyes. “Now, enough reminiscing about your ‘artistic’ talents. What’s really on your mind?”

With a small sigh, Y/N sank down next to Natasha, feeling the warmth radiating from her friend and the sun’s rays on her skin. Natasha wrapped an arm around Y/N's shoulders, drawing her closer. Y/N inhaled deeply, the air fragrant with lavender and jasmine, familiar scents that reminded her of happier times with Bucky. But now they felt bittersweet, a cruel reminder of love tangled with loss. “It’s just… everything is so complicated right now.” The words felt heavy on her tongue, weighted down by the confusion swirling in her mind.

“Complicated how?” Natasha replied, tilting her head slightly, her curiosity piqued. Y/N could see the sunlight reflecting in Natasha’s eyes, illuminating her concern and drawing her into the moment.

Y/N hesitated, avoiding Natasha’s gaze, staring at the ground where the petals of the flowers seemed to wilt under the weight of her thoughts. “It’s Bucky. After everything, I thought moving on would be easier, but it’s just not. I feel guilty for even trying to be happy without him.” Her heart raced as she spoke, a mix of fear and longing. What if he needed her? What if he couldn’t find his way without her? But the reality of their situation hung over her like a dark cloud, suffocating and relentless.

“Listen,” Natasha said softly, leaning in, her grip tightening reassuringly on Y/N's shoulder. “You’re allowed to feel conflicted. You can care about Clint and still process what happened with Bucky. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love him, or that you’re moving on too fast.” The strength in Natasha’s voice offered a glimmer of hope, yet Y/N felt the shadows of guilt creeping back in.

Y/N leaned back against the bench, her shoulders tense as she stared up at the sky, now clouding over slightly. “I just want to feel happy again without all this guilt weighing me down. I want to enjoy my life and my relationships without constantly thinking about him.” But how could she? Bucky’s memory loomed over her like an uninvited guest, always there, always watching. The fun she had with Clint felt tainted, overshadowed by thoughts of Bucky—would he ever truly be gone from her heart?

“Y/N,” Natasha said gently, her expression growing serious. “I get it. There was someone I cared about once, too. Someone I didn’t think I could move on from. I was stuck in the past, thinking that letting go meant I didn’t care enough. But it doesn’t. The memories don’t disappear, and neither does what you felt.” Her voice was thick with emotion, and Y/N felt the sincerity in her words.

“What happened?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued, wanting to understand how Natasha had navigated her own pain.

Natasha took a deep breath, her gaze distant as she reflected on the past. “I lost him on a mission. For a while, it felt like I was carrying a ghost around. Took me meeting someone new to realize... it's okay to let it change. To honor what was, without letting it define everything after.” She paused, her voice steady but softer. “It wasn’t easy. Guilt can mess you up, make you think being happy again is wrong. But moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. It just means you’re healing.” Her words resonated deeply, and Y/N could see the wisdom in Natasha’s experience, the vulnerability that made her even more relatable.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling a flicker of hope ignite within her. “But what if moving on means losing those memories forever? I can’t help but feel that by choosing to embrace something new with Clint, I’m erasing everything I had with Bucky.”

“Those memories are part of who you are,” Natasha assured her, squeezing Y/N's hand gently. “They’ll always be there, shaping you, reminding you of the love you shared. But you need to let that love evolve. It’s not about forgetting—it’s about honoring. And only you can decide how.” The warmth of Natasha’s touch grounded Y/N, reminding her that she didn’t have to face this alone.

Y/N bit her lip, her heart racing with conflicting emotions. “It just feels so overwhelming sometimes. I remember the sweet moments with Bucky, like that day at the lake when we laughed until we cried. His laughter was like music, and the way he kissed my forehead made me feel safe. I thought that feeling would last forever.” But now, even that memory felt like a dagger, reminding her of the distance that had crept between them.

“Those moments were real,” Natasha said gently. “They shaped you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t create new ones with Clint. Different doesn’t mean less meaningful. And it’s not betraying Bucky’s memory.” Natasha’s steady gaze and calm demeanor anchored Y/N, making her feel understood.

As they spoke, a figure approached the garden, and Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she caught a glimpse of Clint. He paused at the entrance, watching them with a soft smile. The way his eyes sparkled made her stomach flutter, a warm anticipation blossoming in her chest. It was as if he could sense the shift in her emotions, the way her smile widened as she talked about the future.

Y/N turned her attention back to Natasha, her heart still racing at the sight of Clint. “You’re right. I’ve been so focused on what I lost that I haven’t thought about what I could gain. I can picture Clint and me going on a spontaneous road trip—just driving with no destination in mind, singing along to our favorite songs at the top of our lungs. I miss that carefree feeling.” Her voice began to brighten, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined the adventure.

Clint stepped closer, curiosity etched on his face. He could hear snippets of their conversation, and a warm smile spread across his lips as he caught Y/N’s gaze. It felt as if he was a part of the moment, not just an observer. There was something about her smile that drew him in, igniting a flicker of hope in his chest.

“See?” Natasha smirked, her eyes glinting. “That doesn’t sound so bad. You deserve to enjoy those moments—without guilt. It’s okay to have hope again.”

Feeling lighter, Y/N smiled as she picked a flower from a nearby bush, twirling it in her fingers. “I think I’m ready to embrace that, to let go of the past and let it blossom into something new.” The flower felt vibrant and alive in her grasp, a symbol of her desire to grow and move forward.

“Good,” Natasha said, a hint of pride in her voice as she pulled Y/N into a brief but firm hug. “You’ve got this. And remember—you don’t have to do it alone.”

As they sat there together, Y/N felt the weight of her guilt begin to lift, the warmth of Natasha’s support wrapping around her like a protective shield. She glanced at the flowers surrounding them, their colors brightening under the sun, mirroring the lightness blossoming in her heart.

But just as her heart began to fill with hope, a fleeting moment of doubt whispered in her mind. What if she wasn’t ready? What if moving on hurt more than it healed? Yet, as she looked into Natasha’s eyes, she felt a flicker of determination ignite within her. Maybe healing was a process, a winding path filled with both joy and uncertainty, and that was okay.

“Hey, should we go see who’s losing in training?” Natasha asked, an impish smile dancing on her lips. “I’ll bet Clint’s probably tripped over his own feet again. I can’t wait to see him blame it on ‘tech issues.’”

Y/N laughed, a genuine sound that felt foreign yet freeing. “I’ll take that bet! But let’s not tell him I was rooting for him. He’ll never let me live it down.”

Clint, catching their laughter, couldn’t help but smile wider as he stepped closer, curiosity piqued. “You guys are plotting against me again, aren’t you?”

“Just discussing your amazing skills on the training floor,” Natasha replied, winking at Y/N.

“Ah, I see how it is. Just wait until I show you some new moves. You’ll be begging me for pointers—and then I might just consider it,” Clint teased, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Good luck with that,” Y/N shot back, her heart warming at the playful exchange. “I’m pretty sure I’d rather face a dozen missions than risk getting tangled in your ‘expert’ moves.”

“Smart choice!” Natasha laughed, nudging Y/N playfully as they stood up, brushing off the bits of dirt from the bench.

With renewed hope, Y/N took Natasha’s hand, feeling the warmth of their friendship radiate between them. Together, they would forge ahead, ready to find their own path filled with laughter, love, and endless possibilities. And as she glanced at Clint, feeling the way her heart fluttered, she couldn’t help but think that maybe this journey was just beginning.

The days melted into weeks, each one blending into the next like brush strokes on a canvas. With every sunrise, Y/N found herself stepping further away from the shadows of her past with Bucky. The initial pangs of guilt began to fade, replaced by a gentle warmth that blossomed each time she was with Clint. Yet, even in those moments of joy, a flicker of uncertainty lingered—thoughts of Bucky would occasionally creep in, reminding her of the pain and confusion she had felt. It was a peculiar sensation, like a fresh breeze sweeping through a room that had long been closed off, but also like a faint echo of an unresolved melody. She recalled how Bucky's unpredictability had taught her the importance of setting boundaries and prioritizing her own happiness, lessons she was slowly beginning to embrace.

On a particularly crisp afternoon, Y/N found herself in the common room, sunlight streaming through the expansive windows, casting golden rays across the furniture and warming her skin with its gentle touch. Outside, birds chirped cheerfully in the trees, their songs weaving a harmonious backdrop that made the atmosphere feel alive. The light danced on the floor, creating playful patterns that invited her in. Clint was sprawled on the couch, arms behind his head, looking utterly relaxed as he flipped through a comic book. The sound of pages turning filled the air, punctuated by the soft rustle of the paper and Clint's occasional chuckle. His easygoing demeanor was infectious, and she found herself smiling just at the sight of him, her heart fluttering as his laughter lit up the room.

“Hey, you,” Clint said, glancing up at her, his eyes brightening as a wide grin spread across his face, revealing that charming dimple. “Come check this out! They’re doing a crossover with all the Avengers—like we need more drama in our lives, right?” He waved the comic, excitement threading through his voice.

“Really?” she asked, intrigued. “What’s it about?”

“Some ridiculous time travel mess. You know how these things go. But honestly? It’s hilarious,” he replied, turning the comic toward her. Y/N crossed the room, plopping down beside him, the fabric of the couch cool and inviting beneath her. As she settled in, she brushed her shoulder against his, feeling the warmth of his skin, a tiny spark that sent a rush of warmth through her.

“Okay, but I think they totally got your character all wrong,” Clint teased, nudging her shoulder playfully. “I mean, seriously, Y/N would never wear those ridiculous spandex shorts from that one comic. Remember when you called them your ‘definitely-not-for-fighting’ shorts? Classic.”

Y/N laughed so hard she snorted, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Oh my god! Yes! That was traumatizing!” She tried to regain her composure, but the image of Clint in a ridiculous costume was too much. “And how you insisted on wearing that awful Hawaiian shirt during the mission? Talk about a fashion faux pas! What were you thinking? You looked like a tourist on a budget!”

Clint grinned, feigning indignation, his smile widening into a playful smirk. “That shirt was a classic! Plus, it totally distracted the bad guys. They were too busy laughing to notice us!”

“Right, because nothing says ‘serious superhero’ like a floral print!” she shot back, laughing as his eyes sparkled with mischief, making him beam even wider. As she leaned in closer to get a better look at the comic, their knees brushed against each other, and she felt a jolt of electricity at the contact.

“Admit it, you’re just jealous that you don’t have my sense of style,” Clint joked, his grin growing even more infectious.

“Oh please, I’d rather wear a potato sack than join you in that sartorial disaster,” she countered, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress her smile. “But if you keep wearing those shirts, I might just start a ‘Clint Barton Fashion Police’ page.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed, shaking his head, his whole face lighting up with joy. “You’re just trying to get me to wear it again! Next time, I’ll have to add a matching visor for the full effect.”

“Please, just spare me the vision of you in a visor,” Y/N replied, wiping away a mock tear of laughter. “You’d scare all the villains away with that look alone.”

As their conversation flowed, light and easy, Y/N felt herself relaxing more and more, though the remnants of her past tugged at her. She enjoyed Clint’s company, his humor a welcome distraction, but with each shared joke, she was reminded of what she was trying to move past. The laughter was like a balm, soothing but not quite enough to erase the scars Bucky had left behind.

In a rare moment of quiet, Y/N found herself reflecting on how different she felt with Clint compared to her time with Bucky. With Clint, there was no tension, no weight of unresolved issues hanging in the air. Instead, she felt light and free, able to laugh without the fear of being hurt. Bucky had always been a tumultuous storm, full of passion but also chaos that often left her feeling unsettled. Clint, in contrast, was like a warm breeze on a sunny day—comforting and steady. It was this realization that made her smile deepen; there was something special about the way Clint made her feel, something that reminded her of the joy that life could bring.

“Okay, but seriously,” Clint said, his playful tone shifting slightly, as if sensing a change in the atmosphere. “If you could have any ice cream flavor, what would it be?”

Y/N chuckled, the levity returning to her voice. “I’d probably have to go with chocolate chip cookie dough. Classic.”

“Solid choice,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Though I’d argue mint chocolate chip is superior. What’s wrong with you, Y/N? Did you hit your head?”

“Now you’re just trying to start a debate!” she teased, pretending to think deeply. “But if you’re that passionate about it, I’m game! Just know I’m going to choose the most disgusting flavors imaginable!”

Clint leaned in closer, lowering his voice playfully. “I’ll be your personal happiness assistant. Laughter guaranteed! Just remember, if you pick any terrible flavors, I’m not responsible for the consequences.”

“Deal!” she laughed, her heart swelling with warmth. “But if you want me to choose first, you have to promise not to make a face when I pick something weird,” she replied, nudging him playfully.

“Only if you promise to at least try to keep it edible!” he shot back, grinning. “I still have nightmares about that time you thought pickle-flavored ice cream sounded good!”

Y/N burst into laughter, remembering the incident. “Okay, okay, I promise no pickles!” Y/N felt a bubble of excitement rise within her, the prospect of those silly plans igniting a spark of hope. “It’ll be a deal! Just think of all the crazy memories we could make together—like that time you nearly dropped your ice cream all over your face because you were trying to juggle it like a pro!”

Clint chuckled, shaking his head in mock embarrassment. “Hey, that was a strategic move! You just weren’t ready for my unparalleled talent.”

“Yeah, right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “But seriously, you know I wouldn’t mind a little extra protection during our ice cream adventures. You never know when a rogue villain might swoop in and try to steal our dessert.”

“Don’t worry,” Clint replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “I’ll fend off any bad guys trying to interrupt our ice cream dates! I’m basically a superhero with a spoon.” His mock seriousness made her laugh even more.

As they talked, Clint glanced at his ice cream, then turned to her with a playful grin. “You know what? You should definitely take the last bite of mine. I insist!” He held out the bowl, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Clint, you know I can’t just take your last bite!” she protested, giggling at his insistence.

“Too late! It’s already yours,” he said with mock authority, nudging her shoulder. “Besides, I can always get more. You’re the one who deserves the last scoop.” His gesture, so small yet meaningful, made her heart flutter.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his antics. “You really think I’m that special, huh? Just wait until you see my terrible choices! But I appreciate it, Clint. It means a lot.”

“Always,” he said, his expression softening as he listened intently. “You deserve to feel free and light. Life’s too short to be weighed down by all that baggage. And besides,” he added with a teasing smirk, “the world could use a little more of that laughter of yours.”

“Thanks, Clint,” she said softly, her heart full. “I’m really glad we’re doing this. It feels good to just sit here and laugh again.”

As they continued to talk about their dreams and plans, Y/N felt a warmth enveloping her, like a cozy blanket after a tumultuous journey. She paused to savor the simplicity of the moment, the laughter they shared lingering in her mind, a sweet melody that brightened the fading day. The soft rustle of leaves outside and the distant chirping of birds blended harmoniously with their conversation, creating a serene atmosphere that mirrored the deepening connection between them.

They laughed together, the moment feeling light and effortless, like a gentle breeze tousling their hair. Yet, even amid the joy, Y/N felt a flicker of hesitation. Memories of Bucky hovered at the edges of her thoughts, a reminder of the chaos he had once brought into her life, and she couldn’t shake the weight of those memories.

Yet here with Clint, she felt grounded, a warmth settling within her that she had thought was lost forever. There was something profoundly different about this connection, and it filled her with both hope and uncertainty. As the sun began to set, casting a soft glow across the room, Y/N found herself captivated by the depth of her feelings.

As the laughter faded into a comfortable stillness, they exchanged shy smiles, lingering looks that hinted at deeper feelings simmering beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them suspended in this moment of quiet intimacy.

“I can’t wait to see what else is in store for us,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper yet filled with sincerity.

“Neither can I,” Clint replied softly, his gaze unwavering, solidifying the connection they were building. “But hey, whatever it is, I promise you won’t have to face it alone. Just think of me as your personal archer sidekick.”

Y/N felt a surge of hope at his words, her heart swelling with warmth. Maybe this was the beginning of something beautiful—something worth pursuing. And as she glanced at Clint, she couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay ahead, each filled with laughter, warmth, and maybe a touch of romance.

The atmosphere in the compound was thick with an unshakeable tension as Y/N walked through the familiar hallways. The air felt cool against her skin, a chill that seeped into her bones, reminding her of the weight she carried. With each step, her boots echoed softly against the polished floor, amplifying the silence that surrounded her. Memories of Bucky flooded her mind—flashes of their shared moments, the warmth of his embrace, and the laughter that had once filled the air between them. But those memories now felt like a double-edged sword, cutting deep into the wounds that had yet to heal.

As she turned a corner, her heart raced at the prospect of crossing paths with Bucky. The faint hum of fluorescent lights above was the only sound, adding to the electric tension in the air. She had been avoiding him since the day she walked away, choosing instead to immerse herself in her new life with Clint, where each day felt a little brighter. With Clint, she found solace in their shared interests, the way they could joke about the absurdity of their lives, and how he made her smile effortlessly. They spent evenings watching movies, curled up on the couch, or training together, the playful banter weaving a bond she hadn’t thought possible after Bucky. But today, something felt different. The air was charged, almost electric, and she could sense the inevitable encounter lingering just out of reach.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N barely registered the footsteps approaching until she was brought back to reality by a familiar voice. “Y/N.”

Her heart sank as she turned to face Bucky, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability that made her stomach twist. He stood a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, the faint scent of worn fabric and cologne wafting toward her. His posture screamed both confidence and uncertainty, muscles tensed and jaw clenched. The sight of him sent a rush of emotions surging through her, and she fought to maintain her composure, acutely aware of the way her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

“Bucky,” she acknowledged, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her. But even as she spoke, she felt her heart racing, her breath hitching in her throat.

There was a heavy pause as they sized each other up, the silence stretching between them like an invisible thread. Bucky’s blue eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she felt the warmth that had always existed between them. But it was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by the reality of their fractured relationship. She noticed the way his brow furrowed, a muscle twitching in his jaw as if he were grappling with his own internal struggle. Then she saw it—a glimmer of unshed tears pooling in his eyes, a desperate attempt to mask his vulnerability.

“Can we talk?” Bucky asked, his tone serious but laced with an undercurrent of desperation. His shoulders shifted slightly, as if bracing himself for the impact of her response.

Y/N hesitated, torn between the desire to hear him out and the instinct to shield herself from further pain. Memories of happier times together flickered through her mind—Bucky laughing with her at the small things, the way his touch felt like home, and the day he gifted her a delicate silver bracelet, intricately designed with intertwined hearts. The bracelet had felt like a promise of forever, a tangible piece of their bond. Now, it lay heavy on her wrist, a reminder of the warmth and joy they had once shared, juxtaposed with the bitterness of their current situation.

After a long moment of silence, she nodded reluctantly, and they moved to a quieter corner of the compound, away from prying eyes. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls as the weight of unspoken words hung in the air like smoke. The faint scent of coffee lingered, a reminder of long nights spent talking and laughing together. As they entered the space, a chill crept through the air, heightening the tension that wrapped around them. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit she recognized all too well, and she couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook slightly, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize how much I was pushing you away until it was too late.”

Another pause settled over them, heavy with the weight of his confession. The silence felt charged, each second stretching into eternity as Y/N felt her heart racing. She could see the flicker of hope in his eyes, but doubt clawed at her insides. Would this conversation lead to the closure they both needed, or would it unravel everything she had worked so hard to rebuild?

Y/N felt her chest tighten at his words, the air heavy with unexpressed feelings. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort him, but the memory of their last confrontation loomed over them like a dark cloud, reminding her of the pain that had driven her to this point. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, the bracelet glinting in the low light, as if mocking her. “You shut me out, Bucky. I was right there, trying to help you, but every time I reached out, you pushed me away like I was some kind of burden,” she said, her voice wavering as she fought against the urge to cry.

He looked down, guilt washing over his features, and she noticed the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, a futile attempt to regain control. “I was scared, Y/N. I didn’t want to drag you into my darkness. But I see now how wrong I was. I should’ve let you in.” Another silence stretched between them, suffocating in its intensity. Bucky’s voice broke the stillness again, but the words felt fragile, weighed down by their history. “I—I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N hesitated, feeling the weight of his words crash over her. Could he really change? She recalled the way Clint had been there for her, offering support and kindness when Bucky had turned cold. It was a glimmer of hope that seemed so fragile, yet so necessary. “Bucky, it’s not that simple. I can’t keep going back to the way things were. I deserve more than that.” The thought of evenings spent cooking together with Clint, sharing dreams over a glass of wine, felt like a stark contrast to the lonely nights she had endured waiting for Bucky to let her in.

“Why?” Bucky asked, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why can’t we just try again?”

“Because I’m scared,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that the Bucky I love—the one who laughs and makes me feel safe—will be overshadowed by the demons that haunt you. I can’t lose you again, not to that darkness.” The weight of her fears hung between them, heavy and suffocating. “I can’t keep waiting for you to change. I’ve started to find happiness again, and it’s with someone who sees me for who I am. I can’t lose that just to go back to what we had.”

The room felt like it was closing in around them, the air thick with tension. Bucky’s face fell, confusion and hurt etching deeper lines across his brow. “You’re seeing someone else?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of disbelief heavy in the air. Y/N noticed how he seemed to physically deflate, shoulders slumping as if she had dealt him a physical blow. She could see the tears glistening in his eyes, and for a moment, she felt her heart fracture at the sight.

“It’s not like that,” she began, but the words caught in her throat. How could she explain to him that Clint had become a source of light in her life, filling the void Bucky had left? That being with Clint was helping her heal, even as it brought her guilt? “Clint has been there for me when you weren’t. I can’t keep pretending everything is okay when it’s not.”

“Clint,” he repeated, the name falling from his lips like a curse. “You’re telling me you’ve moved on? Found someone who makes you happy? And I—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard as he struggled to keep his composure, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. Another heavy silence enveloped them, each second stretching unbearably long as Y/N felt the weight of his gaze, the hurt behind it palpable.

“I pushed you away. I made you feel like you had to move on without me,” His voice broke, and Y/N felt her own heart fracture at the sound. Tears brimmed in his eyes, and she could see the struggle etched across his face, the internal conflict battling within him. It felt like a knife twisting in her gut as the reality of their situation settled between them, sharp and unyielding.

“I should have fought harder for you,” Bucky said, his voice raw with emotion. “I should have told you how much you meant to me instead of hiding behind my fears. What if I had let you in? What if I hadn’t pushed you away?” Each ‘what if’ echoed in the silence, amplifying the regret that hung between them like a thick fog.

Y/N felt tears welling in her eyes as she met his gaze. “What if I had been stronger? What if I had stood by you instead of running away? I wish I could have been the person you needed, but I felt so helpless watching you spiral. I didn’t know how to help you without losing myself in the process.”

Bucky’s breath hitched, and she could see the pain of regret mirrored in his eyes. “I’d do it all differently. I wouldn’t let my demons dictate our future. I wanted to believe we could have it all—together.” The sincerity in his voice struck a deep chord within her, but the scars of the past were still fresh, and doubt gnawed at her heart.

“I need to let you go,” she whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She felt the world tilt, the weight of the moment pressing against her. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing with the pain of loss, a stark reminder of everything they had shared and everything that had been lost.

Bucky’s eyes widened, and she could see the flicker of hope extinguished in an instant. “No, wait,” he implored, taking a step toward her, but she felt an invisible barrier keeping them apart, a chasm formed by their shared pain and regrets.

“Bucky, please,” she said, her voice breaking. “You have to understand—this isn’t just about you or me. It’s about healing, finding ourselves again. I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t be the reason you fall apart.”

His breath hitched, and she could see the struggle etched across his face. “But what if we faced our demons together? What if we stood side by side against all this?” He took another step forward, but the distance felt insurmountable.

“Together?” Y/N echoed, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. “What if I can’t do that? What if I get lost in your darkness again?”

“I can’t lose you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he reached out, but she sensed the chasm between them widening. The pain in his eyes was palpable, and for a moment, she faltered, wanting to reach out and comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay.

But deep down, she knew that wasn’t the truth. Their journey had taken them to this crossroads, and while she wanted to cling to the hope of reconciliation, she also had to acknowledge the reality that lay ahead. They needed to heal, both of them, before they could even think about rebuilding what they once had.

As she turned to leave, the echo of her footsteps seemed to reverberate through the silence, each step a reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Behind her, Bucky stood frozen, the weight of her words settling heavily upon him. She could feel the loss hanging in the air like a fog, suffocating and thick.

Once outside, the cold wind hit her face, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the memories she carried. She fought against the tears that threatened to spill over, the ache in her heart like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. But as she walked away, she hesitated, feeling the pull to turn back, to run back into his arms and forget the pain that had driven them apart.

Maybe I made a mistake, she thought, feeling her heart break with each step. What if he really can change? What if we could find our way back? But she fought against the urge to look back, knowing that the pain of their past was too great. Instead, she took a deep breath, grounding herself in the cold air and the reality of her choice. She needed to prioritize her own healing, even if it meant leaving the one person she loved most behind.

Inside, Bucky felt a storm brewing of his own. He stood there, feeling the cracks in his heart widen as he replayed her words over and over in his mind. The warmth they had shared felt like a distant memory now, eclipsed by the painful reality of their situation. He wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he made no move to wipe them away, allowing his vulnerability to wash over him like a tidal wave.

He sank to the floor, the cool surface grounding him as he thought of all the moments he had taken for granted—how he had let her slip through his fingers while battling his own demons. The echoes of laughter, the secrets they shared, the time they had built a blanket fort, giggling like children as they reminisced about their favorite childhood memories, were now distant echoes of a life he might never reclaim.

He felt a flicker of hope—a desire to change, to confront his demons, even if it meant doing so alone. As he sat there, he realized that Y/N might be the catalyst he needed to finally face the truth about himself.

As the door closed behind her, he felt the weight of shared pain press upon him, an unspoken acknowledgment of their shattered connection. With a heavy heart, he whispered into the emptiness, “I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

Meanwhile, Y/N stepped out into the cool night, her heart pounding in her chest. She paused for a moment, her breath catching as she fought back tears. I wish things could have been different, Bucky, she thought, a deep sorrow settling in her bones. You deserve happiness, too. With that, she turned and walked away, each step feeling like a farewell, both hopeful and heartbreaking, leaving a trail of unresolved love in her wake.

The sun had already set, leaving the sky painted in shades of deep blue and purple as Y/N prepared for the evening ahead. She stood before the mirror, smoothing down her dress and trying to shake off the unease that lingered just beneath the surface. The night felt different—like a crossroads between her past with Bucky and the possibility of something new with Clint.

Clint had become her anchor in the weeks following her painful separation from Bucky, offering a lifeline of support wrapped in humor and light-hearted moments. But even though she was beginning to enjoy his company in a deeper way, guilt still tugged at her, reminding her of what she had with Bucky. Am I really ready for this? she wondered. Is it okay to move on?

The contrast between the past and the present was sharp. She could still recall the nights she and Bucky would sit together in the quiet of their shared moments, his warmth a constant comfort. Those memories lingered, refusing to fade. But the way Clint made her laugh and forget—if only for a while—was something she hadn’t realized she needed so desperately. Maybe I deserve to feel good again.

She inhaled deeply and headed out to meet Clint.

When Y/N arrived at their meeting spot, she found Clint leaning casually against his motorcycle, a playful grin already spreading across his face. “Damn, Y/N,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her, lingering just a second longer than usual. “Looking good! Did you dress up just to impress me, or do I just get lucky today?”

Y/N laughed, her nerves melting away a little under his warm gaze. How does he do that? she thought, admiring his effortless charm. “I could say the same about you,” she teased, taking note of his clean, effortless style. “You even wore a jacket that doesn’t have a tear in it this time.”

Clint grinned, stepping forward and offering his hand as she approached. His fingers brushed against hers, lingering there, and the warmth of his skin sent a subtle jolt through her. “I aim to impress,” he joked, pulling her in for a quick hug. The moment his arms wrapped around her, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how solid and grounding his touch felt. Before she could dwell on it, he gestured dramatically toward the bike. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. He’s ridiculous, but I kind of love that. “You and this motorcycle... what is it with guys and their bikes?”

“Oh, it’s not just the bike. It’s the freedom, the wind in your hair,” Clint said, imitating a dramatic, over-the-top voice. “You’ll understand when you hop on. Just try not to scream too loud, okay?”

Laughing, Y/N accepted the helmet he offered and climbed onto the bike behind him. She hesitated for a split second before placing her hands on his waist, feeling the warmth of his body through his jacket. This feels... natural, she realized, her fingers curling slightly as she held onto him. “Just try not to get us killed, okay?”

“No promises,” Clint said with a wink over his shoulder before revving the engine. “But if we survive, dinner’s on me!”

The ride through the city was exhilarating. The wind whipped past them, cool against Y/N’s cheeks, and she instinctively tightened her grip on Clint’s waist as they weaved through the streets. This feels good, she thought, the rush of adrenaline mingling with the comfort of being so close to him. She could feel his muscles tense and relax under her hands, the steady thrum of the engine beneath them only amplifying the intimacy of the moment. I didn’t realize how much I missed just feeling... alive.

She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation of the evening air on her skin, the scents of the city filling her senses—distant hints of food carts, freshly cut grass from nearby parks, and the cool, earthy smell of the coming night. It was all so vivid, so different from the numbness she had felt in the weeks after her breakup. Maybe I am ready for this. For something new.

As they reached the restaurant, Clint pulled up to a stop in front of a small, charming spot tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was one of those hidden gems that didn’t boast a flashy exterior, but the tantalizing aroma of roasted garlic, fresh herbs, and simmering sauces wafting out into the street promised something special.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Clint said as he helped her off the bike, his hands lingering a little longer on her waist than necessary. The heat from his palms seared through the thin fabric of her dress, and she found comfort in its warmth. “Because I’m starving, and we’re about to go all out tonight. No holding back. I’m thinking all-you-can-eat.”

Inside, the restaurant had a cozy, intimate vibe. Wooden tables with flickering candles created a warm glow, and the soft murmur of conversation and clinking cutlery filled the space. Y/N could immediately smell freshly baked bread and something sweet—perhaps a dessert cooling in the kitchen. The atmosphere was soothing, like a quiet oasis tucked away from the noise of the city.

I never would’ve come here on my own, she thought as she took in the ambiance. But being with Clint made her feel safe, like it was okay to let her guard down. I don’t have to be on edge all the time. Not with him.

As they sat down and scanned the menu, Clint’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he said, leaning across the table, his fingers lightly brushing against hers as he propped his chin up on his hand. The touch was so casual, yet it sent a spark through Y/N’s skin. “We each pick something totally random off the menu, and the other person has to try it. No backing out. It’ll be like culinary Russian roulette. What do you say?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re trying to trick me into eating something weird, aren’t you?”

“Me? Never!” Clint said, holding his hands up innocently before breaking into a grin. “Alright, fine, maybe just a little. But seriously, where’s your sense of adventure?”

She pretended to think it over, tapping her chin dramatically. “Fine, but if you pick something absolutely disgusting, I get to embarrass you in front of everyone by making you dance in the middle of the street.”

Clint laughed, his hand nudging her playfully. The small touch was enough to make her heart race. “Deal! But trust me, I’ve got excellent taste. Just ask my mom—she still thinks I’m the coolest.”

As they placed their orders—Clint sneakily choosing something he wouldn’t reveal—Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. There was something easy and fun about being with Clint, a refreshing contrast to the complicated feelings she had been harboring for Bucky. It’s different with Clint. Lighter. Maybe I need that right now. It was moments like this—silly, light-hearted, and spontaneous—that made her realize how much she had been missing this kind of carefree connection.

When the food arrived, Clint dramatically unveiled his choice for her—a strange-looking appetizer that resembled tiny fried balls with an odd green sauce on the side. Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“It’s a mystery,” Clint said, smirking. “But it’s supposed to be good. Go on, take a bite.”

She hesitated for a second, then bravely speared one with her fork, eyeing him warily before popping it into her mouth. Surprisingly, the taste was rich and savory, with a hint of tanginess from the sauce.

“Okay, not bad,” she admitted, trying to hide her impressed expression. “Your taste buds are safe... for now.”

Clint grinned triumphantly. “Told you! Now, it’s my turn.”

Y/N slyly handed over her selection—a bizarrely named dish that turned out to be a spicy concoction of flavors. She watched as Clint took a bite, his face going from curious to mildly alarmed as the spice hit him.

“Oh my god,” he coughed, reaching for his water. “You’re trying to kill me!”

Y/N laughed, leaning back in her chair, pleased with herself. In that moment, the world around them seemed to blur, and it was just the two of them—his laughter mingling with hers, filling the air with warmth. It felt so easy, so natural, like they were the only ones in the room.

As the meal progressed, Clint leaned in slightly, his expression turning more serious. “Hey, if you ever need help with anything, just let me know. I mean it. Even if it’s something trivial, like picking out a new dress or tackling a cooking disaster.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, touched. “You’d really help me pick out a dress?”

“Absolutely! I’d even give you my unfiltered opinion,” Clint said, grinning. “I’ll make sure you look stunning.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Okay, deal. But only if you promise to not be too harsh.”

“I’ll try to hold back my brutally honest critiques,” he teased, but she could see the sincerity in his eyes. It made her heart swell a little more, reminding her how different this was from her past.

As they continued their playful banter, Y/N found herself completely lost in Clint’s eyes, the way they sparkled with mischief and sincerity. Time faded away, and it was just them—two people sharing a moment of joy, laughter echoing softly around them. She felt weightless, lost in the magic of the evening.

When they finally finished eating, Clint suggested they take a stroll. The evening air was crisp, wrapping around them like a gentle embrace as they stepped outside.

“Ready for round two?” Clint asked, his tone playful as he pulled out his jacket and offered it to her when the cool breeze brushed against her shoulders. “Can’t have you freezing on me out here.”

“Always,” she replied, smiling as she slipped into it. The jacket smelled like him—fresh, with a hint of cologne—and she found comfort in its warmth.

They wandered through the streets, the lights twinkling like stars above them, laughter punctuating the air as they playfully debated what dessert to get. In that moment, Y/N felt something inside her shift, a blossoming hope for the future she hadn’t dared to imagine before.

Clint paused in front of a small ice cream shop, the bright neon sign flickering invitingly. “How about we try every flavor they have?” he proposed, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/N chuckled, unable to resist his enthusiasm. “You’re on.”

As they stepped inside, the world outside faded, enveloping them in a bubble of shared laughter and carefree joy. They decided to sample a few flavors together, joking about how they were both going to have brain freezes from the sugar overload.

“Okay, what about this one?” Clint held up a vibrant green cone, its color reminiscent of a cartoonish slime. “It’s avocado mint. Let’s see if it’s as weird as it sounds.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her heart feeling lighter than it had in ages. “Why not? Let’s do it!”

As they took a bite, Y/N’s laughter bubbled over at the absurdity of it all, their faces morphing into comedic expressions of surprise. The taste was unexpectedly refreshing, and for a moment, they were just two friends indulging in the silliness of life, their earlier worries pushed aside.

“See? Delicious!” Clint declared, grinning. “Next round—chocolate covered bacon!”

“Absolutely not!” she shot back, laughing at the idea. “That’s just cruel.”

As they stepped back outside, the cool air hit her cheeks, invigorating and fresh. Y/N glanced at Clint, a wave of warmth washing over her. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was truly moving forward. Maybe this was what healing felt like—a gradual shedding of the past, replaced by the sweet possibility of new beginnings.

They continued their stroll, talking about everything and nothing, the laughter flowing freely. When the spontaneous dance moment arrived, she couldn’t help but sway to the music spilling out of a nearby bar, letting the beat move her as Clint joined in, twirling her around with a carefree smile. It was liberating to forget the heaviness of the past, even if just for a moment.

Their laughter echoed in the night air, and in that moment, the rest of the world melted away. She felt weightless, lost in the magic of the evening, every silly dance move reinforcing their connection. With each twirl, she felt herself falling further into this new reality—a reality that didn’t include Bucky’s shadow looming over her.

As they danced under the streetlights, surrounded by the shimmering glow of the city, Y/N felt alive—truly alive.

When the song came to an end, Clint pulled her back toward him, their bodies moving in sync, and she caught the glint of mischief in his eyes. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“Okay, okay, you win,” she said breathlessly, their faces just inches apart. “This is actually fun.”

Clint pulled her closer, his arm wrapping around her waist as they both caught their breath. For a moment, neither of them said anything, their faces just inches apart, eyes locked. Y/N’s pulse quickened, her heart pounding against her ribs, not from the dancing but from the charged atmosphere between them. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips, the way his hand rested just above the small of her back, holding her close.

Is this it? she wondered, her heart racing. Is this where it all changes?

Clint’s expression softened, his thumb lightly brushing her cheek. “That’s what friends are for, right?” he said, though his tone held a note of something deeper. “To remind you there’s still good stuff out there. Fun stuff. New adventures waiting for us.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Y/N felt like she could let go of the pain she’d been holding onto for so long. Clint was right—there was still good out there. Maybe it’s okay to lean into it.

But just as she was about to lean closer, a familiar tune floated through the air from a nearby bar—one that echoed with memories of evenings spent with Bucky, laughter shared under the stars, and moments that felt unbreakable. Her breath caught, and a flicker of panic surged through her, reminding her of the love she had lost.

Clint’s eyes flickered with concern as he noticed the change in her expression. “Hey,” he murmured, stepping closer and gently squeezing her hand. “What’s wrong?”

Do I tell him? The thought weighed heavily on her, the fear of opening up clawing at her heart. She hesitated, caught between the memories that haunted her and the promise of something new standing right in front of her. “I—”

But before she could finish, Clint’s other hand came up to cup her face, grounding her in the moment. His thumb brushed along her jawline, and the tenderness of his touch cut through the haze of confusion swirling in her mind. This is different, she thought. This feels safe.

Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, they both leaned in at the same time, their lips meeting softly. The kiss was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but quickly deepened into something more profound. The warmth of his mouth against hers ignited a spark, a jolt of electricity that coursed through her, shattering the barriers she had built around her heart.

In that instant, Y/N was flooded with emotions—warmth, joy, and an exhilarating sense of possibility. It was different from the kiss she’d shared with Bucky, lighter yet full of promise. For the first time in ages, she wasn’t thinking about the past or what she had lost; she was simply present, lost in the sweetness of the moment. This could be the beginning, she thought, allowing herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could move on.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, Y/N felt a warmth blossom in her chest. The world around them faded back in, but it was different now. She could still hear that haunting tune in the distance, but it felt more like a memory than a weight holding her back.

Clint’s smile was wide and genuine, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile back. “Wow,” he breathed, his eyes sparkling. “I think I like this adventure.”

Y/N chuckled, her heart swelling with warmth. “Yeah, me too,” she admitted, the joy of the evening spilling over in waves. As they walked hand in hand back to the motorcycle, she reflected on the night—the playful banter, the laughter, the shared food experiments, the silly dance in the street, and now the sweet kiss. It was a night that felt like a glimpse of a future she hadn’t dared to imagine before. One where she could move on, heal, and even laugh again.

Clint’s voice broke through her thoughts, filled with playful excitement. “So, what do you say? Next week, we go skydiving? Or maybe we sign up for a cooking class and see who can create the most disastrous dish?”

Y/N laughed, the idea filling her with a sense of adventure. “I don’t think I could handle the pressure of cooking with you. But I’m definitely down for skydiving!”

“Awesome! It’s a date,” Clint said, and the way he smiled at her made her heart flutter.

As Clint handed her his jacket once more, wrapping it around her shoulders to shield her from the cool night air, Y/N realized that maybe she was ready. Not just for a fresh start, but for the possibility of something more.

Later that evening, after returning to Avengers Tower, they found themselves in Clint’s room, the atmosphere was filled with a cozy warmth as they settled onto his bed, wrapped up in a blanket together. Clint had brought a movie—a classic rom-com that made her chuckle even before it started.

As the film played, Y/N couldn’t help but lean her head against Clint’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. She took a moment to appreciate how easy it felt to be near him, the way his presence made her heart feel light. “I’m glad we did this,” she murmured, glancing up at him.

“Me too,” he said softly, turning to her with a warm smile. “I needed this. You’re way more fun than I anticipated. I might have to keep you around for the next mission.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I exceeded your expectations?” she teased, nudging him playfully.

“Definitely,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “I mean, who else would try avocado mint ice cream with me?”

“Right? It’s a culinary adventure!” she exclaimed, laughing at the memory.

Suddenly, Clint turned serious, his expression softening. “Y/N, listen… you deserve all the good things in this world. If there’s anything I can do to help bring a little of that into your life, you know I’m in.”

His sincerity melted any lingering doubts in her heart. “Thank you, Clint. That means a lot.”

As the movie played on, they shared a dessert—an enormous slice of chocolate cake that Clint insisted they split. The indulgence quickly turned into a playful food fight, bits of frosting smeared on their faces as they both burst into fits of laughter, the lightness of their antics echoing through the room.

“Okay, that’s it! You’re going down!” Clint declared, grabbing a napkin and wiping it across her cheek, only to smear more frosting onto her nose.

Y/N retaliated, lunging for him and finding her hands covered in chocolate icing. “You asked for it!” she squealed, launching a dollop at him. Their laughter filled the room, the sound of joy echoing in the corners as they continued to playfully toss bits of cake at each other.

Wrapped up in a blanket, with remnants of frosting in their hair and laughter ringing in the air, Y/N felt an overwhelming wave of happiness crash over her. This was the kind of moment she had been yearning for—cozy, fun, and carefree.

As the credits rolled, Y/N turned to him, feeling a rush of affection and excitement. “So, we’re officially a thing now, right?” she asked playfully, her heart racing at the thought.

Clint’s smile widened, lighting up his entire face. “Oh, it’s definitely a thing—like a fun, silly, adventurous thing. You know, the best kind.”

“Good,” she said, the sweetness of the moment washing over her like a wave. “I can’t wait for our next adventure, partner.”

They settled back into the blanket, and as Y/N snuggled closer to Clint, she realized this was just the beginning. She had found a spark of happiness again, one that promised laughter, adventures, and the warmth of a heart slowly healing. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they fell into an easy conversation, filled with dreams of the future and the promise of more sweet moments to come.

The first light of dawn crept through the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft pink and gold. The world was still waking up, the distant hum of city life beginning to stir—a car horn blaring, the faint chatter of early risers, and the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze enveloping everything in a warm embrace. It was a time for new beginnings, a time to reflect, and for Y/N, it was a moment filled with fragile beauty that felt almost sacred.

The sunrise served as a vivid backdrop for their romantic connection, symbolizing hope and the promise of brighter days ahead. Clint had suggested a sunrise picnic, a sweet surprise he planned the night before. They gathered blankets and snacks, a cozy assortment that felt simple yet perfect against the backdrop of the awakening day. Now, as they sat together on the blanket spread across the grassy hilltop overlooking the city, the peaceful silence wrapped around them like a comforting cocoon.

Y/N watched as Clint poured two cups of coffee, the rich, earthy aroma rising in the cool morning air, mingling with the crisp scent of dew-kissed grass. The steam swirled up in delicate tendrils, dancing like wisps of clouds in the pale blue sky. As he handed her a cup, their fingers brushed against each other, sending a gentle spark through her. “Just how you like it—black and strong, like my sense of humor,” he said, his voice warm, and she felt her heart flutter at the familiarity.

“Thanks,” she replied, taking a sip and savoring the warmth that spread through her, grounding her in the present. “You really do know how to make the perfect cup of coffee.” She smiled, teasing him a little.

“Thanks, but don’t get too used to it. I might just decide to open my own coffee shop, and then I’ll charge you extra for my expertise,” Clint quipped, a mock-serious expression on his face.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’d be terrible at it. I can already see you trying to convince customers that your way of making coffee is the only way, complete with charts and graphs.”

“Hey! I’d make a fantastic barista,” he shot back, crossing his arms dramatically. “I’m talking about a coffee that could knock your socks off. The kind that has you wide awake and ready to conquer the world—unless you think you can sneak the last bite of my food, of course.”

Y/N giggled as she leaned forward, their bodies instinctively leaning toward each other as she took a bite from the croissant he offered. “Okay, not bad,” she admitted, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “You might just be getting the hang of this.”

“Ha! Told you! Next up, I’ll make you the perfect breakfast sandwich,” Clint declared, puffing out his chest in mock pride. “But first, you have to promise not to laugh when I inevitably drop the egg again.”

“Deal!” she agreed, smirking, knowing full well the last time he attempted to cook eggs, it ended with them splattered across the kitchen floor. “But I can’t promise I won’t record it for future evidence.”

“You’re the worst,” he said, shaking his head but unable to hide his smile.

The two of them continued to enjoy their breakfast, occasionally feeding each other bites of croissant, the closeness of their bodies radiating warmth as they shared the blanket. Each lingering touch, whether it was a brush of hands or a nudge of shoulders, deepened the sweetness of their connection. The intimacy of the moment enveloped them, and Y/N felt a warmth blossoming in her chest, each shared laugh drawing them closer together.

Yet, amidst the laughter and warmth, the thought of Bucky lingered, a storm cloud threatening to overshadow her fragile happiness. As they shared a tender moment, basking in the warmth of the rising sun and the blossoming feelings between them, Y/N felt a shift in the atmosphere. She instinctively turned her head, sensing they weren’t alone anymore. In the distance, silhouetted against the backdrop of the dawn, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure—Bucky.

He stood a distance away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched as he watched the scene unfold before him. The sharp intake of breath she took filled her lungs with the cool morning air, and her heart began to race, pounding against her ribcage like a caged bird desperate to escape. Had he seen her with Clint? What did he think? She had been so consumed with her own healing and the romantic relationship with Clint that she hadn’t considered the weight of what Bucky might feel as he watched her move on.

The shadows cast by Bucky stretched long and dark across the ground, a stark contrast to the vibrant sunrise that illuminated Y/N and Clint’s intimate moment. Those shadows whispered of unresolved pain and regret, memories of what had been and what could never be again. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as he watched them, a sharp pain twisting in his chest. The laughter that flowed freely from Y/N and Clint felt like daggers, each one piercing through the shield he had tried to build around his heart. He could see the way they leaned into each other, the comfort and warmth they shared so effortlessly, and it twisted something deep inside him—a mix of longing, regret, and heartache.

He fought back tears, anger and sorrow battling for dominance as he watched her smile at Clint, a smile that used to belong to him. A memory flashed in his mind: the last time they had shared a moment like this, the last time he had held her close and whispered promises of forever into her hair. Now, it felt like a cruel joke, the universe laughing at his expense as he stood on the sidelines, a mere shadow of the love they had once shared.

Bucky’s hands clenched into fists in his pockets, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to hold back the emotion threatening to spill over. As he looked at Y/N, their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the world around them faded into silence. The intensity of their lingering gaze was filled with unspoken words—each look a reminder of what they once had and the deep-seated pain of their current reality. Her heart ached at the sight of him, the raw vulnerability in his eyes pulling at the remnants of the love they had shared. I miss you, it whispered in the silence, but she couldn’t voice it.

As she held his gaze, Y/N felt the gravity of their shared history weighing heavily between them. It was a tension that spoke of longing and regret, each glance filled with memories of laughter and warmth, now overshadowed by the bittersweet reality of their separation. She was caught in the moment, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her as Bucky’s expression shifted, his eyes reflecting the storm brewing in his heart. The depth of his feelings crashed over him like a wave, and he instinctively gripped his heart, as if to hold back the ache threatening to consume him. His breath came in shaky gasps, and he looked down, avoiding her gaze, the weight of his regret pressing heavily on his chest. What have I done? It echoed in his mind, a haunting realization that cut deeper than any wound.

Clint followed her gaze, sensing the shift in her demeanor. “Do you want me to—?”

“No,” she interrupted softly, shaking her head. She needed to face this on her own. It was time for closure, not just for Bucky but for herself as well. With a deep breath, she rose to her feet, her heart pounding as she walked toward him.

As she approached, the morning light illuminated the contours of Bucky’s face, revealing the shadows of regret etched into his features. He looked older, wearier, as if the burden of his actions weighed heavily upon him. When their eyes met, a flood of emotions surged through her—anger, hurt, but above all, a profound sense of sorrow for what they had lost.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with unspoken pain. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah,” she replied, her heart racing as the words tumbled from her lips. It felt like a confession, a statement of truth that hung between them like a fragile thread. “I’ve been spending time with Clint. He’s been really good to me.”

Bucky flinched, his expression shifting as he struggled to contain the tumult of emotions swirling within him. “I can see that.”

The tension was palpable, the air heavy with unspoken words. Y/N took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to retreat. “Bucky, I want to talk. I think we need to.”

His gaze softened, but a flicker of vulnerability crossed his face as he shook his head. “I don’t want to make this harder for you. You’ve moved on, and I respect that. I just—” He paused, swallowing hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you were gone. It’s like I’m walking around without a part of me.”

Her heart cracked open at his admission, a rush of empathy washing over her. “I tried, Bucky. I tried to hold on, to make it work. But it was suffocating. You were pushing me away when all I wanted was to be there for you.”

He nodded, his expression pained as he looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “I know. I was afraid… afraid of losing you, and in trying to protect you, I only ended up pushing you further away.”

The ache in her chest intensified, tears pooling in her eyes as she grappled with the reality of their situation. “I loved you, Bucky. I still do in a way. But I couldn’t stay trapped in that cycle of pain. I had to choose myself.”

“I understand,” he said, his voice cracking as he finally met her gaze again. “You deserve to be happy, and I want that for you. I just… I didn’t expect it to hurt this much seeing you with someone else.”

Y/N felt the heat of her past rush over her, a whirlwind of memories that clashed against her resolve. It’s so hard to let go of the memories, of the love we once had. But I can’t deny what I have now. She couldn’t ignore the part of her that still longed for him, for the love they once shared. But she had a new life now, one where Clint stood beside her, his unwavering support grounding her.

“It hurts me too,” she admitted, her voice trembling as the tears spilled over, tracing warm trails down her cheeks. “But I need to move forward. I want to build a life that makes me happy—with Clint.”

Bucky’s expression crumbled, and in that moment, all the walls he had built around his heart came crashing down. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you or lose you. You mean more to me than I can say.”

The sorrow in his eyes mirrored her own, and she felt a swell of compassion rise within her. “Bucky, you didn’t lose me because you didn’t care. You lost me because you didn’t know how to let me in. I’m with Clint now, and it’s important to me that you know that.”

He swallowed hard, nodding slowly, as if her words were sinking in. “I don’t want to hold you back, but it’s so damn hard to see you happy with someone else. I keep replaying it in my mind—if I had just done things differently, maybe it would be us.”

“Bucky, you can’t keep punishing yourself for what happened. We both made mistakes,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears that continued to flow. “You need to forgive yourself to heal, just as I’m learning to forgive you.”

A moment of silence enveloped them, heavy with the weight of their shared history. Bucky’s shoulders trembled as he finally allowed himself to feel the depth of his emotions, the realization of what he had lost weighing heavily on his heart. “I wish things could have been different.”

“So do I,” she replied softly, feeling a profound sense of loss for the relationship they had shared. “But I can’t go back. I have to keep moving forward.”

His gaze dropped to the ground, a mixture of regret and resignation clouding his features. “I’ll always care about you, Y/N. You need to know that, even if things are different now.”

“I know,” she said, her heart aching for him. “And I’ll always care about you too. But we both need to find our own paths now.”

Bucky nodded slowly, the shadows in his expression deepening as he fought to reconcile the reality of her happiness with the ache of his own loss. “Then I won’t stand in your way anymore,” he said, voice heavy with resignation.

Y/N took a step back, feeling the distance between them grow, both physically and emotionally. The sun continued to rise, bathing the world in golden light, and she felt her heart hardening with resolve. I am finding it, Bucky. With Clint. The words hung in the air, their weight settling like a heavy fog around them. She felt a wave of determination wash over her, solidifying her decision to choose her own happiness. The scent of morning air filled her lungs, revitalizing her spirit. This is my moment.

Before she turned away, Y/N lingered for a moment, taking in the sight of Bucky—his familiar features etched with a sorrow that cut her deeply. Silence enveloped them, a bittersweet goodbye heavy in the air as they reflected on the memories they once shared. Each heartbeat echoed the time lost, the love that had slipped through their fingers like sand. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she knew that this moment would stay with her, a reminder of the love that had shaped her.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” she finally whispered, the words trembling on her lips. The farewell felt monumental, and as she spoke, the weight of their shared past hung heavily between them. She turned slowly, each step away from him feeling like a small fracture in her heart.

As she walked back toward Clint, she could feel his presence just behind her, ready to support her in whatever way she needed. She took a deep breath, the scent of morning air filling her lungs, revitalizing her spirit. This is my moment.

As she approached Clint, he looked up, concern etched on his face. “Y/N, are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with worry, the protective instinct radiating from him like a shield.

“Yeah,” she said, forcing a smile through her tears. “I’m okay now.”

Clint stepped forward, pulling her into a warm embrace. She felt the safety of his arms wrap around her, the comfort of knowing she had made the right choice. He tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing softly against her skin as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her temple. In that moment, she allowed herself to lean into him, to feel the strength of his presence soothing the raw edges of her heart.

“I’m proud of you, you know that?” he murmured into her hair, his voice low and sincere. The words wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, and Y/N felt the weight of her resolve solidify within her. She was choosing happiness, and she wouldn’t let the past dictate her future any longer.

“Remember that time we tried to make pancakes?” she asked, a smile creeping onto her face as she recalled their hilarious failure in the kitchen.

Clint laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “How could I forget? We ended up with a pancake that looked like a map of the United States. I still think it was more of a work of art than breakfast.”

Y/N giggled, the sound ringing through the air like music, lifting the remnants of heaviness from her heart. “I think you just wanted to avoid cleaning up the kitchen afterward.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted with a playful grin. “But at least we made it fun, right?”

“Definitely,” she agreed, her heart swelling with affection for him. “We should try making pancakes again—this time, maybe without the ‘artistic interpretation.’”

“Deal,” Clint said, nudging her shoulder affectionately. “But if they end up looking like that map again, I’m holding you responsible. And let’s be honest—you’re definitely stealing the last bite anyway,” he teased, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Hey, it’s a strategic move! I have to make sure you don’t take it for yourself!” she shot back, feigning innocence.

Clint shook his head with a laugh, leaning in closer as he fed her a piece of the pastry with a playful grin. “Here, you have to try this next. It’s not burnt this time.”

As she took a bite, the sweet flavor melted in her mouth, and they shared a moment of playful arguing over who made the best breakfast. “Honestly, if we combine our skills, we might just be able to avoid another kitchen disaster,” she teased, winking at him.

“Or we could always order in,” Clint countered with a laugh, the lightness of the moment wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

Together, they watched the sun continue to rise, marking the beginning of a new chapter—a future filled with hope, healing, and the promise of love. Y/N held onto Clint tightly, their bodies leaning into each other as the warmth of the sun enveloped them, and the fire of new possibilities ignited in her heart. She was ready to embrace the light, ready to step into the dawn of a new day, no longer haunted by shadows of the past.

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