#because admitting the truth will just shatter him

[blackcatxmagic]

Upon seeing the way that Dorothy reacted to him telling her about the tarot cards, Copper knew she at least got the impression he was trying to make. A moment later though he felt guilty, so he quickly told Dorothy, “It’s sometimes hard to interpret them though. What seems bad might not be, and a lot about self-readings is colored by inner thoughts. It’s harder to look at the cards objectively.” Still, Copper thought they were pretty clear that things were not great right now. He felt badly though about scaring Dorothy, but Copper reminded himself that she was already scared. He was too. Everything he’d said, she’d already been thinking - well except for the part about his tarot reading. And the longer they talked, the more unsettled the air around them became, and Copper felt his heart beating harder in his chest now. Looking across the table at Dorothy, Copper just grabbed her hand gently, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. But that was hard when he didn’t feel very reassured himself. “I know it’s scary,” Copper told Dorothy. “Trust me, I really know. But we’ll get through it. We’re strong.” And Copper didn’t mean because they were witches. At least in his case, life had made him resilient, and he felt like the same was true of Dorothy. However, Copper didn’t really know what they were going to do. 

After giving Dorothy’s hand another squeeze, Copper just smiled sadly at her. “Here’s the thing, Dorothy,” he started, not sure if this would make things better or worse. “Safety is kind of an illusion. Cardinal Hill is not a safe space. It never has been. Nowhere is. That’s just something we tell ourselves to feel better until something comes along that shatters that illusion. I thought I was safe back in Maine. I thought I was safe in my house…in my bedroom. But I wasn’t. So I guess maybe I’m lucky that I never felt safe here; it’s been less of a shock.” When he was done, Copper looked a Dorothy and couldn’t help but laugh, admitting, “That was about the least comforting thing I could have said, isn’t it?” More seriously, he explained, “I guess what I’m trying to say is we didn’t lose our safety, we just lost the façade of it. The truth is we never really had it to begin with, and we’ve been okay until now. Well…kind of.”  Sighing, he shook his head, saying, “I don’t feel like I’m helping.”

Dorothy wasn't the most well-versed in tarot readings, but she knew enough to know that what Copper had pulled that morning wasn't good. The news sent a chilling shiver down her spine, and her mind, while already racing, began to move even louder and even faster in thought. How was she going to protect all of those who were important to her? If this situation really was as dangerous as her and Copper's conclusions were coming to, then what could she do to stop these forces from bringing further harm to everyone in Cardinal Hill? Fuck, how was she going to protect Elias if he wasn't even aware of witchcraft in the first place? Dorothy swallowed thickly.

"I suppose you're right," fear, at the very least, always had Dorothy thinking about potential escape plans, and she knew that it was so very important to be prepared. The very worst moments in her life had always been when she had been so terribly unprepared. Her stomach dropped at the thought of this dark magic being inflicted upon the non-magical humans, too, or in order words, upon her precious Elias. "I-I don't know..." Elias hadn't spoken of experiencing the same things as her beyond the very obvious bouts of strange weather; unfortunately that wasn't enough to give Dorothy the peace of mind considering she hadn't told him either. She had her reasons, so perhaps Elias did, too, if he was experiencing the very same things.

If someone had been able to find out everyone's secrets, they must have been wickedly powerful, and that thought scared Dorothy more than anything. Dark magic wasn't something that just anyone could do, and it certainly made the witch casting such magic pay the price. If all of that was true, and dark witches were still going through with a town-wide attack... Dorothy didn't think that she stood a chance. "Copper, I'm afraid," was all she could say, eyes once again welling with tears. "Why? How?" She repeated his questions. "Cardinal Hill is meant to be a safe space," but apparently, it wasn't, and Dorothy had led the best of the non-magical humans here, right in the path of danger.

[laniidae-passerine]

There’s a very easy way to get around the fact that Assad is unable to pass for a teeenager if the show wants to adapt TVA and that’s to rely on the theme of unreliable narration. Armand begins retelling his history and according to him, he looked like he was in his early adulthood. No older than twenty four, for sure, but also not any younger than twenty. And then, just when the audience has bought it, just when this version of events has been presented as the truth for long enough, someone questions it. Asks if he really looked like that. Asks if he’s being honest with himself. And for the briefest moment, we flashback to Amadeo, the age he was when Marius first saw him. Beaten, shackled, afraid. And undeniably a child.

[maxtermind]

absolutely loved ‘baby, would i still be your lover’, everyone single one got me in my feels! i was wondering would you consider doing a part 2? whether it ends in angst or fluff

I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument- aftermath ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort, hints of angst ★ : word count :: 4.3k ★ : a/n :: thank you so much for the love on part 1 💓 some of these have open ending so you can pick whether you'd like to forgive them or not as a reader!! feedback is appreciated :)

( part 1 )

Max Verstappen

You sighed as you sat down to have your morning tea as usual, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. As if you hadn't spent all night long getting your phone spammed with calls that you were ignoring.

After mindlessly roaming around for a bit, you eventually decided to crash at your best friend’s place. You lazily waved at her as she frantically got ready to leave for work. However, you were on your tiptoe as soon as the door opened.

A body that was possibly sleeping while leaning against the door fell inside and you heard curses that you were quite too familiar with. Your heart clenched at the sight of your boyfriend - or perhaps now, your ex-boyfriend - on his knees, nursing the wound on his head. The ache of seeing him in pain reignited the anguish you thought you had left behind.

“Okay,” you heard your friend murmur. “I'm gonna let you guys get to it.” She was out the door a second later.

You looked at the closed door instead of the man who was desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“How long have you…” You trailed off before deciding that you didn't want to know.

“As soon as you turned your phone off, Y/N! I've been here since last night.” "Why?" you choked out, the words barely escaping your lips as tears threatened to overflow. His brows furrowed before he ran his hands over his face and got up to sit right next to you. You saw his hand itching toward yours and instinctively pulled it towards your body. "Because I needed to see you in person, to talk." He took another deep breath and you later realized that he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I realize I messed up, baby. I.. I never should have let you walk out.” But his attempt to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship only served to reopen the wounds, your walls instinctively rising in defense,"Talk? You think a talk is going to fix everything?" Max's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and desperation as he reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "No, I don't think a talk will magically fix everything," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"But it's a start. I need you to know that I'm truly sorry for what happened. I hate myself for hurting you, for making you doubt how much you mean to me."

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the pain of the previous night still too fresh in your mind.

“How can I trust you again, Max? How can I be sure that this won't happen again?" Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the ache of betrayal.

Max's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I've messed up, Y/N. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. I'll work on my temper, I’ll be better to you, I'll do anything you ask of me. I just need you to give me another chance." “You know you’ve always been the best to me, right? I just can’t believe that instead of talking it out yesterday, you straight up skipped to breaking up wit-” Fresh tears started falling down your cheeks. Max immediately leaned forward to hold you in his arms and you let him because you needed him. But how could you trust him again? How could you be sure that history wouldn't repeat itself? That he won’t throw away your whole relationship just because the anger got a hold of him? As Max held you close, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to scream and shout at him for causing you so much pain. But another part of you craved his warmth, his touch, his presence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, and I hate myself for it. I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears soaking through his shirt as you struggled to make sense of your feelings.

“I just don't know if I can do this anymore, Max," you admitted, your voice muffled against him. Max tightened his embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I understand," he murmured, his voice gentle. His admission eased your thumping heart a bit, you were glad to have him back. The storm within you finding a momentary calm.

"I made you feel like our relationship was disposable, like breaking up was no big deal. But that couldn't be further from the truth. You're the most important person in my life, baby and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to show you just how much you mean to me. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust if you still want me."

Lewis Hamilton

The weight of Lewis's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as you retreated into the sanctuary of your bedroom. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, your heart aching with a pain you couldn't quite comprehend. How had a day that started with such a promise turned into this? You buried your face in your hands, the sting of Lewis's words feeling like acid running through your veins.

Outside the door, the silence was deafening, broken only by the muffled sound of your sobs. Lewis stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he replayed the exchange in his head.

He couldn't believe the words that had escaped his lips, couldn't fathom how he had allowed his frustration to morph into such hurtful remarks.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lewis grappled with the weight of his actions, the gravity of his words settling like a lead weight in his chest.

He wanted to reach out to you, to apologize and make things right, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the magnitude of his mistake.

Inside the bedroom, you were consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, betrayal - they all swirled together into an ugly monster, threatening to engulf you whole.

How could the man you loved, the man who had always been your rock, turn on you with such venom?

But beneath the anger and hurt, there was a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that maybe Lewis's words held a grain of truth. Maybe you were too insecure, too needy, too demanding. Maybe you were asking for too much, expecting him to be there for you when he had his own priorities and responsibilities. Maybe-

The sound of a soft knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lewis standing there, his expression wrought with regret and guilt. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken apology hanging heavy in the air. Looking at him distraught made your chest feel worse. How could he make you feel ten fold worse than this and not feel a thing? 

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean what I said. I was out of line, and I know I hurt you. Please, let me make it right." He rushed through the words.

His words pierced through the haze of your pain, and you felt a bit of heaviness leaving your body. He crossed the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion before your boyfriend took your hand away from your face and kissed your cheeks. "I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I lashed out at you, and I hate myself for it. You don't deserve to be treated that way, especially not by me."

You studied his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine remorse and regret. And despite the pain still raw in your chest, you couldn't deny the love you felt for him, the longing to mend what had been broken between you. “You hurt me,” you whispered but didn’t push him away as he laid down with you, holding you close to his chest. Some of your resolve wavering when you felt his fast heartbeat. “I wanted you there so much.” He nodded as he shushed you, his own eyes dropping tears. “I’m so so sorry, baby. I can't even begin to express how deeply I regret the way I acted the whole day, I know you deserve so much more but-” You shifted slightly, knowing all that you wanted right now was comfort, you didn't want to forgive him or minimize the weight of his actions. "I don't know if I can right now," you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

Lewis's eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, "Please don't shut me out. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You felt a pang of guilt at the pain evident in his voice. "I just need some time to process everything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand," Lewis replied, his tone filled with sorrow. "But please know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

You nodded, silently acknowledging his words as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting embrace. 

"I promise to make it up to you," Lewis vowed earnestly, his voice laced with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

"I want to believe you," you admitted quietly, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Everything was a little too raw right now and your emotions were all over the place.

"I'll spend every moment proving it to you," Lewis declared, his eyes locking with yours in a silent vow.

“I was thoughtless and cruel today, and I never should have let those words leave my lips. You are not insecure, you are strong and resilient, baby. You deserve so much better than the hurtful words I spoke. Please know that I can’t lose you, Y/N. I will work tirelessly to regain your trust and rebuild what I have so carelessly shattered. You mean the world to me, and I will spend every moment striving to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos Sainz

As you sat nervously in your childhood home, the familiar sights and sounds providing little comfort, your mind raced with thoughts of disappointment and hurt.

For the third time, Carlos had failed to join you in meeting your parents, leaving you to face their questioning looks and unspoken concerns alone. You had rehearsed what you would say to them, how you would explain his absence, but each time, the words caught in your throat, choked by a mixture of frustration and sadness. For the past few days since you walked out of your apartment, you had been ignoring Carlos�� attempts to reconcile with you. The calls and texts he spammed you with were ignored and curses left your mouth as soon as your mind went back to the day of the argument, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes.

In the passing, you saw a Ferrari conference being conducted and as much as you wanted to reach out and talk it out with him, your heart did flips that you were sure you should have visited a doctor for.

Your parents, ever perceptive, noticed your unease as you fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, casting worried glances in your direction. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil within you.

How could you explain to them that the man you loved couldn't find the time to meet them, despite his promises and assurances? "What's wrong, sweetie?" your mom asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying, "It's Carlos... He like…"

Your dad's brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he said that he got caught up with work. You know how busy he is with his racing and all..." Your dad’s brows furrowed when you trailed off, about to ask you what exactly you meant but just as you were steeling yourself to broach the subject, the doorbell rang, startling you from your thoughts.

Your heart sank as you realized it was likely a neighbor stopping by to meet you since you don’t visit that often, you stood up to go greet them. But then, to your disbelief, you heard his voice drifting through the door, before you saw your boyfriend standing right behind it. Your head titled in confusion and you drew a breath that took most of the stress from the previous days away from your body.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his tone apologetic yet determined. Carlos took your hand and kissed it lightly,"Traffic was a nightmare." “What about the conference that you-” “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N.” He cut you off before pulling you in and walking to the dining room that was in his vision. As if that was the answer to your question.

You turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope. There he was, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably earnest, his gaze that locked on yours was as if it was seeking forgiveness. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret etched in the lines of his face.

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Carlos standing before them. 

Despite their reservations about his repeated absences, they couldn't deny the genuine affection that Carlos held in his eyes when he looked at you.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos took a step forward, his hand reaching out tentatively. "I'm really sorry, both of you," he said, addressing your parents directly.

"I know how important this is to you, and I should have made more of an effort to be here on time."

His words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of his shortcomings and a pledge to do better. You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a glimmer of renewed faith in your relationship. "Well, we're just glad you could make it," your dad said, offering Carlos a handshake.

"Thank you for coming, Carlos," your mother said, her voice warm yet cautious. "We understand that life gets busy, but it's important to make time for the people who matter most."

Carlos nodded, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "I couldn't agree more. Family means putting in effort, I promise to make it up to all of you."

As you sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was tinged with a sense of reconciliation and hope. Your hand still intertwined with his as you saw him charm your family. Despite the rocky start, Carlos's presence brought a newfound sense of unity and understanding to the table. And as you shared stories and laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to mend what had seemed irreparably broken.

In that moment, you realized that love wasn't just about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was about the everyday moments of connection and compromise, the willingness to forgive and grow together.

And as you looked at Carlos, his eyes filled with determination and affection, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

Charles Leclerc

Charles had apologized right after he had said those words and though you had both fallen back into routine, the underlying bitterness and resentment was still present. You weren’t the one initiating any kind of affection from your side and every time Charles was initiating anything, you half assed your way out of it. Was it childish? Probably. But you were still not comfortable with how easily you had forgiven Charles, burying your hurt just to avoid conflict once again despite knowing deep down that he has hurt you probably more than anyone else ever has. These thoughts were running through your head as you sat beside Charles, your heart still heavy with the weight, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Especially because Charles seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts, that you couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were. Why had he even asked to go on a date today? To break up with you? Suddenly, Pippa appeared, her presence causing the knot to form in your stomach to get tighter. She approached with a confident stride, a charming smile gracing her lips as she greeted Charles with a hug.

"Hey, Charlie!" Pippa exclaimed, her eyes flickering briefly in your direction before returning to Charles. "Long time no see!"

Charles returned her hug, though his embrace seemed somewhat forced. "Hey, Pippa. Yeah, it's been a while." 

You observed their interaction closely, your unease growing with each passing moment. Pippa's presence always seemed to unsettle you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their friendship than met the eye. Was he gonna break up with you in public and confess his years long feelings for Pippa? Charles glanced at you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I was just out with Y/N today."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his actions, his affectionate gesture soothing some of the tension that had been building between you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Pippa said, offering you a friendly smile. "Sorry I didn’t see you next to Charlie."

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes and managed to reply without gagging. "Nice to meet you, Pippa." Charles tightened his grip on your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence and support. "We were just grabbing a coffee," he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Pippa. "Care to join us?"

Pippa hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at you before turning back to Charles. "Actually, I was hoping we could catch up alone, if that's okay."

You felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach. Despite your reservations, you nodded, forcing a smile as you released Charles's hand. It was better to walk away yourself than to have Charles dismiss you.

"Of course," you said, though your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. "I'll wait for you outside."

Charles shot you an alarmed look as you stood up,”I’ll see you in a few.” Charles’ hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before you reluctantly let go and made your way to the door.

You leaned against your car and enjoyed the wind for a second. You couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the exchange between your boyfriend and his best friend sitting inside.

You were half scared to find them kissing or something but, instead a sense of confusion washed over you as you watched the way Pippa was angrily point a finger at Charles and scream at him.

It was a second later when she stormed out before making her way towards you.

"Is he doing this because of you?!" Pippa's accusatory tone sent a shiver down your spine, her words hitting too close to home.

Before you could even process what was happening, Charles emerged from the cafe, his expression determined as he approached you and Pippa.

"Go home, Pippa," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he intertwined his hand with yours.

Pippa's eyes blazed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Charles. "You will regret this, Charles!" she spat before storming off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Once Pippa was out of sight, you turned to Charles, your heart pounding in your chest. "What was that all about?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Y/N. Pippa has been... difficult lately."

You frowned, your mind reeling with confusion and frustration. "Difficult how?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "She's been pushing boundaries, trying to come between us. But I won't let her." 

"Hey," he continued, taking your hand in his. "I told Pippa that I wouldn't be spending time with her alone anymore. If she can't accept you, then it's better for us to not be friends at all."

You blinked in surprise, a rush of gratitude flooding through you at his words. "Really?"

Charles nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "Really. You're the most important person in my life, and I won't let anyone come between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you standing up for us."

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll always stand up for us, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you threw your arms around him, holding him close. Despite the lingering bitterness and resentment, you couldn't deny the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment.

Lando Norris

As you stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air enveloped you, offering a moment of respite from the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed you throughout the evening.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of Lando's hurtful words, but beneath the pain, a numbness resided- knowing deep down that you might’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.

Before you could take another step, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, you saw Lando rushing towards you, his eyes filled with remorse and his expression wrought with sorrow. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Y/N, please wait," he called out, his voice pleading as he reached your side, breathless from his haste.

You pulled your face to meet his eyes, uncertainty and wariness etched into your features as you met his gaze. Part of you yearned to turn away, to shield yourself from the pain of his words, but another part couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere in his apology.

"Lando," you said softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and apprehension. You wanted to say more but the damn ball in your throat stopped you doing so.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he searched for the right words to express the depth of his regret. "I know I messed up, Y/N. I hurt you, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, offering a sliver of comfort. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of the hurt that lingered in your heart.

"I should have been there for you tonight, supporting you and showing you how much you mean to me," Lando continued, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Instead, I let my own selfishness and insecurities get in the way, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice echoing the ache in your own heart. You were sure you’ll regret letting go of this amazing relationship without at least attempting to work on it.

Despite the pain he had caused you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away, Y/N," Lando said softly, his hands shaking and showcasing the intensity of his vulnerability.

"I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust and your love. But please, just give me a chance to make things right. I promise to do whatever it takes to show you how much you mean to me, every single day for the rest of my life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and remorse, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto the pain of the past and the hope for a brighter future. As you gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity or deceit, all you found was raw honesty and unwavering devotion.

With a heavy heart and a flicker of hope, you reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet, Lando," you whispered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Lando takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. "I'll spend every moment proving I'm worthy of your love, Y/N. Let me show you how much you mean to me, starting from this moment. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, even if it means giving you the space you need. Just know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

I think a huge factor in people not being able to understand this game is that the game as a whole relies on understanding Solas’ character as written, and people are refusing to understand it

Solas is, and has been since his first appearance, an egotistical, hubristic, racist, manipulative, abusive and condescending asshole who regularly commits atrocities and pretends that being sad about them is enough penance. He is a terrible person who insists he’s actually the hero of the story. He is a liar and a manipulator, and he lies to himself as well. He uses other people like chess pieces and sacrifices them for his cause without much of a thought, and without them even knowing they are being used.

This is who he is. This is who he was always written to be. And veilguard is almost entirely about deconstructing that. Every member of the veilguard is a foil to solas. They are all who he pretends he is, and his false hero fantasy falls apart when you put them next to him.

Every single companion storyline is about that character successfully doing something that Solas is incapable of, but would be capable of if he wasn’t such a terrible person. And they all face a dark reflection of themselves and come out the other side mostly unscathed by that, aware that this dark reflection is not them because they are not actually like that.

Solas faces many of the same challenges the companions do, and fails each and every one of them, because, unlike them, he is not actually a hero. He is not a good person. He does not learn to accept that just because something is broken doesn’t mean there aren’t parts of it worth saving. He does not learn to accept the harsh truths and move forward. He does not accept that he is responsible for his own actions, even if someone else orders them. He fails every time.

Solas faces not one but two dark reflections of himself, Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, the prideful god who always thinks he’s right no matter the consequences, and the servant and lover of another god whose atrocities are not justified by having been pushed by their lover and mistress, but does not come out the other side unscathed because it turns out he IS actually like them. His reflections are accurate, they’re real parts of himself that he pretends don’t exist, not just twisted versions of their fears like they are for the companions. At the end of the game he even admits that yes, he is very similar to Elgar’nan.

Pretty much the entirety of veilguard is a very careful and deliberate deconstruction of Solas’ character and self image. We go through, in elaborate detail, all of his crimes, all of his mistakes, all of the reasons why he is wrong, why his actions are unjustifiable, why his regret doesn’t absolve him of responsibility, how he thinks it does anyway.

We completely tear down every single aspect of the image he has constructed for himself. We destroy every single excuse with clear examples showing that that was not how things had to go. Every justification. Every insistence it’s okay because he’s sorry. Every time he insists he knows best and we should leave him to it. Every single illusion that he is a good person is shattered. By the end of it there is absolutely nothing left, and his repeated attempts to keep up the facade come off as pathetic and ridiculous. In all his banters with companions he tries to use his usual tricks, pretty excuses, belittling comments, fake niceties and every time he’s completely shut down.

He tries to imply Davrin has a biased view of him from stories about the dread wolf, Davrin responds with evidence the truth is even worse. He tries to apologise to Harding, she comes back with a list of all the terrible things he’s done that an apology can’t cover. He tries to appeal to spite, spite points out he hurt Rook so why should he trust him. He comes up with excuses for killing Varric and Neve points out that there’s no pretty excuse for using blood magic on Rook in such a cruel way afterwards. The illusion is shattered. That’s what the entire game has been building up to. And it makes his last attempt at betrayal seem embarrassing, because we now see through the facade and know that he was too obsessed with himself to even consider we’d see it coming.

But the thing is a lot of people refuse to see this. This is where his characters been heading since the beginning. This is who he’s always been. But a lot of people ignore any and every negative thing about him, and then complain the game doesn’t make sense. Of course it doesn’t make sense. You’ve ignored every single theme, plot point, and piece of characterisation to make up a version of Solas in your head and that’s not the Solas the game is about. It makes complete sense when you see Solas as he truly is, as he was written to be. It’s such a good bit of writing when you actually let yourself experience it as it is and allow yourself to be open to the idea that the guy who is trying to commit his second genocide might be a bad person.

[edenesth]

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

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[bywonyo]

BUS STOP ────── confronting your best friend for avoiding you ends in an unexpected way ..

엔하이펜 니키 x fem reader / non idol au ────fluff . angst . best friends to lovers . high school au ♡ skinship . swearing . bickering 734WC ｡｡ ARCHIVE ( ˶ˆ3ˆ˵ )

- ai’s love note 💌 this is not proof read sorry ^^

“You’re avoiding me.” Riki stops in his tracks when he hears the slight crack in your voice, hesitation filling his mind. Sighing, he slowly turns to face you, an anxious expression on his face.

“I don't know what you’re talking about” You raise an eyebrow in suspicion, and Riki seems to notice. His behavior becomes cautious because he knows you can read him like an open book.

You let out a sigh, “Did I do anything wrong?” The tall male gulps and scratches the back of his neck. "N-no," he mutters. You know he’s lying — you've known him since you were five.

Whenever you try to greet him in the halls, he avoids your gaze and walks away, during lunchtime he seems to disappear from your sight, and he won’t talk to you unless you force him to. So here you are, confronting him at a bus stop.

“Tell me the truth, I don't like you avoiding me” He sighs as he knows he has to give up his facade, but instead decides to ramble out excuses and dumb reasons so he doesn't have to admit the embarrassing truth.

You scoff at his stupid excuses, determined to know the truth — you shove him onto the bench, trying to appear intimidating even though he’s still taller than you sitting down. The height difference causes a flush of red to spread across your cheeks, making you flustered.

Thoughts race through your mind as you overthink why he has been avoiding you. Is he tired of you? Is he embarrassed to be your friend? Or does he simply hate you now? Your heart aches at the possibility that it might be true.

Riki noticed your sad expression, and it felt like his heart shattered into a million pieces. The last thing he wanted was to see you upset. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter at the adorable pout on your lips — it was as if you had cast a spell on him.

“Listen.. It’s not that I don't want to be friends with you anymore, it's just-” You hated all of the possible reasons he might have had, so you cut him off. “Then why? Just tell me the truth.”

Riki’s eyes widened, and he felt like he could melt from embarrassment. He was hesitant to admit the reason behind his feelings. You rambled about him probably being embarrassed to be your friend and his brows furrowed to see you think he could ever feel that way. “I know it! You hate me don’t you-” But then you hear a deep voice snap, and you freeze in place.

“I like you!”

Your eyes widened, and the world seemed to stop. Riki looked down in shame, and you were still in disbelief. “You like me..?” Riki nodded, flustered as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“I'm sorry.. I know we’re just friends but-” Riki flinched in surprise when he felt you tug on his hoodie and kiss his lips, his heart thumping in his chest. His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

After a few moments, he felt himself close his eyes and kiss you back. His hands gently explored the skin of your waist while you played with his hair. When you finally let go to catch your breath, Riki wore a pout on his lips, clearly not wanting you to stop. In Riki's eyes, it was as if you had stars shining within your eyes, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

He was in a love-struck trance, his mind was only on you. But then he felt a light slap on his cheek. Plap! “That’s for being stupid! We could have been dating right now if you weren't so dumb!”Typical of you, he thought. He let out a laugh at your offended look and pulled you in for a second kiss, making you the flustered one.

But what you two didn't know was that Sunoo and Jungwon were watching with binoculars, gasping at the two of you.

“Hah! Pay up, Jungwon” Jungwon rolled his eyes, knowing he had to pay Sunoo twenty bucks because he lost the bet. There was no way that Riki was smart enough to confess, but he had misjudged him.

Jungwon scoffed as he reached for his school bag and reluctantly handed the money to Sunoo, making Sunoo giggle, knowing he was right.

[f1daydreamer]

A Foolish Bet | part 2

Warnings: angst and angst

Part 1 Part 3

------

The silence in the room was deafening. Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat, realizing the slip of his tongue had shattered the evening’s lighthearted atmosphere. Charles cleared his throat, exchanging a look with the others.

“Uh, maybe we should leave,” Charles muttered, standing up. “Give you two some space.”

The group nodded quickly, their laughter and easy camaraderie forgotten as they filed out, offering awkward goodbyes. Max lingered for a moment, looking guilty, but Lando shot him a sharp glare that sent him scurrying after the others.

Once the door clicked shut, it was just the two of you. The air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension.

You turned to Lando, tilting your head slightly, a look of innocent curiosity on your face. “What was the bet about?”

Lando froze. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath catching in his throat.

You frowned, noticing his sudden discomfort. “Lando?” you prompted softly, stepping closer to him. “What was the bet? It’s not a big deal, is it?”

“It’s… It’s nothing, love,” he said quickly, his voice tight, trying to dismiss it.

Your brows furrowed. “It didn’t sound like nothing. Max said you won. What did you win?”

He couldn’t lie to you. Not anymore. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his curls, his mind racing for the right words. “It’s complicated,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

“How complicated can it be?” you asked, your tone still gentle, but there was a flicker of doubt in your eyes now.

Lando felt his chest tighten. He knew this was his chance to come clean, but the thought of losing you paralyzed him. “Sweetheart, can we just… Can we talk about this later?”

“Why later?” you asked, your voice firmer now. “Why can’t you tell me right now? Lando, what aren’t you saying?”

He hesitated, and in that moment, your patience cracked.

“Lando,” you said again, your voice trembling now. “What was the bet?”

He looked at you, and the pain in his eyes made your stomach twist.

“It was about you,” he admitted finally, his voice breaking.

You blinked, confused. “Me? What about me?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Max and Charles bet me… They bet me I couldn’t make you fall for me.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your mouth fell open slightly as you tried to process what he’d just said.

“A bet,” you repeated, the weight of the revelation slowly sinking in. “You made me fall in love with you because of a bet?”

“No, love, it’s not like that,” Lando said quickly, his voice desperate now. He stepped closer, but you took a step back, shaking your head. “It started as a bet, yes, but it changed. I fell for you—really, truly fell for you. This isn’t a game to me, I swear.”

Your hands trembled as you crossed your arms, your mind spinning. “So… all those times you talked to me, all those ‘coincidental’ meetings at the café… That was all part of some plan?”

“At first, yes,” he admitted, his voice small. “But it wasn’t long before it stopped being about the bet. I love you. I love you, more than anything. You have to believe me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. “How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

“Because I’m telling you the truth,” Lando pleaded, his voice cracking. “You’re my everything, my world. Please don’t let this ruin us.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “I need… I need some air.”

“Wait,” Lando said, reaching for you, but you stepped away. “Please, don’t go. Let’s talk about this.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. Without another word, you grabbed your coat and left, the door shutting softly behind you.

---

Reader POV

The chill of the night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but it did little to cool the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Betrayal, anger, confusion—they all vied for dominance, leaving you feeling hollow.

Your feet carried you on autopilot to your best friend’s apartment. By the time you arrived, your heart was heavy, and tears were threatening to spill over.

Your friend opened the door, immediately sensing something was wrong. “What happened?” she asked, pulling you into a hug.

The moment her arms wrapped around you, the dam broke. You sobbed against her shoulder, the weight of Lando’s betrayal crashing down on you.

“He made me fall in love with him because of a bet,” you choked out between sobs.

Your friend’s grip tightened, and she guided you to the couch, letting you cry it out as she stroked your hair. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You sat there for hours, replaying everything in your mind. Every laugh, every kiss, every whispered promise—it all felt tainted now. How could something that had felt so real be built on a lie?

And yet, there was a part of you—a small, fragile part—that wanted to believe him. To believe that his feelings had been real, that he wasn’t the same boy who had taken that bet months ago.

But you weren’t sure if you could.

---

Author’s Note:

The story doesn’t end here. Part 3 will explore what happens next, but whether forgiveness is possible remains to be seen. Stay tuned😘🫣

[greengoblinswifey]

i loved "Shattered" although i would have loved for her to keep the baby and have the same success as in the original ending, would you consider writing something like that? as an alternative ending

Alternative Ending to Shattered— Nicholas Chavez x Actress!Reader

warnings— cheating, mature language, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of abortion, happy ending, mentions of birth.

Shattered

When Nicholas told you to get an abortion, you felt a flash of anger surge through you. “No,”you said firmly. “You can’t force me to do that.” Nicholas looked shocked, then furious. “I have a girlfriend, and a kid on the way to raise,” he argued, voice hard and unyielding.

A surge of pain mixed with rage bubbled up in you. “I’m your girlfriend, Nicholas,”you shouted back. “And this is your child. You should be here for us, helping raise them, not running off to hide.”

Without another word, Nicholas stormed out, leaving you sitting there, heart pounding as you clutched your stomach protectively. You weren't showing yet, but the weight of the choice before you felt heavy. “Screw Nicholas”, you thought, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’ll raise this baby on my own if I have to.”

That night, you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind spiraling as you weighed your options. If you kept the baby, everything would change. Your career, just beginning to gain traction, would be stalled indefinitely. You’d be a single mother, left alone to care for a child Nicholas had already written off. And as a man, he’d be fine. Even with two babies on the way, he wouldn’t be the one carrying or caring for them.

On the other hand, if you didn’t keep it, you weren’t even sure if you’d get another chance. The thought tore at you, but you knew what the world would say. They’d call you a homewrecker, maybe even try to destroy your reputation, and all without knowing the truth. It would be you, bearing the weight of his lies.

Finally, with a heavy but hopeful heart, you decided that you were going to keep the life growing inside you. Thoughts raced through your mind, layering one worry after another. How would your career hold up with a pregnancy? The industry wasn’t always kind to young actresses, especially not ones who suddenly had a child in the picture. You imagined the directors and producers who’d invested in your rising stardom questioning your ability to maintain the same dedication once you had a baby to care for. The idea of managing both a career and motherhood alone felt overwhelming.

Filming the rest of the season with Nicholas suddenly seemed like an impossible task. Every scene together would remind you of how easily he had turned his back on you both, his other life casting a shadow over every word he’d said to you. But you’d have to keep it together, remain professional, pretending there wasn’t a storm beneath the surface whenever you shared the screen with him.

And then, there was the question you dreaded most: Who’s the baby’s father? Interviews, press conferences, appearances, the media would demand answers eventually. How could you admit the truth? How could you tell the world that you’d trusted him, fallen for him, fucked your co-star raw, and now were left to handle the responsibility alone because he had a life, another girlfriend and another baby, in his hometown? The thought of admitting you’d opened your heart and legs to your co-star, only for him to abandon you, made your stomach twist. You couldn’t bear to let the world see that vulnerable side of you.

But despite it all, you rested your hand on your stomach and felt a strange sense of resolve. This baby was a part of you, forget being a part of him, and you knew you’d find a way to raise them, no matter how many obstacles lay in your path.

The next day on set, you were barely holding it together, trying to keep the morning’s nausea from spilling over into the day's work. Nicholas approached you quietly before filming began, his expression tense.

“So, did you take care of it?” he asked, his voice cold.

You looked him right in the eyes. “No, Nicholas. I’m keeping this baby. That’s final.” You could see the frustration in his face, the way he clenched his jaw, but he didn’t argue. He only nodded, his gaze shifting away.

Soon, you were called onto set to film a scene, and as you moved into the frame, you felt the weight of your reality pressing down. The scene called for a romantic kiss, but as you leaned in, all you could think was, How could he do this to us? Every touch felt hollow, each moment of pretend affection a painful reminder of his betrayal.

Still, you held it together for the rest of the day, determined to protect yourself and, more importantly, the little life growing inside you. You’d give them all the love they need, you thought, so they wouldn’t feel the absence of their father.

As days turned into weeks, filming continued then the season wrapped, and you noticed subtle changes, how your clothes fit a bit more snugly, the quiet flutter in your stomach that grew stronger with time. You poured your focus into auditions for roles scheduled to film after the baby’s birth, crafting a new life plan that prioritized their future as much as your own.

Finally, when you went to the doctor alone, you learned you were having a baby girl. The news was bittersweet. Part of you ached for the weight of responsibility, raising a girl, teaching her strength and self-worth under such circumstances. Yet, you held onto a fierce determination to make the most of it, to show her resilience and love, no matter what lay ahead.

The night of the premiere, you walked onto the red carpet in a breathtaking gown that hugged your figure, showing off a noticeable baby bump. As you made your way through the crowd, congratulations poured in from all directions, and you felt a mixture of pride and nerves. Then you spotted Nicholas, standing nearby with his girlfriend, who was visibly pregnant as well. For a moment, his eyes met yours, and he did a double-take, clearly taken aback by how radiant you looked with your growing belly.

His girlfriend approached you, offering her congratulations with a polite smile, and you returned the sentiment, fully aware of the irony, that you both carried a piece of him, each in your own way. Nicholas lingered close by, watching intently, as if afraid you might reveal something.

As you spoke to the press, questions about your pregnancy inevitably came up. When asked about the father, you simply smiled, deflecting with comments about your happiness and excitement for what lay ahead, both as a mother and in your career. You radiated confidence, making it clear that your future was only beginning.

Later, you received the incredible news that you’d been cast in a new movie, and the production team was willing to accommodate your new role as a mother. Filming was set to begin after you'd had time with your baby, and they even offered a nanny and daycare on set. Knowing this support was there, you accepted the role, feeling your career blossom alongside your journey into motherhood.

When the day finally arrived, you gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl, the spitting image of you. Holding her for the first time, you felt an overwhelming relief that she looked nothing like Nicholas—she was purely yours. Your sister stood by, sharing in the joy, and as you looked down at your daughter, you felt stronger and more certain than ever.

Motherhood suited you well, and as the months passed, so did the fascination with your personal life. Though speculation about the baby’s father lingered, it eventually faded. Fans and the public were captivated by your story, a young mom balancing stardom with raising her baby girl. As offers poured in, it was clear that your future was bright, your daughter by your side as you continued to captivate the world.

Meanwhile, Nicholas seemed to fade from the spotlight, mostly at home with his girlfriend, waiting for their baby. Until, finally, karma came for him, an article revealed that the child he thought was his was actually someone else’s, belonging to a rockstar his girlfriend had left him for. You couldn’t help the satisfaction that spread through you. He’d reaped exactly what he’d sown, and you hadn’t lifted a finger.

The night of the Oscars was monumental. Walking the red carpet, you held your baby girl close, basking in the awe and admiration from all around. When the ceremony began, you took your seat, unaware that Nicholas was there, too, until he approached you during a break, nervously glancing at your daughter.

“She looks just like you,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft.

You looked at him coldly, replying, “Yeah, and I'm fucking grateful for that”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m so sorry for everything. I miss you, I really do. I was an idiot. Please, give me another chance.”

You took a steadying breath, keeping your tone calm but firm. “Nicholas, we’re done. The moment you cheated, lied and then told me to abort my child, you lost any future with me.” You glanced down at your daughter who was playing with your hair not sparing her father a glance, feeling the strength in your decision. “If you want to be in her life, that’s up to you. I’d prefer it if you weren’t near us, but I won’t deny you the right.”

He hesitated, his eyes darting away. It was clear he hadn’t come to build a relationship with his daughter, he was more interested in your newfound fame.

“That's what I thought,” you said, voice sharp. “Stay out of our lives. Don’t speak to me again.”

With that, you walked away, feeling lighter than ever. When your name was called for Best Actress, you took the stage, holding the Oscar with pride as the crowd erupted in applause. This was your night, a celebration of everything you’d fought for, a testament to your resilience and talent, with your daughter’s future in your hands.

[joemama-2]

the sound of you | ch. 1 new face, new race

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing : gojo x fem reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ synopsis: what happens when a man who uses intimacy to numb his pain collides with a woman who sees vulnerability as her greatest weakness? a storm of desire, denial, and shattered hearts. you never imagined someone like him—magnetic, self-assured, and emotionally closed off—would enter your life. worse, you never expected to crave him in return. but fate has a cruel way of stitching together souls that should never meet, dragging you both into a spiral of unspoken truths, unresolved wounds, and a connection that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags/warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff, sexual content, mentions of trauma, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, blood, miscommunication, alcohol, drugs, opposites attract, manipulation, mentions of bullying, death, smut, insecurity galore, selective mutism, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, modern au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ wc: 12.5k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ status: ongoing

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ series masterlist < next chapter

Sometimes, you feel like you’ve been taxidermied.

It’s a sort of here and there thought, but one you have quite frequently in the past few months. As a joke, you entertain the idea that you’ve been stuffed with some really soft pink stuffing, on display for your murderer (aka: your taxidermist) to look at in awe whenever he passes by. You’re probably placed on the highest shelf, behind tough glass and labeled “My Most Prized Possession”. Your murderer most likely stops and stands for minutes—maybe even hours on end just admiring his beautiful work.

Being admired from afar feels more comforting than being murdered and stuffed to live an eternity of still motion.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re not dead. You’re not even still. You’re here, breathing, blinking, existing. Living. If that’s what you’d even call this state of being—where silence becomes your only companion and time stretches on in sharp, endless intervals. You wonder sometimes if he thinks about you—your murderer. Does he imagine you now, a neat and quiet version of yourself, perfectly preserved and tucked away where no one else can reach? Did he know, even then, how deeply he’d leave his mark? How thoroughly he’d hollow you out, leaving you more object than person? Of course he did.

It’s easier to imagine it that way, isn’t it? Easier to think of yourself as someone turned to glass, smoothed over and sealed shut, rather than acknowledge the fractures your murderer left behind. Easier to believe the silence is yours, not his. That it’s you who has taken up residence behind that invisible barrier, rather than admitting that someone else built it for you.

Sometimes, you wonder if he’s still proud of his handiwork.

Your therapist once told you that silence isn’t the absence of sound—it’s a choice, an act of power. But it doesn’t feel powerful when you’re here, sitting alone with the weight of your thoughts pressing into your chest, nursing your usual morning cup of tea. It doesn’t feel like a choice when the words twist themselves into knots inside you, stuck behind walls you’ve never been able to climb. It feels, instead, like a kind of stillness you can’t escape.

It wasn’t always like this. You remember a time when your voice felt whole, unbroken, like the summer wind passing through your window. Back then, you used to laugh with abandon, a sound so natural it felt like breathing. You remember because it’s impossible to forget what was taken from you.

Your murderer took that from you. Not all at once, of course—he wasn’t that kind. He dismantled you piece by piece, word by word, until you were something new. Something smaller. Something that fit in the palm of his hand, ready to be admired and forgotten at his convenience.

You close your eyes against the memory, swallowing the bitter ache that always follows it. You think you might be okay with being admired, so long as you never have to see him again.

You should probably stop thinking. You have to leave for work in fifteen minutes. A teacher assistant position at the nearby kindergarten. If you had asked your high school what you would be doing in the future, a teacher would be the last on the list. Of course, you cherish children. Their little laughs and curious questions bring you a warmth and joy that’s hard to find nowadays. The head teacher, Emi Inoue, is a wonderful older lady.

You love your job. Sure you’d like it if it paid more, but it’s better than any retail position.

Besides, working with children has given you a better sense of empathy, compassion, and patience. Something you desperately need in child care.

The crispy air flies past your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Wearing a long, but modest skirt. Paired with a simple long sleeved shirt, your lanyard hanging around your neck, covering your shivering body with the only coat that offers you enough warmth. You should probably go shopping sometime soon again.

The train station isn’t far, luckily. A soft song playing from the buds lodged in your ears, hands stuffed in your pockets as you and other working civilians of Shibuya. Within ten minutes, the train makes its stop. The doors slide open and you make your way inside. Most of the interior is stuffed, presumably so considering its rush hour and people need to get to work. Luckily, you manage to find a tiny clearing—standing the entirety of the forty minute ride.

You keep a tight hold on the silver bar, forcing your body to stay in place and not jolt around as the train continues on. The vibrations of the train hum beneath your feet, a rhythmic reminder of your path forward. The soft song in your ears competes with the muffled chatter and occasional announcements over the intercom. Your grip on the silver bar is firm, fingers chilled despite the warmth of your coat. Around you, people shuffle in and out at each stop, their movements mechanical, heads bowed over phones or staring blankly at nothing in particular.

The man beside you adjusts his briefcase, brushing against your arm, and you instinctively shrink further into yourself. You’re not a fan of the close quarters, but it’s unavoidable during rush hour. You remind yourself this ride is temporary, that the crowded carriage is just a bridge between here and there. That doesn’t stop you from moving a few inches away.

Outside the window, the city blurs into a wash of concrete, neon signs, and fleeting glimpses of people starting their day. A quiet sigh escapes you as you press your shoulder closer to the cold pole, grounding yourself against the lurching movements of the train. Forty minutes feels like an eternity when you’re standing still, surrounded but untouchable. The song in your earbuds shifts, a gentler melody now, one that tugs at memories you’ve tried to push away. You shake your head slightly, trying to focus on the present—the sway of the train, the weight of your bag, the familiar tightness in your chest that you’ve learned to ignore.

At least no one asks questions when you’re quiet. Silence is an art form here, unspoken but deeply understood. It wraps around you, offering a small comfort in the chaos of a city that never seems to stop moving. The train jerks to a stop again, this time more abruptly, and the woman in front of you stumbles. You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing hers as you steady her. She mutters a quick “thank you” without meeting your eyes, and you offer a slight nod in return before retreating.

The moments bleed into each other, a series of starts and stops, until the train finally announces your destination. You weave through the crowd as the doors slide open, stepping onto the platform and into the crisp air again. It bites at your cheeks, but you welcome it. The world outside feels a little freer, even if it isn’t really.

As you make your way toward the stairs, your gaze falls on the station clock. Still on time, at least. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, tugging your coat closer to your body as you join the river of people flowing upward. Another day, another destination, another silent step forward. You can do this.

A buzz vibrates in your coat pocket. Picking out your phone and turning it on, the name Ieiri is posted, followed by a message. A small smile forms on your lips as you unlock your phone and go to your messages.

Ieiri:

Breakfast.

And it’s a picture of a lot cigarette between her two fingers, a plate of white rice to the side.

You sigh, eyes rolling lightheartedly as you type back a response:

You:

Not healthy, do u have groceries?

Ieiri:

Nope

You:

Then we’ll go together

Ieiri:

Lol it’s fine, Y/N

You shake your head, stepping out the way of an older man who seems to not care about watching where he’s going.

You:

We’ll go

Is what you end with, locking your phone again and putting it back in your pocket as you enter the gates of the school. The staff and teachers politely greet you. With a wave and smile back, you walk to the familiar room of Room 132. The children aren’t here yet, Mrs. Inoue and you using this time to set up the room for the upcoming day.

The classroom smells faintly of chalk and the citrus cleaner the janitors must have used the night before. Room 132 has always been a small but cozy space, its walls decorated with colorful posters, crayon drawings, and motivational quotes in blocky fonts. You glance around, taking in the comforting familiarity of it all.

Mrs. Inoue is already there, humming softly to herself as she arranges supplies on one of the low tables. She’s always been the early bird between the two of you, her energy a steady constant in the whirlwind of your mornings. “Oh, good morning!” she greets cheerfully, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I was wondering when you’d get here. It’s chilly out, isn’t it?”

You nod with a small smile, shrugging off your coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. The warmth of the classroom is a welcome reprieve from the biting air outside, and you take a moment to savor it before moving to help her.

“We’re going to need extra paper for the art project today,” Mrs. Inoue continues, gesturing to a nearby shelf. “And maybe an extra set of paints too. You know how much they love to mix all the colors together into one big muddy mess.”

The corner of your mouth twitches upward at that. It’s true—your students have a way of turning even the most structured activity into pure chaos. But it’s the kind of chaos you don’t mind. You grab the supplies she mentioned, setting them out on the tables in neat, colorful rows. The work feels methodical, soothing even, as the room slowly comes to life with the promise of the day ahead. “Do you have the attendance chart?” Mrs. Inoue asks, her voice breaking your focus. You hum, retrieving it from your bag and handing it to her. “Thanks! I’ll get started on marking the seating arrangements.” She pauses, glancing at you over her shoulder. “By the way, are you feeling okay? You seemed a little out of it yesterday.”

You hesitate, the question catching you off guard. But Mrs. Inoue doesn’t push; she never does. Her tone is light, her expression warm, like she’s offering you an out if you need it.

“I’m fine,” you say finally, your voice soft but steady. She nods, accepting your answer without prying further. The silence that follows is comfortable, punctuated only by the faint sound of the heating system kicking on. Soon, the time will come where the students start trickling in, and the room will fill with laughter, chatter, and tiny voices calling your name.

For now, though, it’s just you, Mrs. Inoue, and the quiet promise of a new day.

Before you know it, there’s the tiny patter of feet against the floor, followed by excited screams of “Good morning, Mrs. Inoue! Good Morning, Ms. L/N!”

The noise floods the room like a wave, and for a moment, you're almost taken aback by the sudden shift. It’s always like this—the children bounding in with that infectious energy, their little faces lighting up with excitement. Their voices blend together in a sweet chorus of greetings as they run to their seats, eager to start the day. You smile softly, the weight of their energy lifting something inside you. “Good morning, everyone,” you reply, your voice silky but clear enough to be heard over the commotion. A few of them pause mid-stride, turning to beam at you as if their morning isn’t complete without that small exchange. It’s a ritual, a moment you’ve come to cherish despite everything else.

One of the kids, Ayumi, shyly tugs on your sleeve as she passes by. "Ms. L/N, I drew something for you!" Her small, crinkled drawing of a smiley sun and a big flower is presented with a proud grin. You bend down to meet her, taking the drawing gently and nodding in appreciation.

"Thank you, Ayumi," you say with sincerity, tucking it into the pocket of your apron for safekeeping. She beams, pleased by your reaction. The other children are settling into their seats now, the others still hanging up their tiny backpacks. The noise slowly dying down as Mrs. Inoue begins to go over the day’s schedule. You move to your desk, organizing your own materials for the upcoming lessons.

There's something comforting about this routine, about how predictable and grounded the children's excitement makes the world feel. Even if you don't speak much, even if the silence weighs heavily on you some days, in this room, with these kids, you feel like you belong.

The chatter resumes as they prepare for the first activity, but you don't mind. In this space, you're safe. The world outside might be noisy, chaotic, even isolating—but here, in Room 132, it’s just a quiet promise of another day.

The kids here, they’ve accepted that. Sometimes they ask the blatant question like why are you so quiet or if you don’t like talking. Each time, you regard them with a low chuckle, carefully explaining that you talk when you have to.

“But don’t we always have to talk, Ms. L/N?” One of your students had asked, head tilting in confusion.

Your lips upturn warmly, the question never getting easier to answer, but you’ve grown used to it. The innocence in their voices, their genuine curiosity, makes it harder to simply brush it off. You leaned down to meet the little one’s gaze, the child’s wide eyes watching you intently.

“Well,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “sometimes, I don’t need to talk to show that I’m listening, or that I’m here with you." You paused for a moment, glancing around at the other children who are now focused on the conversation. "Talking isn’t always the only way to communicate, is it?"

Some of them nod slowly, processing the idea, while others remain puzzled, unsure of how to make sense of the concept. It’s a delicate thing, explaining the layers of silence to young minds who are still learning the value of words.

"I still listen to you," you continue, pointing to your ears, "and I still care about what you say. But sometimes, I choose other ways to show that." You then tap your heart lightly, a gesture that seems to make sense to them, one that they can latch onto without needing to understand the deeper complexities.

The student who asked the question, Haruto, looks thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs. “Oh, okay! So you don’t always need to talk. You just…know?”

You nod, offering him an encouraging smile. "Exactly. Sometimes, knowing is enough."

They all seemed content with that answer, the conversation naturally shifting as they returned to their work. But you can’t shake the feeling that the question lingered in the air long after the words had left their mouths. It’s a reminder that, even in a room full of children, the silence you carry is still something to be questioned, to be examined.

But for now, you’ve found your peace in their acceptance, in their unspoken understanding. And that, you think, is enough.

It’s around seven in the evening now. Shoko and you walk into the grocery store, side by side as she pushes a small cart. You’ve gotten on your friend multiple times now about her less than savory eating habits. She’s a smoker, so you try to give her enough leeway.

But still. She tends to neglect herself at times, and being the good friend you are, you’re there to correct that when you see it happen. Of course she helps you out too for your own situations.

The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead as you and Shoko make your way through the aisles. The store isn’t too crowded, the hum of casual chatter and the occasional squeak of shopping carts filling the air. She lazily steers the cart, her free hand stuffed into the pocket of her jacket. “You know, I could just order takeout for the week and call it a day,” she says, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

“You could,” you reply with a knowing look, “but then I’d have to come over and lecture you about how your fridge only ever has beer and instant noodles.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“I have to be. Someone has to keep you alive,” you frown, reaching out to grab a bundle of fresh vegetables from the shelf. You toss it into the cart, earning a groan from Shoko.

“Do I look like someone who knows what to do with broccoli?” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to her words.

You sigh softly, grabbing another item and placing it beside the broccoli. “You don’t have to know. That’s what recipes are for.”

She pauses, leaning against the handle of the cart as you pick out a loaf of bread. “You’re too good to me, you know,” she says after a moment, her voice softer now.

You glance at her, raising a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, you’re the only one who cares enough to do stuff like this. Dragging me to the store, making sure I don’t waste away on convenience store snacks…”

“That’s what friends are for,” you reply simply, grabbing a pack of her favorite tea and dropping it into the cart.

She huffs a quiet laugh, pushing the cart forward again. “Yeah, well, remind me to return the favor next time you’re in a rut.”

You don’t say anything, but the smile on your face speaks volumes. The two of you continue down the aisles, the easy rhythm of your friendship filling the spaces between the mundane task of grocery shopping. It’s a small moment, but one that feels steady, grounding. By the time you reach the checkout line, Shoko’s cart is filled with a mix of healthy staples and a few indulgent snacks she managed to sneak in when you weren’t looking. She leans against the counter as you both wait, glancing at you again. “Thanks, really,” she says quietly, her tone carrying more sincerity than before.

You offer her a small nod, your way of saying anytime.

Shoko was the first person you met when starting to work in Tokyo. It was by random, on a sunny Saturday morning while completing your usual coffee run. The memory of that first meeting still lingers vividly in your mind, even after all this time. Shoko had been standing at the counter, her hair slightly messy, dressed in scrubs under an oversized hoodie, clearly on a break or just off a shift. She had glanced over at you while waiting for her coffee, and for some reason, she struck up a conversation—a mix of casual observations and dry humor that somehow coaxed a rare chuckle out of you. And honestly, you weren’t used to people like her—confident but not overbearing, witty without being cruel. She wasn’t trying to force you into anything, just filling the space in a way that felt oddly reassuring.

It became a regular thing after that, running into her at the same coffee shop every Saturday morning. Slowly but surely, the encounters turned into an unspoken tradition. She’d do most of the talking, and you’d offer her your quiet company, which she came to appreciate more than she’d admit. Though most of the conversations were spent with her own voice filling the air, you would still find it in you to acknowledge her. At first, she was put off. She’s not exactly the loudest and most extroverted person, either. But with you, she realized the silence was nice. Comfortable even. Like a break of fresh air after a busy, busy day of an OBGYN.

As of now, she’s the only one you find yourself spending time with outside of work and home. You like the simplicity. Now, years later, the dynamic hasn’t changed much. Shoko remains your anchor in Tokyo, a constant presence who understands your silences better than most. It’s not perfect—she has her moments of self-destruction, and you have your walls—but it works.

It took a while for you to open up to her, and once you did, she welcomed every incident, every emotion, every hesitation with open arms. She’s the kind of friend who knows when to push you to eat something or when to leave you be, when to crack open a beer (even though you don’t drink, making your own virgin margarita) with you in silence or pull you out of your shell for a late-night convenience store run.

In a way, she’s your best friend. You haven’t said that part out loud yet, even if you two have been friends for about three, almost four years now. But you think she knows, she has to. Neither of you really like the labels, and you’re fine with just being Shoko and Y/N. Neither of you needs to put a name to it, this friendship. It exists in the spaces between words, in the easy routine of your grocery trips, the casual texts about nothing in particular, and the quiet understanding that you’ve got each other’s backs.

As the two of you leave the store, the plastic bags swinging from Shoko’s hands, she glances over at you, smirking. “So, what’s the verdict? Did I pass the responsible adult grocery list test?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Barely.”

She nudges you with her elbow, her grin widening. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

You help her out the bags into the trunk of her black Mazda CX-5. Once that’s complete, you head into the passenger seat, her the driver's seat. She starts the engine and pulls off the curb, driving the route back to your apartment. The music of her playlist plays for a few minutes, the two of you speaking no words. At the third red light, she clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “Hey, so I’m meeting up with some friends this Saturday night at Speakeasy. I was wondering if you wanted to come. You don’t have to, but it’s just an offer if you’re not busy.”

You glance out the window, watching the city lights flicker past as her words hang in the air. Speakeasy—a bar with dim lighting, soft music, and a reputation for being both lively and intimate. It’s not the kind of place you frequent, but you know Shoko wouldn’t ask unless she thought it might be good for you. Still, the idea of stepping into a crowded room full of strangers makes your chest tighten slightly. You turn your head to look at her, the faint glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows across her face. "Who’s going to be there?" you ask, your voice barely louder than the music playing from her speakers.

“Just a few people I went to med school and high school with,” she replies casually, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Nothing too crazy. You’d like them, I think. They’re not the obnoxious kind, well maybe only one of them. But I don’t know if he’ll be there.”

You hum in acknowledgment, weighing the decision. You know Shoko wouldn’t push if you said no—she never does. But there’s a part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to try something new. To let her world blend into yours for an evening. “I’ll think about it,” you say finally, giving her a small smile.

Shoko glances at you briefly before focusing back on the road, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “That’s not a no. I’ll take it.”

The light turns green, and the car lurches forward. By the time she pulls up in front of your apartment, the decision still lingers in the back of your mind. Shoko leans against the steering wheel, her eyes glancing over at you as you gather your things. “Don’t stress about it,” she says softly, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But, you know… it could be fun.”

You nod before stepping out of the car. “Thanks for the ride. Eat well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she calls after you as you close the door.

As you head inside, you can’t help but replay her words in your mind. The thought of going out, of meeting new people—it feels daunting, but not entirely impossible. For now, though, you’ll leave it as something to consider.

“Wakey, wakey.”

The sound of a woman sleepily groaning sounds throughout the room, to which Satoru is internally celebrating because he won’t have to resort to other methods (hitting her with a pillow or snatching the—his—blanket off her body, or if he really wanted to be obnoxious, playing a loud sound of an alarm clock in her ear). Her eyes blearily open, seeing his lower half initially, but they travel up to his face. He’s already staring down at her with a smile that’s all too cheery for…..eight in the morning.

“W–wha–”

“Guess what it’s time for. Any guesses?” He uses his fist as a fake microphone, humming with his eyes pointed to the ceiling in faux thought. A second of silence passes before he continues. “Ah, nothing? Well, I’ll give you a hint. What starts with an ‘L’ and ends with a ‘E’?”

Seriously, this is not what she was expecting first thing in the morning. “I—huh….?”

“Errr, 500 for time to leave?” Satoru lowers his pitch of voice, mimicking another person speaking. “Correct!” He returns back to his own tone, but once he sees the woman is still laying down in the same position on his bed with that confused expression that’s starting to get a little on his nerves, he rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs. “Get up.”

She gasps as he lifts her up by her arms, not too rough but still enough to jostle the sleepiness away from her senses. “Ah! Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” Satoru is practically dragging her out to his room and to the front door. He’s tempted to yank his shirt off her body, but then she’d be left naked. And Satoru isn’t that much of an asshole. With his free hand, he rips the door open and practically pushes her out. She stumbles and turns around to face him.

“Had a good night and all, but sorry, I don’t like visitors. Get home safe, yeah?”

He closes and locks the door in her face just as she opens her mouth. He can faintly hear her complaining on the other side, to which he rolls his eyes again and mumbles a small “dramatic” under his breath, before stalking over to the kitchen with a hum to make his breakfast.

And so, he moves in relative calmness, seemingly already pushing the situation out his mind for room for his delicious pancakes topped with copious amounts of syrup and sliced strawberries. Oh, but don’t forget the powdered sugar he layers as the final topping, served with a glass of cool orange juice. His mouth is practically watering as he sits down at his table with the plate in front of him, begging him eat me, eat me. Satoru has never had good self control, so he gives into the silent pleading and instantly devours at a speed that should honestly be concerning for him.

The rest of his house is empty and quiet, save for his slobbering. But it’s always silent. After all, he is the only occupant, savoring his alone time. It’s why he kicked out that woman. Sasha? Or maybe Sarah? He forgot already. This is what most of his mornings consist of, anyway. So yes, in conclusion, he’s very used to this little routine he has going on.

The list goes like this. First, make stupid decisions and come back with a woman around your arm. Fuck her good, wake up the next morning and not regret it, but rather remove any traces of the mistake as soon as possible. Once that’s over, eat breakfast, head to your in-home gym to do his routine workout. Clean up and see which one of your friends you can bother. Oh but how could he forget work. Right, so work while you’re bothering people. Sleep and repeat. Luckily, he doesn’t have a lecture until 11:30.

He doesn’t always bring a woman home, but if he had to say how many times a week he does, he would only say three. Which really isn’t that much, he tells himself. Because there’s times where he doesn’t even sleep with them. Either he suddenly gets a weird pre-nut clarity, the sex isn’t good just only one minute in, or they start drunkenly crying to him about whatever mid-life crisis they’re going through.

To which he scoffs and rolls his eyes and promptly kicks them out.

Some would—do—call his lifestyle bad. Unhealthy. Whatever, he thinks. He’s a grown man, he could literally do whatever the hell he wanted. He’s clean and gets tested regularly, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? His friends try to get him to stop this stupid and reckless path he’s going down, but it almost always ends in him shrugging them off and continuing anyway.

Satoru likes the freedom, the ability to do what he wants without some bitch in his ear complaining about how ‘you need to stop this’. He has money, a good house, looks, smarts, everything. Really, he’s the full package. Satoru is a fairly happy-going person, he likes control. But when other people try to take that away from him, it almost sends him into a state of anger. Even if it’s out of love or whatever they say it’s for, still. He likes having control over himself and his life. So, who do these people think they are trying to tell him otherwise? They’re just lucky he’s smart enough to walk away before he says or does something he’ll more than likely forget. He doesn’t regret much, but one thing he does and always will regret is hurting those he holds close.

You could say that’s part of the reason he engages in so many of these little hookups and flings. No strings, no emotional attachment, nothing. He doesn’t have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing because he’ll never see them again after this. They’ll be gone first thing in the morning, then he’ll have the rest of the day to himself.

What doesn’t sound better than that?

He spends the next hour in his gym, trying to rush a bit so he still has time to freshen up before his lecture.

The ringing of his phone cuts him off just as he’s in the middle of his third set of pull ups. He almost doesn’t answer, but with a stolen glance at the screen of his phone with the name and contact photo plastered on it, he sighs, but continues on with his pull ups. “Alexa, answer the phone.”

“Accepting a call from ‘sugurupoo’.” Alexa replies back in her usual monotone voice, it almost makes Satoru laugh at the stupid name he set years ago.

“Satoru, where are you right now?”

“Why?” he grunts out, laughing. “You lookin’ for me?”

Suguru sighs. “I thought we were having a quick bite before our lectures.”

“Ah,” Satoru hums, setting his feet down onto the ground, wiping his forehead with a rag. “Right, I forgot about our little date.”

“First, it’s not a date. And second, you’re an ass. I’ve been waiting for you to show up for twenty minutes now.”

Satoru chuckles, the sound light and teasing. “Twenty minutes? Damn, I didn’t know you missed me that much.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Suguru bites back, though his irritation is softened by the familiarity of their banter. “Where are you?”

“Gym,” Satoru replies, tilting his head to glance at the clock on the wall. “Lost track of time. You know how it is—getting these gains takes commitment.”

“Unbelievable,” Suguru mutters. “You’re bailing on food to flex in front of a mirror?”

“Not just a mirror,” Satoru retorts, grinning. “There’s a crowd, actually. They love me here.”

“You mean your delusions?” Suguru deadpans.

Satoru laughs again, stretching. The sound of his joints popping audible through the phone. “Fine, fine. I’ll head out. You still at the café?”

“Yes,” Suguru says sharply. “But I’m not waiting all day for you, so hurry up.”

“Relax, I’m on my way,” Satoru says, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t eat without me.”

“I’m tempted to,” Suguru mutters before hanging up.

Satoru grins to himself, heading upstairs to the main house. He’s late, sure, but it’s not like Suguru hasn’t come to expect that by now. If anything, it’s part of the charm of being friends with Satoru Gojo—or so he likes to think.

He does a quick shower, changing into a pale blue button up with black slacks to match. A pair of black shoes and his glasses and he’s out. He beeps his Porsche 911 Turbo S in blue, nonchalantly sliding into the drivers side and heading off to the meeting spot with his friend. Using his right hand on the wheel, his other rhythmically tapping against his car door to the beat of the music playing.

In just a few minutes, he parks in two spots and steps out of the car, his sunglasses glinting in the afternoon light as he locks the doors with a press of his key fob. The Porsche chirps in response, drawing a few passing glances from people walking by. He adjusts his neat button-up, tugging at the cuffs to loosen them slightly, and strides toward the café with his usual air of confidence.

The door jingles softly as he steps inside, scanning the room for Suguru. It doesn’t take long to spot him—seated near the window, his long hair tied back, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him.

“About time,” Suguru calls out as Satoru approaches, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost.”

Satoru grins, sliding into the seat across from him. “Me? Lost? Never. You’re just impatient.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re forty minutes late. I could’ve eaten and left by now.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t,” Satoru says, leaning back in his chair, legs outspread with a smirk. “Because deep down, you enjoy my company too much to leave.”

Suguru rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, instead pushing a menu toward Satoru. “Order something and spare me the theatrics.”

Satoru picks up the menu, glancing at it briefly before setting it down. “I’ll just get the usual. No need to overthink it.”

“The usual being half the menu?” Suguru asks dryly.

“Hey, a man’s like me gotta eat,” Satoru says with a shrug, flagging down a waiter with an easy wave.

As they place their orders and settle into the familiar rhythm of conversation, Satoru can’t help but feel a sense of ease. Despite his tendency to push boundaries—and Suguru’s patience—their friendship remains a constant, grounding him in a way few things do.

“So,” Suguru says after a moment, leaning forward slightly. “How’d last night go for you?”

Satoru laughs, shaking his head. “How do you think?” Pointing to a faint hickey hidden under the collar of his shirt.

“Right,” Suguru says, sighing. “You really have no restraint, you know? You can work at eight in the morning but still stay out until three the previous night.”

“Finally, someone gets it,” Satoru replies, grinning.

Suguru exhales but can’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips. “Did you at least shower before coming here?”

Satoru flashes him another grin. “Don’t I smell delightful?”

“Like regret and bad decisions,” Suguru rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee.

Satoru laughs. “C’mon, live a little. I had a great night, and now I’m here, ready to be the best company you’ve ever had.”

Suguru watches him for a moment, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” Satoru quips, popping the piece of muffin into his mouth as soon as it’s placed in front of his best friend by the waiter.

The other man scoffs but doesn’t argue, instead pushing the plate closer to Satoru. “You’re paying for your own food, by the way.”

“You are so not a gentleman.”

“Not to men, I’m not.”

“So if I were a woman, you’d act charming and like a true man?”

“Hah, you fuckin’ wish.”

“I do,” Satoru replies easily, checking the time on his phone. An hour and a half left.

His friend ignores that remark, crossing his arms as he sets his drink down. “Hey, so are you going to the thing on Saturday?”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, head tilting. “The thing?” he echoes, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, Suguru. I get invited to a lot of things.”

Suguru exhales sharply through his nostrils, clearly unamused. “The gathering at Speakeasy. Shoko mentioned it. A bunch of us are meeting up there.”

“Ohhh, that thing,” Satoru says, dragging out the words like he just remembered. He tilts his head the other way, tapping a finger against his chin. “Depends. Who all’s gonna be there?”

“The usual crowd,” Suguru replies. “Shoko, a few people from her med school, some others I think you’ll tolerate.”

Satoru smirks. “Tolerate? You make it sound like I’m hard to please.”

“You are,” Suguru shoots back, his tone dry. “But Shoko insisted on inviting you, and for some reason, I agreed.”

“I’m honored,” Satoru says, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “Fine, I’ll come. But only because I like to make these things interesting.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” Satoru replies, flashing a mischievous grin.

Suguru shakes his head, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Just don’t embarrass us. Or yourself.”

“No promises,” Satoru says, already imagining the chaos he could stir up.

“She did say something, though.” Suguru adds on. When Satoru hums back in response, looking back down at his phone, he continues. “She said under no condition are you to flirt with her friends. She wants everyone to have fun, not stop you from making pass after pass.”

Satoru snorts, barely looking up from his phone. “Shoko said that? That’s rich, coming from someone who thinks ‘fun’ is chain-smoking on the balcony and pretending she’s in a noir film.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, taking another sip of his coffee. “Don’t deflect. She’s serious. She doesn’t want you turning her friends into your next dating pool.”

“I don’t date, Suguru,” Satoru replies with a hint of bite, finally glancing up. “I simply... entertain.”

“Exactly her point,” Suguru mutters, crossing his arms. “She knows how you are, and she doesn’t want her friends stuck in your web of ‘entertainment.’”

Satoru leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, his grin widening. “She’s scared they’ll fall for my charm, huh?”

“No,” Suguru says flatly. “She’s scared you’ll get bored, and she’ll have to deal with the aftermath.”

Satoru feigns a hurt expression, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. No faith in me at all. I’m deeply wounded.”

Suguru glares at him, unimpressed. “Just… promise you’ll behave. For once.”

Satoru waves him off with a lazy grin. “Fine, fine. I’ll be good. But you know, if someone approaches me, that’s not really on me, is it?”

Suguru groans, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Satoru says, flashing him a wink before returning to his phone.

“Starting to regret it.” Suguru mumbles under his breath, lip downturning into a frown. He analyzes the white haired man across from him for a silent moment. Watching his smile and small chuckle at something stupid on his phone. He can only hope Satoru will keep his word, truly. Suguru sighs, rubbing his temple as he leans back in his seat. "You know, Satoru, sometimes I wonder if you take anything seriously."

Satoru looks up from his phone, his grin unwavering. "Of course I do! I take having fun very seriously. It’s a full-time job, you know."

Suguru just shakes his head, huffing through his nose. "You’re exhausting."

"And yet," Satoru starts, pointing a finger at him, "you keep inviting me out. Makes you wonder who’s really at fault here, huh?"

Suguru’s frown deepens, but the faintest twitch of his lips betrays him. "I keep hoping one day you’ll surprise me. That you’ll actually act like an adult for more than five minutes."

"Hey," Satoru says, feigning offense. "I can be an adult when it matters. Just because I choose not to all the time doesn’t mean I don’t know how."

Suguru gives him a long, scrutinizing look. "Saturday night. That’s your chance to prove it. Shoko’s giving you one rule. Can you handle that?"

Satoru leans back, tossing his phone onto the table with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, alright. I promise, no flirting with her friends. Cross my heart, hope to die." He even makes a little "X" motion over his chest for emphasis.

"I’m holding you to that," Suguru says, though there’s still skepticism in his tone.

Satoru flashes his trademark smile, full of mischief. "Relax, Suguru. I’ll be the picture of self-control. You won’t even recognize me."

Suguru utters under his breath, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

You’ve been debating Shoko’s offer since she told you about it. That was on a Monday. It’s now Friday evening, having just come back from work. The light above displaying its warmth highlights your figure sitting at the lone kitchen table. Well, not exactly lone.

While you’re munching on a platter of rice and fish, your cat is doing the same across from you. Obviously not rice and fish, but her own cat food.

Your calico cat, aptly named Cinnamon, is a picture of elegance wrapped in mischief. Her predominantly white coat is a clean canvas, dotted with splashes of fiery orange and sleek black, creating a tapestry that seems almost deliberate in its beauty. Her left ear is entirely black, contrasting with the orange streak that runs like a comet across her back.

Her sharp green eyes glimmer with curiosity, a mix of jade and lime hues that shift in the warm kitchen light. They’re always watching—whether it’s the flick of your fork, the twitch of your fingers, or the way you lean into your chair, Cinnamon observes it all with the wisdom of a feline who believes she’s the queen of her small domain.

Her paws, delicate and white, tread lightly across the linoleum floor, though they’ve certainly caused their share of chaos when batting pens or half-full glasses off the table. She has a fluffy tail that curves like a question mark, often brushing against your legs as if to say, Don’t forget I’m here.

Despite her mischievous streak, Cinnamon’s coat is always soft to the touch, her fur holding warmth like a freshly baked loaf of bread. And whenever you reach out to pet her, she leans into your hand, her purring a gentle hum that makes the loneliness in your little apartment feel less heavy.

She’s only two years old, having rescued her off the street after a particularly snowy day. She was so small in your hands it was adorable. After her first visit to the vet, you discovered she had been born deaf.

Along with Shoko, Cinnamon had become your anchor after moving to the big city all alone. She was a reminder that you’re not really alone. And while you wish she was granted the right to hear your soft coos and praises, your touch is something that means just as much.

After observing her movements, you look back down at your food. It would be nice to go. Maybe you can make some new friends, get out of your shell for once. You’re 29, but mentally you still feel like you’re in your early twenties. You never really experienced the fun people do at that age. Partying, clubbing, one night stands, waking up on a random person’s couch.

Although sometimes you’re glad you didn’t, the thought still pokes and prods at your subconscious from time to time. Including now. You seriously can’t keep living like this. Seriously, people your age are married and having families. For example, your brother.

You can’t say you hate clubs if you’ve never even gone. You can’t say you hate meeting new people if you rarely even do that. It’s just your own set of insecurities and self doubts that keep you chained to the dungeon of your own mind.

You wonder, sometimes, if it’s easier to stay locked in that safe space of isolation. No one to disappoint, no expectations to meet. It’s so much quieter in your head when you're alone. No judgments, no glances, no questions that you can’t answer.

But then, there’s always that nagging thought, that whisper in the back of your mind. What if you’re missing out on something better? What if there’s more than just the silence you’ve grown comfortable with?

Don’t you deserve some redemption? Not every person on this Earth is a horrible human being.

It’s a familiar battle—the pull between the comfort of solitude and the yearning for something beyond the walls you’ve built. You’ve never been the outgoing type, never the one to seek attention or jump into the spotlight. Yet, part of you wonders if you could change that. If you could be someone who takes risks, someone who shows up for the moments that matter instead of hiding from them.

Shoko. Speakeasy. She’s been inviting you out for months now, but this time feels different. Maybe it’s the way she worded it, or the way she’s been extra persistent, almost as if she can sense that something in you is on the verge of breaking out. But even now, you hesitate. The voices in your head, the ones that keep you quiet and safe, they whisper louder. What if you’re out of place? What if you don’t belong there?

You tap your foot nervously, staring at the plate of food. You’ve been meaning to take that step outside your comfort zone...and yet, there’s still that part of you holding you back, like a tug of war between the unknown and the familiar.

Maybe Saturday is the night you finally take that first step. Or maybe it’ll be another moment of hesitation, another night spent wondering what could have been.

But it’s up to you to make that decision. And the more you sit here and hesitate, think of the what ifs, the harder the decision is becoming. So, with a burst of courage, you rip the bandaid off. No going back.

Your fingers work quickly at your phone screen, typing out:

You:

What time Saturday?

The minutes that pass are spent with you tapping a palm against your cheek, lightly reprimanding yourself. Why did I do that? Now I have to go! The second you get a text back, you’re not sure if it’s dread, anxiety, or a hint of excitement.

Same thing.

Ieiri:

9pm, see you there :)

The night buzzed with an electric hum as Satoru pulled his jacket tighter around himself, stepping out of the sleek black car that parked a few feet away from the club’s entrance. Speakeasy was alive tonight, its neon sign casting a soft glow onto the crowd gathered outside, the faint bass of the music vibrating through the pavement.

He adjusted the collar of his jacket, tossing a quick glance at the line of people waiting to get in. It wasn’t a particularly cold night, but the energy in the air was sharp—anticipatory. Nights like this were his playground, and Satoru never missed an opportunity to enjoy himself. Suguru had texted him earlier to remind him—no, warn him—not to mess around. Shoko’s words were practically seared into his memory by now: No flirting with her friends.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t behave. He just didn’t see the fun in restraint. Still, tonight was about more than just him. He figured he’d at least try to make an effort—for Suguru’s and Shoko’s sake, if nothing else.

Sliding his sunglasses up into his hair, he smirked at the bouncer, who gave him a nod of recognition. Being Satoru Gojo had its perks. He breezed past the line, feeling the envious stares of the waiting crowd. The heavy door opened, and he was hit with a wave of heat, the thrum of music, and the low chatter of voices layered over it all. Inside, the club was alive—dim lights reflecting off polished surfaces, laughter and conversation mingling with the music, and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. He scanned the room, his sharp blue eyes catching on familiar figures near the bar. The DJ was currently playing—what he assumed—early 2000s American music. Not his exact favorite but hey, he actually loves Usher.

The second floor is where Suguru said everyone would be. Making his way up the stairs, he sees that Suguru is already there, leaning casually against the counter with a drink in hand. Shoko sat next to him, her head tilted as she laughed at something he’d said. She noticed him first, her gaze locking onto his before she gave a small, knowing wave.

Satoru sauntered over, seeing the other people Shoko invited, mainly women. his usual swagger in his step, his grin firmly in place. “You miss me?” he asked, sliding into the seat next to Suguru.

“Like a hole in the head,” Shoko deadpanned, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Suguru shook his head, handing Satoru a drink. “You’re late. Again.”

“Fashionably,” Satoru corrected, taking the glass and raising it in mock salute. He leaned back in his seat, letting his gaze drift across the upstairs area. Seemed Shoko went all out, securing a VIP section. It was the same as always—music, drinks, strangers exchanging fleeting glances. Yet, there was a flicker of something different tonight, something he couldn’t quite place.

“So,” he started, swirling the drink in his hand as he turned back to his friends. “Where’s the party?”

Shoko rolled her eyes, her tone dry as she replied, “The party’s right here, Satoru. Try not to ruin it.”

He laughed, leaning forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. When have I ever ruined anything?”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged a look, and Satoru rolled his eyes. Tonight was shaping up to be interesting, even if he had to behave. Or at least pretend to.

“Shoko!” One of her friends, visibly drunk, rushes up to her. “The girls and I are doing shots, c’mon!” With a giggle, Shoko is promptly dragged away to the side, a circle of women forming as they ready themselves for the shots they’re about to force down.

After mindlessly sipping, he finishes his drink. Standing up with a small grunt, looking around like he’s scoping the place. “I’ll be back.”

“Satoru.” Suguru replies in that knowing tone of his.

“Relax,” Satoru laughs, nudging his friend’s foot. “I’m behaving. You said I couldn’t flirt with her friends, but they’re not the only eye candy up here.”

Suguru sighs, already regretting his decision to let Satoru tag along. “Just don’t start anything stupid,” he mutters, leaning back against the bar as he watches his friend disappear into the crowd.

Satoru navigates through the sea of people with ease, his height giving him an advantage as he scans the room. The music thrums in his chest, the bass almost matching the rhythm of his pulse. He doesn’t have a plan—not that he ever does—but there’s always something, or someone, that catches his eye.

He moves toward the edge of the dance floor, his gaze flitting between the moving bodies, the glowing bar signs, and the scattered tables filled with groups of friends or couples sharing drinks. It’s not that he’s particularly looking for anything tonight—he just enjoys the thrill of seeing what, or who, might cross his path. As he leans casually against a nearby column, his attention is drawn to a table in the corner. A group of women sits there, laughing and talking over cocktails.

Bingo.

“Hi there,” Satoru approaches the woman on the side, leaning in slightly like he’s trying to make sure she hears him over the music. “You’re very beautiful, are you here all alone?”

The woman startles slightly, her eyes widening as she looks up at him. For a moment, it seems like she’s unsure if he’s even talking to her, her gaze flicking to the nearby group of women. But when she realizes he’s fully focused on her, her cheeks flush a faint pink. “Oh, um,” she stammers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, I’m with my friends.” She gestures vaguely toward the table, where the other women are chatting animatedly, seemingly unaware of the exchange.

Satoru grins, “I can tell that much, but I mean are you here with a guy?” He asks, shifting his weight casually as he leans an elbow on the back of her chair.

She lets out a nervous laugh, clearly flustered but not entirely uncomfortable. “I—uh—no, no. Do I know you?”

He tilts his head, his grin widening as if her question is a challenge. “Not yet. But I think we can fix that.”

It’s smooth, calculated—the kind of line Satoru’s used to throwing out without much thought. He doesn’t expect every woman to fall for it, but he knows how to work a room, how to read someone’s body language and play his cards just right.

Suguru’s voice lingers in his head, a faint reprimand. Don’t flirt with her friends. But this woman isn’t part of Shoko’s circle, and besides, Satoru never said he’d stop being himself. “So,” he continues, his voice low and teasing, “are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to keep calling you ‘the prettiest girl in the room’ all night?”

The woman lets out a soft, breathy laugh, the kind that tells Satoru she’s not used to this kind of attention—or at least not from someone as bold as him. She glances down at her drink, swirling the contents nervously before finally looking back up at him. “It’s Mayumi,” she says, her voice light and uncertain, as if she’s still deciding whether or not she should be engaging with him.

“Mayumi,” Satoru repeats, tasting her name like it’s something rare and exotic. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He leans in slightly, his tone dropping just enough to feel intimate without crossing a line. “So, Mayumi, what brings you here tonight? Celebrating something? Or are you just here to escape the world for a little while?”

Her lips curve into a shy smile, her fingers brushing the edge of her glass. “My friends dragged me out,” she admits. “They thought I needed to… loosen up, I guess.”

“And do you?” he asks, one brow quirking as his grin turns playful.

“Do I what?”

“Need to loosen up.” His voice is teasing, his gaze unwavering as if he’s trying to read every flicker of emotion on her face.

Mayumi looks away, her smile fading into something more subdued. “Maybe,” she murmurs, her tone quieter now. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this.”

Satoru straightens slightly, his grin softening into something that almost looks genuine. “Well, then,” he says, extending a hand toward her. “How about we change that? Dance with me.”

She stares at his hand like it’s a foreign object, her expression a mix of hesitation and intrigue. “I—I don’t know,” she stammers. “I’m not really a good dancer.”

“Lucky for you,” Satoru says, winking, “neither am I.”

He wiggles his fingers invitingly, his confidence infectious enough to make her laugh again. After a moment’s hesitation, she places her hand in his, letting him gently pull her to her feet.

“See?” he says, leading her toward the edge of the dance floor. “You’re already loosening up.”

She shakes her head, but the smile on her face tells him she’s starting to enjoy herself. As they step into the sea of moving bodies, Satoru glances over his shoulder, his eyes catching Suguru’s across the room. His friend’s expression is a mix of exasperation and amusement, shaking his head as if to say, Of course you couldn’t resist.

Satoru smirks, mouthing, I’m behaving, before turning his attention back to Mayumi, the night stretching ahead with endless possibilities.

This continues on for at least two more hours. Mayumi is sweet and all, but so are her friends Raya, and Mina, and Sera. He’s a little more tipsy than he’d like to be, but he’s not driving tonight. Besides, he’s a lightweight, he should’ve been more calculating on his drink count. Oh well, not like he has work tomorrow. Just some grading and emails from students trying to raise their grade and kissing his ass.

He laughs about it, even with his arm around Ai, his half empty drink in the other. Bright eyes glazed over, cheeks undoubtedly red, and a lazy smile permanently etched on his face. However, his nose twitches subtly, when a sudden scent invades his nostrils. Satoru remembers being praised by his teachers and schoolmates for his outstanding senses that it was almost scary sometimes.

The little thing, he hears. The smallest item, he sees. And the faint scent, he smells.

It’s weak at first, weaving through the layered smells of perfume, alcohol, and sweat. But it’s distinct—a soft, clean scent, almost like fresh linen mixed with something sweet and floral. But it also smells like marshmallows, like a cozy night in front of the fire. His nose twitches again, and his lazy smile falters for just a moment.

The scent is out of place here, where everything feels loud and brash. It’s quiet and grounding, tugging at something deep in his hazy, alcohol-soaked brain. He tilts his head slightly, scanning the room without meaning to, his arm still loosely draped around Ai’s shoulders.

“Satoru?” Ai’s voice pulls him back, light and teasing. She tilts her head to catch his eye, her glossy lips curving into a playful pout. “You still with me?”

“Hmm?” He blinks, looking down at her with an easy grin that feels more automatic than usual. “Of course I am. Where else would I be?”

“Hard to tell sometimes.” She giggles, poking his chest lightly, but he’s already tuning her out.

The scent lingers, wrapping itself around him like a thread pulling taut. It shouldn’t matter. It’s probably just some random person passing by, someone’s perfume or shampoo. But something about it makes his chest tighten, a strange warmth blooming there that he can’t quite place.

Without even realizing it, he’s scanning the room again, his gaze sharper now, cutting through the dim lighting and flashing neon.

“What are you looking for?” Ai asks, her voice tinged with curiosity, but he doesn’t answer.

Because suddenly, he sees her.

You’re standing near the bar, posture reserved, and gaze focused on something—or maybe nothing—in the distance. You’re not really dressed to stand out, outfit simple and understated compared to the glittering ensembles of the crowd. But it’s her, and for some reason, he knows you’re the source of that scent.

Satoru’s grip on his drink tightens, his fingers flexing around the glass as he watches you. You don't look like she belongs here, not in the way others do. It’s like you’re not trying to be seen, not angling for attention. And yet, somehow, you’re all he can see. All he can smell. He’s biting on his lip now.

Ai’s voice snaps him back again, sharper this time. “Satoru, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively, finally pulling his arm away from her and setting his drink down on a nearby table.

“Where are you going?” she calls after him, but he doesn’t answer.

His feet are already moving, carrying him toward the bar, toward you. The closer he gets, the stronger your sweet and addictive fragrance gets. And Satoru craves sweet things. He’s inhaling and inhaling, like he’s trying to get every trace of it lodged in his nose, in his being. With one final, strong whiff, he leans against the bar next to you. Subtly and smoothly.

You still haven’t noticed him. With a peer down at your drink, its dark fizziness tells him you’re not a drinker.

Play it cool, play it cool. But it’s hard to do that when he wants to shove his face in your hair.

“Not much of a drinker, huh?” Satoru says, his voice smooth and casual, just loud enough to cut through the music.

You glance up, startled at first, then wary. Your eyes meet his—blue, bright, and annoyingly self-assured. He leans on the bar like he owns it, a boyish simper on his face as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

You don’t answer, not right away. Instead, you turn back to your drink, fingers lightly tapping the glass.

Satoru doesn’t let the silence faze him. He tilts his head, studying you with an almost curious expression. “Let me guess,” he continues, undeterred. “It’s root beer. Or maybe cola? You seem like the cola type.”

There’s the faintest twitch at the corner of your lips, but you quickly press them into a thin line. He catches it anyway, filing it away as a small victory. “Ah, not a talker, huh?” he presses, his tone light and teasing. “That’s okay. I’m great at one-sided conversations. People say I have a gift for it. I have a lot of them actually.”

You take a slow sip of your drink, clearly trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. He leans in just slightly, not enough to invade your space, but enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.

“Come on,” he says after a moment, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “What’s a quiet little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

This time, you turn to him, your eyes narrowing slightly. The question lingers in the air, and for a brief moment, it seems like you might answer.

But instead, you just shrug.

Satoru blinks, caught off guard by your lack of response. Then he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

You glance at him again, and he swears there’s a hint of twinkle in your gaze before you look away.

And just like that, he’s hooked.

“There you are, I thought you ditched me.” A familiar voice suddenly appears, Shoko walking up to your other side and putting her arm around your shoulder. When she spots Satoru next to you, a small frown forms. Pulling you closer to her side slightly. “Are you bothering her?”

He huffs. “Pfft, what? No, I’m making conversation.”

Shoko raises a skeptical brow, her arm tightening around your shoulder as if shielding you from him. “Right. Making conversation,” she echoes, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You glance between the two, feeling the tension shift in the air. It’s not hostile, but it’s clear Shoko isn’t thrilled with his presence. Satoru smirks, clearly unfazed. He leans casually against the bar, tilting his head in that annoyingly confident way of his. “Relax, Shoko. I’m not here to scare off your friend. I’m just being friendly.”

“Friendly?” she repeats, her frown deepening. “Your version of ‘friendly’ usually ends with someone giving you their number or regretting their life choices.”

He puts a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Ouch. You wound me.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, her fingers lightly drumming against your shoulder as she looks at you. “You okay?” she asks, her voice softer now, her concern evident.

You nod, offering a small smile, though your hands instinctively grip your drink a little tighter.

“See? She’s fine,” Satoru cuts in, flashing Shoko a triumphant grin. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Yet,” Shoko mutters under her breath before pulling you gently away from the bar. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s find a quieter spot.”

Satoru doesn’t try to stop you, but his eyes follow you as Shoko leads you across the room. His smirk lingers, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it—curiosity, maybe even intrigue.

“Friend of yours?” he calls after Shoko, loud enough for you to hear.

She doesn’t look back, but her reply is sharp and to the point. “Off limits, Satoru.”

For the first time that night, his grin falters slightly. Off limits, huh?

Now, he’s really intrigued.

Throughout the time left, he’s busying himself with chatting up other people, even giving a small kiss to this one named Yua (he thinks that’s her name). He’s on his last drink of the night, feeling more breezy by the second. But even as his attempts at having a good rest of his night aren’t exactly failing him, he can’t stop himself from sending glance after glance to the direction Shoko whisked you away to.

You’re with her other friends that are still here, though standing against the wall in an awkward position that makes him laugh to himself.

Shoko’s trying to include you, but it’s not that easy.

The way you stand there, clearly out of your element, is oddly endearing. It’s a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the club and the people surrounding you. Shoko’s doing her best, gesturing animatedly as she talks, trying to pull you into the conversation with her friends. He can tell she’s trying to make you feel included, but it’s not really working. You offer a polite nod or a faint smile every now and then, but your body language screams discomfort.

Another sip. Another glance.

What is it about you that keeps pulling his attention? He’s met plenty of people tonight, charmed them, entertained them, even kissed one. Yet here he is, more drawn to the quiet person hiding against the wall than the vibrant partygoers vying for his attention.

“Earth to Satoru.” Yua’s voice cuts through his thoughts, her hand waving in front of his face.

“Hm?” He turns to her, blinking as if snapping out of a trance.

“You okay? You’ve been zoning out,” she teases, leaning a little closer.

He offers a crooked grin, shrugging. “Yeah, just thinking about how long I’ve been here. Probably time to head out soon.”

Yua pouts but doesn’t press further. “Can I com—“

He downs the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass on the bar before pushing off it. His gaze drifts toward you one last time, watching as you glance down at your drink, clearly counting the seconds until you can leave.

Off limits. Shoko’s words echo in his mind again, but the mischievous glint in his eyes says otherwise. “See you around,” he tosses to Yua as he starts to walk away, the pull toward you stronger than the haze of alcohol in his system.

And you can feel him approach, trying your hardest not to look over because if you don’t, then maybe he won’t actually do it. However, you’re proven wrong. Your lips threaten to downturn into a displeased frown at his persistence. Can’t he take a hint?

Shoko’s too busy taking another shot, because if she wasn’t, no doubt she’d be shooing him away again like he’s a stray dog staring at a piece of meat.

In a sense, he is.

“You like dancing?” He asks, having to lean in closer to your ear in order to be audible over the pounding bass of the throwback music. An opening, you think to yourself. If you say yes, he’ll ask you to dance with him. If you say no, he’ll still probably try to dance with you.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

Instinctively, you step a half foot back, awkwardly holding your glass of coke in your hands. The drink feels stabilizing in this environment, giving you something to do with your hands. When you see the grin on his face, it almost makes you want to call back for Shoko like she’ll save you. You shake your head and look back down at the black fizzles.

His head tilts, eyebrow raising up slightly. “You wanna learn?”

Again, you give your head a small shake.

His lips purse into a confused, almost disappointed frown before he dramatically sighs. Leaning up against the wall beside you. You can feel the way he—either accidentally or purposefully—brushes his hand along your arm. Once more, you put a hint of distance between you two.

It feels so awkward, so unbelievably awkward. You’ve seen him converse with practically everyone up here, but why is he so stuck on you? You’re not even reciprocating anything, but he hasn’t left you yet. In your mind, you’re counting down the minutes till when it’s socially acceptable to go back home. In his mind, he’s trying to piece you together. From the looks of it, you’re like a puzzle.

And he’s always loved puzzles.

Finally, he sighs. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice low but clear, enough to cut through the noise of the club. “You know, you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

You glance up at him, confusion clouding your features. He doesn’t give you time to respond. “You keep looking for an exit,” he continues, his tone not mocking, but almost thoughtful. “It’s written all over your face. You came to hang out, but now you’re just trying to get through the night without standing out too much.”

You blink, slightly taken aback, suddenly feeling the need to protect yourself. “I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a raised hand. “It’s fine. Everyone does it, really. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know more.” You open your mouth to protest, to dismiss him, but before you can get the words out, he adds with a tilt of his head, “Or maybe you’re just scared of the spotlight?”

The word scared sticks in your mind, gnawing at your thoughts. You’re not scared—are you? Sure, you don’t like being the center of attention, but that’s different. Isn’t it?

Satoru watches the subtle shift in your expression, the way your gaze darts away from his and then back to your drink, and he knows he’s got you. You’re curious, even if you won’t admit it. “Just one dance,” he adds suddenly, his voice teasing but not pushy. “You don’t have to say yes if you really don’t want to. But you’re missing out.” The chuckle that follows leaves you even more curious. He’s teasing, of course. But maybe there’s some truth held to his words.

He’s waiting now, watching you, his grin growing wider at the faintest flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. You’re not the easy pick, and that’s exactly what’s drawing him in.

However, you’re saved by the bell. Almost literally.

“Alright everyone, Speakeasy is beginning its closing! Please head out of the nearest exit! Thank you and we’re open again tomorrow, same time!”

The voice of either the manager, DJ, whoever runs the club emits from all the speakers. You breathe a small sigh of relief, drinking the rest of your coke and placing the glass on the table. Satoru’s hand reaches out, as if contemplating touching your shoulder, but you’re already alerting Shoko of your departure.

“I’m so glad you came, did you have fun?” Shoko asks, drunkenly smiling and hugging you. When Satoru hears your lowered chuckle, a weird punch-like force is delivered to his gut.

“Mhm, thank you for inviting me.”

“You know you’re always welcome.” She pulls back, examining your face. “Driving back?”

You nod in response.

“Okay, be safe. Text me when you get back home.”

“You too.”

Her smile turns more genuine, planting a platonic kiss to your cheek before letting you go. You zip your jacket up, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder and head to the stairs.

“Hey.”

God damn it. You hesitate for a moment whether to keep walking or answer him, but you’re too kind-hearted for blatant ignorance. So, you look over your shoulder to see the white haired man that’s been pretty much bugging you this entire night. He steps closer, hands shoved in his pockets. “Before you go, I’m Satoru.”

And now he’s introducing himself to you. You feel even more wary. You don’t want him to think this means anything, but you came out for a reason. To attempt to break from your hardened shell. Besides, it’s just your name. “Y/N.”

The corner of his lip tilts up, revealing a small dimple on his cheek. The sight makes you warm. “I like that.”

Satoru studies you for a moment, his eyes playful but softened, a sharp contrast to the usual teasing energy that surrounded him. You can’t help but notice the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to read every part of you. But the warmth that spreads through your chest at his compliment is undeniable. You didn’t expect it. Most people would’ve just moved on by now, given how you’ve been brushing him off. “Y/N,” he repeats, his voice low and almost contemplative. “Nice name. Fits you.”

You can feel the slight tension in the air, that quiet moment between you two, and despite your better judgment, something about him is… disarming. His presence, the easy confidence he exudes, is like a soft pull on your composure. It makes you hesitate longer than you should. After internal debate, you nod briefly and continue walking back to the stairs. Again, his voice calls out to you. “By the way, I love the way you smell.”

Your steps falter, face contorting into confusion. What an odd compliment for someone you don’t know. Without turning around, you tell him, “Thank you.” Hurrying your steps so he doesn’t try to stop you again and with that, you’re out of his sight.

Even though you only muttered a few sentences to him, Satoru feels a strange sense of curiosity. Curiosity mingled with determination. He smiles to himself, drinking the last bits of his drink before heading off too. A thought reverberates throughout his mind like a drum, even when Suguru is patting his shoulder goodbye.

He wonders how long it’ll take to get a girl like you in his bed.

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[reidhotchsfics]

Hold Onto This for Me. (S.R)

Summary, Spencer has imagined proposing to you for a long time. When he finally does, the moment is cut short by a call from the BAU. Now, with his mind stuck on you and the question left unanswered, he struggles to focus on anything but the future he wants—with you

Category, .. bittersweet… fluff angst comfort

Paring, Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Yes I came up with the , “Dialogue, "Relax, baby. Please," Spencer murmurs into your ear, his hands working gentle circles over your tense shoulders. His voice is soft, soothing—an anchor against the storm raging in your mind.

Warnings, Mild angst, emotional conflict, mentions of work-related stress, unresolved proposal

Word count , 1k

Author notes , The fact I wouldn’t even hesitate if he had asked me . 

I loved writing this one it was fun to write this one .

Relax, baby. Please," Spencer murmurs into your ear, his hands working gentle circles over your tense shoulders. His voice is soft, soothing—an anchor against the storm raging in your mind.

"I—I can't, Spence," you whisper, voice shaky. The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine, but in the best way possible.

"I love the way you say my name," he breathes, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

You exhale, leaning into his touch. "I don’t want this to disappear, Spence." You turn slightly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I knew what I signed up for, but watching you walk out that door for another case... I just—"

"I know, love," he says gently, his hands sliding down to rest on your waist. His gaze is steady, filled with unspoken promises. "You think I don’t worry about you, too? Every time I leave, I think about you. I think about this—about coming home to you, holding you, loving you."

"Spence, I care about you so much it hurts," you confess, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I loved you from the moment I first saw you." Your fingers brush over his cheek, memorizing every line, every feature. "I love everything about you, Spencer Reid."

His throat tightens, and for a moment, he struggles to find the words. Because this moment? He’s imagined it for so long. Longer than he’d ever admit.

"I love you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you’ll ever know. And I—I've thought about this for a long time."

He hesitates, his heart hammering as he reaches into the pocket of his nightstand. His fingers brush over the velvet box, the weight of it suddenly overwhelming.

"I want a life with you," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "A family. A home. Waking up to you every morning. I want... everything with you."

He finally pulls out the ring, his hands trembling slightly. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, tears welling in your eyes.

"I was waiting for the perfect moment," he admits, letting out a nervous chuckle. "But the truth is, every moment with you is perfect."

He swallows hard, his gaze locking with yours.

"Marry me?"

Before you can respond, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. The sound shatters the moment like glass.

Spencer hesitates before answering, his expression torn.

"Reid," Hotch says, voice instantly shifting into work mode.

"Can you come in? We have another case," Hotch’s voice crackles through the speak.

Spencer exhales sharply, his fingers tightening around the ring.

"Got it. I'll be there soon."

You close your eyes, shaking your head as a bittersweet smile tugs at your lips.

"See? Told you."

His jaw clenches. He doesn't want to leave. Not now.

Not when his whole future is sitting right in front of him, eyes full of love, lips parted as if you’re about to say yes.

Before he can think twice, he reaches for your hand, pressing the ring into your palm.

"Hold onto this for me," he whispers. "Because when I come back? I want to hear you say yes."

Your heart aches as he pulls away, already slipping on his shoes, grabbing his coat.

But before he leaves, he presses one last kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to remind you—he’s yours. No matter how many cases, how many goodbyes, he’ll always come back to you.

And when he does, he hopes you’ll be waiting with that ring on your finger.

Back at the BAU …

Spencer was everywhere, yet nowhere.

His mind was stuck on you, on what he had just done, on the ring now resting in your hands.

He couldn’t focus. He had imagined proposing to you for so long, but the reality of it—the way he’d rushed out before even hearing your answer—was gnawing at him.

"Everything okay, Spence?" JJ asked, her brows knitting together as she studied him.

"I'm fine," he replied quickly, though the faraway look in his eyes said otherwise. He let out a small breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just... I asked her to marry me, and now I’m here."

JJ’s eyes widened. "No way! Spence, that’s amazing!" A bright smile spread across her face.

Spencer swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he admitted, "I love her, JJ. I love her so much."

"I'm so happy for you," she said sincerely, squeezing his arm. "What did she say?"

A sheepish chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. "I—I didn’t wait for the answer," he confessed. "I got called in before she could say anything."

JJ gaped at him. "Spence!"

"What’s going on?" Derek asked as he walked up, noticing the look of disbelief on JJ’s face.

Spencer let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I just asked her to marry me."

Derek blinked. "Wait, hold up. You proposed? And now you’re here?"

Spencer nodded.

"And you didn’t get an answer?"

Spencer shook his head.

Derek let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn, pretty boy. That’s a bold move."

Spencer groaned, rubbing his temples. "I know. Trust me, I know."

JJ laughed softly. "Well, if it helps, I think we all know what she’s going to say."

Spencer exhaled, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. He hoped so. God, he hoped so.

Because the moment he got back to you, he wasn’t going to let anything—not work, not fear, not uncertainty—stand in the way of his future with you.

[verstappensrealwife]

Cellophane - Charles Leclerc x Reader

[charles leclerc masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... charles won't defend reader online due to hate she's receiving. ʚɞ angst, fluff  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 1000 words ʚɞ warnings: I wanted to do a pure angst but i just couldn’t, reader falls over, breakup (beginning) ¿happy? ending I guess. Use of Y/N, Y/L/N.

-୨♡୧-

— September, 2023

The hate online isn’t nearly what made your heart into a thousand pieces, it was the lack of support from the one man you wanted support from.

“Why won’t you do this for me?” You asked Charles, a hushed tone of voice. “I- You can’t just ask them to stop?” You were almost begging for him to just… care.

“I can’t!” He shouted back- a harsh contrast to your own tone- “Fuck- You know this! They’re my fans!”

“And them telling me to die is what? Fan behaviour?”

He sat in agonizing silence, every word you spoke cutting deep because he knew you were right. But the thought of admitting it, of crumbling under the weight of his own mistakes, was unbearable. 

So, he clung desperately to his fragile pride, refusing to apologize, even as guilt gnawed at him.

“If you can’t handle it anymore, you…” His voice faltered, the words catching in his throat like shards of glass.

He couldn’t finish, and you could see the unspoken truth hanging between you, heavy and inevitable.

“I should what, Charles?” You demanded, your voice sharp and trembling. “Say it.”

His breath hitched as he forced the words out, each one laced with regret. “We… we shouldn’t be together.”

The confirmation of your darkest suspicions sent a wave of anguish crashing over you. Tears welled in your eyes, and you tipped your head back, desperately fighting them off before regaining just enough composure to meet his gaze.

“You’re a coward, Charles,” you spat, the accusation dripping with bitterness. Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel, snatching your keys from the table by the door. The slam of the door echoed through the apartment, a final, resounding note to the shattered remains of what once was.

— April, 2024

“Come onnnn, it’ll be fun!” Lily exclaimed dramatically, waving the tickets in your face with a mischievous grin.

“Lily… he’ll be there,” you murmured, the hesitation clear in your voice.

Lily Muni He, your best friend and eternal partner in crime, rolled her eyes playfully. “And so will like ten other single drivers,” she shot back with a smirk, “Plus, a ton of rich, single men,” she added, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You couldn’t help but laugh, giving her a gentle shove. “Fine, fine, I’ll come,” you groaned, snatching the paddock pass from her hand.

“For you, Lily— not the men!”

Saturday, 25th May 2024

Monte Carlo, Monaco.

The first few days had passed without a glimpse of him, and for that, you were grateful. Today felt promising, the crisp morning air in Monaco filling you with a rare sense of optimism. You decided to start your day with a leisurely walk through the city, a few good hours before qualifying, giving you plenty of time to grab breakfast and soak in the peaceful atmosphere.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

“Leo!” a familiar voice called out, breaking through your thoughts. You turned just in time to see Charles sprinting around the corner, chasing after his little dog, the leash flapping uselessly behind him as Leo seized the opportunity to dart away.

And then, before you could react, Charles collided with you, sending you sprawling onto the pavement with a startled yelp. The impact knocked the breath out of you, and before you could fully process what had happened, you felt a warm, wet tongue eagerly licking your ear and jaw. You couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as you sat up, only to find Leo wagging his tail furiously, clearly pleased with himself.

“I—I am so sorry,” Charles stammered, thrusting his hand out toward you. That’s when you looked up and met his eyes, and the surprise and awkwardness on his face softened a little. “Y/N?”

You hesitated for a moment, then chose to stand up on your own, brushing off the lingering embarrassment. “Charles,” you greeted, your voice tinged with awkwardness.

“S-sorry—he—he just ran off…” Charles fumbled, pointing to Leo, who was still beaming up at you, his tongue lolling out in delight. You noticed the slight stutter in Charles’ voice—something he never did in front of anyone. Then again, you weren’t just anyone.

“It’s fine,” you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Not the first time you’ve embarrassed me.” You teased, watching as Charles forced a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m joking,” you added quickly. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, good!” Charles responded a little too quickly. “I got a dog!” he announced proudly, then blushed as he realized how obvious that was. “But, uh, you can see that.” He laughed, a little sheepish.

“How about you? Boyfriend?” he asked suddenly, the question tumbling out before he could stop it. It was a little inappropriate, but the curiosity—no, the longing—was clear in his eyes.

You offered a shy smile, shaking your head. “No… I did, but we broke up.”

“Oh?” Charles tried to sound casual, though he already knew about your ex—he might have checked your Instagram a few times. “How come?”

You sighed softly, glancing away before quietly admitting, “He wasn’t you…”

A slow, hopeful smile spread across Charles’ face. It might have been a little insensitive to feel happy about your breakup, but he didn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, you still loved him.

“I can be better,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “I—please…” He sighed, the words hanging in the air between you.

You looked at him, your heart caught between old memories and new possibilities. “Qualify P1, and I’ll take you up on your offer,” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.

Charles grinned, hope flickering in his eyes. Maybe this time, things could be different.

[amongemeraldclouds]

no take backs

As the earth collapsed around you, your sworn enemy decides to confess his feelings for you with a kiss. So when the world doesn’t end, what happens next?

Jess Mariano x f!Reader

Warning: 18+ only MDNI, fluff, slight angst, unprotected sex, piv, v!fingering, reader has anxiety (only plays a small part in the story), earthquake (no injuries)

Author’s note: Based on this request then I expanded on the concept. This fic is set after he left Stars Hollow.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Jess Mariano Masterlist | 2.4k words

“Just because I’m letting you drive me home, does not mean we’re friends,” you huffed as you climbed into the passenger seat of Jess Mariano’s beat up car. Vintage, he called it. You’d never admit it, but you found it cute how he was proud of it. To him, it was his key to freedom, going anywhere he wanted whenever he wanted. Except for when nature had other plans.

“Well, a coworker could take his other coworker home, okay?” He said, closing the car door as he slid his keys into the ignition and started up the car. You relent and gave him your address.

It was just your luck that the Earth’s tectonic plates decided to shift in ways that damaged your car, but not your mortal enemy’s. Perhaps it was karma and you were being encouraged to make amends with him in the name of world peace. Try as you might however, the word “peace” and Jess Mariano just did not fit.

It certainly did not feel peaceful being trapped in a car with him. Your cheeks blushed as you remembered how soft his lips felt against yours and the eager way they moved as if it was the final thing he would ever do in his life. And for a few moments back at the publishing house, tucked safely beneath a table while the world shook violently around you, you were both convinced it was your last moments.

It was confusing. The way your heart hammered and you didn’t know if it was from fear of dy*ng or the way his kiss invaded your entire being. From the moans it elicited from your throat, to the air it stole from your lungs, and the butterflies that rushed in your stomach. It was hard to tell if it really was just an earthquake or the mind-shattering truth that your enemy might not actually hate you at all.

Then it was over too soon. The air felt cold without him close to you and he was pulling you up from under the table.

“So we’re just not going to talk about it?” You asked, piercing the awkward silence.

Jess just shrugged and spoke casually, “talk about what?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, of course he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. But he had no right confusing you with a kiss after constantly making your life a waking nightmare.

“Jess, you kissed me,” you deadpan, addressing the elephant in the room. “Coworkers don’t kiss other coworkers.”

“A lapse of judgment in a life-threatening situation,” he dismissed, keeping his eyes straight on the road.

Your mouth curled, the sweet aftertaste of his kisses turning sour. You fumed in silence as you looked outside the window with unfocused eyes. You weren’t sure what you were more upset about: his denial or your disappointment - having to face the horrid fact that you also didn’t hate your enemy.

“Shit, the road’s blocked,” Jess drew you out from the thunder of your thoughts as you looked at the cars lined up ahead. It was like a scene from one of those post-apocalyptic films you’ve seen and dread sank in your chest. Perhaps you should stick to watching cheesy rom coms because this pessimism was not helpful at all.

“Can we go somewhere else?” You whispered softly, anxiety bearing down your chest.

Jess looked at you with concern. “Sure, let’s find somewhere we can park until things get better,” he replied with an equally soft tone and you hated it because he knew all about your anxiety and penchant for panic attacks. You didn’t like being weak around him, not if he could be sweet and caring only to take it all back when you’re fine.

He parked the car in between buildings, sheltered from the wails of emergency response vehicles and the rush of people trying to go home. You exhaled after going through rounds of breathing exercises to calm your anxiety.

“My my, a secluded alley. Jess Mariano, whatever do you plan to do with me?” You quipped, mildly accusing him or m*rder when the other meaning dawned on you, something that made you blush. Well, it was too late to back out now.

He smirked, “whose to say you’re not the one who wants to do things with me with that line of questioning, huh?”

“I wouldn’t do anything if I was the only one who liked it,” you hedged. Perhaps life was too short to keep denying your feelings. If there was ever a better time to learn that lesson, it was now. You just needed him to admit he felt it too.

“I don’t like the idea of being k*lled, thanks,” he scoffed as he plastered on a smug smile.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you looked outside the window, an idea forming in your head.

“It sure is getting hot,” you comment innocently as you undid the top buttons of your blouse. Jess’ eyes followed your movement and you don’t miss the way his breath hitches.

“Better get comfortable, right?” You said, adjusting the car seat to lean back and you felt your blouse open slightly to reveal your cleavage. You were not going to make it easy for him to deny his feelings.

“Stop that,” Jess demanded while his eyes told a different tale of desire and longing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied lazily. Two can play that game.

That’s right Jess, you thought, here’s a dose of your medicine. You continued, “this is much better.” You leaned your head back and stretched on the seat, aware of how your skirt inched up your legs.

You let out a satisfied moan, sighing in pleasure at thoughts of getting comfortable. If by comfort, you meant the satisfaction of derailing Jess’ denial and stubbornness. His eyes traced your legs then followed your chest when they rose and fell with your sigh. 

Jess grunted and you bit back a smile. “Okay, fine. So I kissed you,” he admitted.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You said it meant nothing, so why would it matter?”

“I never said it meant nothing, I said it was a lapse of judgment.”

“There’s a difference?” You raised your eyebrow, challenging him to continue.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steeled himself. To Jess Mariano, telling the truth meant peeling back the layers of his sarcasm, which was as painful as stripping off his skin.

“You know when they say the world is about to end, you’d think your life flashes before your eyes. But all I could see was you. And it wasn’t just because you were in front of me. God, I closed my eyes, and all I could see was still you. Laughing at your own jokes, greeting everyone with a smile, typing away on your computer. It would be such a shame if I didn’t get to kiss you if that was the last thing I’d ever do, damn it. But then the earthquake stopped and we were fine.”

Your eyebrows creased as you let his words sink in. “Is it really so bad that we survived?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “I don’t think I could ever survive you. You frustrate me because you’re just so…you! You’re not someone I could just kiss once and get out of my system. I’d always want more and then I’d inevitably screw it up. It was better that you hated me from the start.”

His eyes burned with untold stories of heartbreak and self destruction. Despite all the ways he infuriated you, you wanted nothing more than to hold him. You had a feeling you were just seeing who he truly was beneath his smug smiles and his devil-may-care attitude.

“Jess, I don’t hate you,” you confess. “Don’t just make it one kiss,” you continue, allowing yourself to be just as honest as him. “Have another one, and another, and heck - have all of me!”

He looked at you in disbelief, as if he wished for the stars and he was told he could have the whole damn galaxy. A spark of joy and hope ignited something wild in him that he no longer let himself think of past regrets and mistakes.

He inched towards you, looking into your eyes for permission and you bridged the distance in response, kissing him. It was fiercer than when you both thought you were on the brink of de*th, because this time, it was a celebration of life and the possibilities that lay ahead.

You felt it when he sucked on your bottom lip and you moaned in pleasure, a small sound for all the words you couldn’t say. How all those time spent hating him was just a shield from your admiration of the man who took destiny in his own hands and never let the world define him.

The man who wrote stories and downplayed them through luck and how ink fumes must have altered his publisher’s minds to pick him. He never once acknowledged his talent, but secretly you did with the way you underlined your favorite sentences and re-read his book as if his words could wrap you in a sweet embrace.

He always kept you at an arm’s length and made your life hell, but it was heaven just being beside him. And you never dared to admit it. Until now, when he’s unbuttoning your blouse as he unravels your secrets. His mouth moves to your neck, setting your body on fire.

“Wait, what if someone sees us?” You ask, a wave of sobriety washing over you.

Jess just smirked, his lips pink and swollen, hungry for more of your kisses. “That’s half the fun.”

You rolled your eyes but god - you needed him. “And the other half?” You asked, mirroring his smirk.

“This,” he just says as he resumes your kiss.

It’s agony when you pull away again just to alleviate your anxiety, “can we at least go to the back?” It’s not much, but it’s better than being right by the windshield.

“Spacious,” he nods, moving away so you could climb over to the backseat. You felt the heat of his stare behind you as you settled in. 

He promptly followed suit until your bodies are tangled again with him laying you down the seat, careful so you don’t hit your head. You bring your hand to his stupid hair and run your fingers through it. His hands return to your blouse and your back arches on instinct when he unclasps your bra and he takes a moment to look at you. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes as he squeezes your breast while he licks the other, planting soft tender kisses.

In his car, the sirens and chaos faded. You were consumed by Jess’ touch, both curious and possessive at the same time. His free hand traveling down your leg as he caressed it, slowly making his way to your inner thigh. You can’t help the way you squirmed beneath him as you held your breath in anticipation. In response, you palm his erection beneath his uncomfortably tight jeans and you’re rewarded with a grunt.

He teased you through your panties and you open your legs for him as he moves the thin fabric aside to feel your soft folds. You bite your lip and try to stifle your moan, but Jess brings his mouth to your ear, “I need to hear you, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” You cursed in response, your mind swimming in a haze of euphoria.

His fingers send shockwaves of pleasure as he spreads your liquid heat, exploring your folds and paying attention to which sensations left you whimpering. He exploited them skillfully, rubbing and teasing, eager to make you a moaning mess for him. You gasped when he plunged his fingers inside you and you arched your back, needing him deeper.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he admires as he pumped his fingers in and out. You moved your hips against his hand, needing more of him. He was finally here, doing things you used to just dream about, secrets stashed beneath soft covers in your moonlit bedroom.

“Jess, please. I need to feel all of you,” you begged and his eyes darkened.

“I’m all yours,” he replied as he removed his fingers and cleaned them off with his tongue. “Fuck you taste so good.” 

You helped him free his hard length and you don’t stifle the needy moan that escapes you this time when he fills you up. He takes a few slow movements before building up to a steady pace, the delicious friction making your toes curl. “You feel amazing, Jess,” you tell him.

He kissed you as he rocked his hips into you, a clash of teeth and tongue. There was nothing gentle in the way you moved against each other, it was pure want and longing crashing into each other. It was months of fantasies finally coming true and desires unleashed building in your core.

The car moved along with you, giving you extra leverage to find your rhythm. The irony was not lost on you that as the world shook around you once again, things were falling into place this time.

Filthy, desperate whimpers escaped his lips and you spread your legs wider, needing him deeper inside you. He squeezed your breast in response and teased your taut nipples, eager to worship all of you. You closed your eyes when you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

“Look at me,” Jess tells you instead and so you do. You see the lust and passion in his eyes and it’s enough to unravel you. Little earthquakes of ecstasy erupt through you as you shuddered against him. He increases his pace, eager to coax every last aftershock of your orgasm. It doesn’t take long before you feel his release warming your insides. He rests his head in the crook of your neck as he recovers his breath.

When he pulls out, you swipe his spilled seed from your leg and bring it in your mouth, enjoying the salty taste. “Fuck you’re so hot,” Jess breathes out. 

You grin. “So this happened. You gonna deny it?” You challenged him as he held you.

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “This happened. You’re mine and I’m yours. No take backs.”

“No take backs,” you echoed as you leaned in for another kiss.

It was perfect. The world could end at that moment and you would not mind at all.

Still you were glad to stay alive. Because then, you could always go another round, and another. So it goes.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Jess Mariano Masterlist

[helioooss]

hard times, part two

synopsis: years after you closed the door on mina, you find each other again.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: very emotional, mentions of death, read at your own risk. i actually cried???

a/n: long wait is over! i won’t be posting for awhile after this. i appreciate all your little messages and i promise i am reading them. <3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

four years since the scandal that blew up across every headline, the breakup that shattered you from the inside out, and the decision to walk away from your old life in seoul. you had been a music producer once, someone who had built a career alongside some of the biggest names in the industry. that was where you met mina. where you fell in love.

that was another lifetime ago.

now, your days are quieter — simpler. the sound of waves crashing against the shore is a far cry from the constant hum of seoul’s streets, and the steady rhythm of stacking books at the small shop you work at is comforting in a way that music never was after everything fell apart.

in australia, you found solace in routine, in the ordinary. you surf in the mornings and work at the bookstore in the afternoons.

you glance out the window of the shop as the afternoon sun paints golden streaks across the pavement. it’s peaceful here, far from the noise, the cameras, the attention. this life you’ve built for yourself is so far removed from the person you used to be that sometimes it feels like a dream — or perhaps, a carefully constructed escape.

but no matter how far you run, some ghosts never leave.

mina was that ghost.

there isn’t a day that goes by when you don’t think about her, even if it’s just in the smallest, quietest moments. the way she used to hold you close, her smile when it was just the two of you, and how she used to look at you like you were her entire world.

it had been that way for years; you always thought nothing could ever shake it.

then came jeno; a rising star. someone famous and adored, somebody from her world. it was supposed to be a fake relationship — the kind idols are pushed into for publicity, but somewhere along the way, lines blurred. you watched as the person you loved slipped away, piece by piece, until the truth came crashing down.

she fell in love with him. you weren’t enough. that’s what your mind always circled back to in the darkest hours. she chose fame, chose him, over you.

the only option left for you was to leave. not just her, but the entire world that reminded you of her; of what you had and what you lost.

it really wasn’t until a few weeks ago that the past began creeping back into your life. after years of silence, you finally posted a picture on instagram — just a shot of the ocean and a surfboard, nothing significant. you weren’t thinking about who might see it, or what it might stir up. yet somehow, some way, it reached your old friends…the ones you had blocked and unblocked every now and then.

one by one, they knocked on your walls. small at first. jeongyeon commenting on the post using her private account, a simple “living the life i see” followed by a string of heart emojis. then sana, a message asking if you were still in australia and which city. dahyun, always the most straightforward, just sent, it’s been too long. let’s catch up.

uncertainty filled your mind, you weren’t sure how to respond. after all, you cut them off when you left. not because you didn’t care about them, but because staying in touch with anyone from that part of your life hurt too much.

there was something in their messages, something familiar and warm that made you hesitate. four years was a long time, and you missed them. maybe more than you wanted to admit.

so you replied, one by one.

a wine bar somewhere in fitzroy, just a few days before their concert at rod laver arena. they flew you out of brisbane and you almost backed out at the last second, nerves twisting in your stomach as you stood outside hope street radio.

what if things weren’t the same?

after heaving out a sigh, you decided to get it over and done with. however, the moment you stepped inside and saw them all sitting around the table, all your worries evaporated. jeongyeon waved you over, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way she almost knocked over her coffee in her excitement.

you felt like a kid again.

“y/n!” sana’s voice rang out, bright and cheerful, pulling you into a tight hug the moment you reached the table. “it’s been so long!”

you laughed, hugging her back as tzuyu slid over to make room for you. “i know. sorry about that.”

“don’t be,” nayeon said, her voice softer than usual but still carrying that familiar edge of mischief. “we miss you, that’s all.”

a moment of silence settled over the table, the weight of unspoken words filling the air. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a heaviness to it. they all knew what happened, even if you never spoke about it in detail. you didn’t have to. they had been there, watching as everything crumbled.

“so,” jihyo broke the silence with a grin, “what’s australia like? other than the killer spiders and, you know, surfing every day by the looks of you?”

“just make sure you don’t let the barking spiders and drop bears get to you,” you nudged at chaeyoung and she did the same; as if the years hadn’t created mountains between you all.

you chuckled, the tension breaking as you launched into a lighthearted conversation about your new life.

“how did you even get to surfing, like, what?” dahyun asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice. “i’ve never even seen you jump in a pool!”

“ahh, well, it started when my roommates decided to take me beach camping with. we drove around the country just to surf. i eventually picked up the hobby and —“

“the sharks, y/n!” momo chimed in, face frightened and all.

this made you laugh as you shook your head. “honestly, they’re not that bad. we get alerts for them all the time and some are even tagged so we can track them ourselves.”

“what are drop bears?”

the smile on your face disappeared. “they’re the worst, never ever look up when you’re hiking through gumtrees…they spy on their prey real good.”

“there goes my dream of hiking under fifty degree heat in australia,” jeongyeon rolled her eyes. “not.”

the jokes started rolling in, and soon enough, it felt like no time had passed at all. you talked about your friends, your quiet life at the bookstore, the peacefulness of the ocean. they talked about their tour, the chaos of their schedules, the craziness of being in the western spotlight.

but there was one name that none of you mentioned.

mina.

as the hours passed, you found yourself relaxing, giggling with them like you used to, the bond between you all still strong despite the years apart. it was bittersweet, yes, but it was also healing in a way you didn’t expect.

“you should come to the concert,” momo suggested at one point, her eyes bright with excitement. “it’s in two days and we’d love to see you there.”

you hesitated, a frown etched on your face. “i don’t think that’d be a good idea, she will be there.”

“she doesn’t have to know,” sana cut in quickly. “she won’t even notice. she’s been…in her own world lately.”

you glanced between them, the unspoken understanding passing between you all. you weren’t sure if you were ready to face mina again. not after everything. but you missed them. missed the connection you had with them, missed being a part of something bigger than yourself.

“pretty please, y/n?”

“okay,” you finally agreed, earning a round of cheers and laughter from the girls.

it felt right, but underneath it all, there was still that pain, the part that wasn’t sure how you’d handle seeing her again after so long.

meanwhile, not too far away from you, mina sat alone in her hotel room; staring mindlessly at her phone. the girls had all gone out for dinner but she stayed back like she has done for years now — harbouring herself away from everyone day by day.

she had tried so many times to reach out to you. after you left, after everything fell apart, she had tried. your friends and family — they shut her out. they still loved her, they told her as much, but they respected your decision to move on, to start over without her. she couldn’t blame them.

after all, she was the one who ruined everything.

jeno had been a mistake from the start. what was supposed to be a fake relationship, something for the cameras, turned into something that crossed lines mina didn’t even realise she had crossed until it was too late. she thought she could handle both. thought she could keep you and the life she had in the public eye, but it had all fallen apart in her hands.

she had lost you — the only person who ever truly mattered.

and for what? a fleeting moment of fame? a shallow relationship that meant nothing?

she regretted it every day.

the past four years without you had been a blur of schedules and stages, but none of it felt real anymore. without you, she was lost. fame wasn’t worth it without you by her side. none of it was.

and now, as she stared at her phone, scrolling through old messages she never sent, she wondered if you ever thought about her the way she thought about you. probably not. you had moved on, hadn’t you? you were probably happy now, living a life she could never be a part of.

then, a message popped up on her screen. it was from jihyo in their group chat.

and it was about you.

mina’s heart skipped a beat as she read the messages popping up one by one, the words sinking in slowly.

jihyo: we all just met up with y/n…and we all decided you deserved to know that she is okay.

tzuyu: yeah she’s looking real good 😊

momo: extremely good looking and even funnier too minari. aged like fine wine

mina frowned, remembering how her members used to tease her in the same way, any chance they got. she wasn’t annoyed at them, no, she missed it.

you were in australia. you had been here, all this time. and now, you were going to be at the concert.

she dropped her phone, panic setting in. she hadn’t seen you in years. what would she say? how would she even face you after what she did?

her mind raced, and for the first time in years, she felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her own decisions. you were so close, and yet so far away.

before she knew it, her thumb clicked on the call button in their group chat. it rang twice…and nayeon’s voice came out of the other line.

“how?” was the first thing that came out of mina’s lips, equal yelling and trembling at. “why didn’t you tell me? otherwise i would’ve come to dinner!”

“mina, please be calmer,” nayeon sighed. “we’re on our way back to the hotel now.”

mina’s fingers shook, anxiety rushing through every vein in her body. “where…where is she?”

“she’s staying at a hotel not too far from the city, we had to fly her out from the gold coast where she actually lives.”

“does she hate me still? does she know i’ve been looking for her everywhere?”

there was stunned silence from the other end, each of the girls not knowing what to say to mina.

“i…” jihyo began, but paused. “we will come to your room in a few minutes, okay? and y/n bought tim tams for you and thinks you might like it.”

mina smiled, her chest feeling warm. at least you remembered, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face the consequences of what she had done.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the night of the concert arrived, and you stood at the edge of the crowd with one of your friends, taylor, by your side. the energy in the arena was electric, fans cheering and chanting as the lights dimmed and the music began. some even recognised you from back in the days.

taylor nudged you, a grin on her face as she said, “didn’t realise they were this popular.”

you laughed, but it was strained. “trust me, it can get worst than this.”

“and you used to produce for and are friends with these girls?” taylor raised an eyebrow. “who would’ve fucking thought, hey?”

“yep,” you responded, dragging the ‘p’. “eventually, you’re going to find out things about me, so be prepared.”

she said something else, but your thoughts were elsewhere. you scanned the stage, searching for familiar faces, but part of you hoped you wouldn’t see her.

and then, the lights hit the stage, and there she was.

mina.

your breath caught in your throat as you saw her for the first time in four years. she looked different, yet the same. her hair was longer, her expression more guarded; the only thing left was that same spark in her eyes. the one you used to know so well.

when her eyes swept over the crowd, there was a flicker of panic. like she was searching for something — or someone.

you hadn’t prepared yourself to feel all of this again — the rush of memories, the hurt, the betrayal, and something deeper that you thought had disappeared over time.

seeing mina in person, after all these years, was like reopening a wound you thought had healed.

taylor watched you from the corner of her eye, concern flickering across her face, but she didn’t say anything. she didn’t know the whole story, and you weren’t sure you could tell her even if you tried.

on stage, mina moved like she always had —graceful, confident, yet something was off. she kept glancing into the crowd, her eyes scanning over the fans with an almost frantic energy. it was like she was looking for someone. you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay still, but your heart was racing in your chest.

and then, for just a split second, her eyes landed on you.

she froze.

you saw the way her expression changed, how her face paled as if she had seen a ghost. it was like time stopped for both of you. the cheers of the crowd faded into the background, and all you could focus on was the look of shock — and something else in her eyes; regret?

you didn’t know what to feel. a part of you wanted to turn around and leave, to run from the confrontation you knew was coming. but another part of you, the part that still remembered how it felt to love her, couldn’t look away.

before you could make a decision, the other girls must have noticed.

jeongyeon and sana exchanged glances, and you saw them subtly maneuvering mina away from the edge of the stage, trying to shield her from the crowd — and from you. they knew. they knew this was too much for her, that seeing you after all this time was breaking her composure.

you felt a pang of guilt. you hadn’t come here to make her uncomfortable. you came to see your old friends, to support them, not to stir up old wounds. but mina…mina was unraveling right in front of you.

taylor leaned in closer, her voice low so as not to disturb the people around you. “is everything okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost and that pretty girl does too.”

you forced a smile, shaking your head. “i’m fine. just…memories…she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

she didn’t press further, and you were grateful for that. but the tension in your body didn’t ease as the concert went on. every time mina moved, you could feel her glancing in your direction, her discomfort radiating across the stage.

“she must be in love with you still, huh?” taylor nudged your arm gently, trying to lighten up the mood.

“maybe.”

she was barely performing anymore, just going through the motions as her eyes searched for you in the sea of faces. every time she found you, her expression tightened.

it was the weight of four years without closure crashing down on her.

by the end of the concert, you felt emotionally drained. you hadn’t expected it to hit you this hard. as the final song “move” played and the lights dimmed, you considered slipping out before anyone had a chance to come, to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

before you could move, their managers, the ones that were always friendly with you, were suddenly at your side; ushering you towards the back entrance with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

taylor shot you a questioning look, but you just waved her off. “i’ll explain later,” you mumbled. “this is complicated.”

she shrugged, clearly confused, but didn’t ask any more questions. “i’d rather meet you outside, at a pub, then. take your time, i don’t wanna impose.”

“are you sure you don’t wanna join me?”

“i’m sure, mate,” she smiled, giving you a thumbs up. “too big for my little world, y’know?”

you nodded, your heart racing, and followed them without protest.

as you were led backstage, the weight of everything you’d been avoiding for four years pressed down on you. this used to be your world, ran these shows like a maniac. you hadn’t wanted to come back to this, not after what she did.

yet now that you were here, you couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that threatened to drown you.

the hallway backstage was buzzing with activity —managers and staff moving around in a whirlwind of post-concert chaos. all of that blurred into the background as tzuyu appeared out of a room and guided you to a quieter area, away from the noise with only just her.

“she saw you,” tzuyu said quietly once you were alone, her eyes full of concern. “she hasn’t been the same all night.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the guilt gnaw at you again. “i didn’t mean for this to happen. i didn’t even know if i should come.”

tzuyu sighed softly. “you know how much you mean to her, right? even after everything?”

you looked away, the ache in your chest growing. “then why did she hurt me?”

“it was a mistake,” tzuyu said, her voice gentle but firm. “a stupid, terrible mistake. but it wasn’t because she didn’t love you.”

you didn’t know how to respond to that. for so long, you had convinced yourself that mina had chosen jeno because you weren’t enough. that you, the quiet producer working behind the scenes, could never compete with someone famous, someone who could give her everything.

it had been the root of your insecurity, the thing that haunted you long after you left.

before you could say anything else, the door to the room opened, and there she was.

mina — she sitting on the couch with her head down her palms, surrounded by all the other girls.

she looked fragile, more so than you had ever seen her. the confidence she usually carried on stage was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sadness. the moment she looked up at you, her bloodshot eyes were wide, it was like she couldn’t breathe.

“y/n,” her voice was barely a whisper, but it sent a jolt through you. hearing her say your name in the tone after all these years felt like a punch to the gut.

you stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. all the anger, the hurt, the longing — it all surged up at once, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

mina took a tentative step forward, her eyes pleading you to say something, anything.

and you couldn’t.

you could feel the other girls staring, their presence a quiet reminder that this moment was fragile. the air between you and mina was thick with everything unsaid.

“i…i didn’t know you would be here,” mina stammered, her voice shaking. “i didn’t think i’d ever see you again.”

“i didn’t plan on it,” you finally managed to say, your voice hoarse. “i came to see them. not you.”

mina flinched, but she didn’t back away. instead, she took another step forward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “i’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “for everything, for hurting you, for…for losing you like that.”

you shook your head, trying to keep your emotions in check. “it’s been four years, mina. four years since you left me for someone else. what more could you want from me?”

“i know,” mina chocked out, hands trembling. “i know. and i hate myself for it every day.”

“that mistake cost me everything,” you said, your voice hardening — cold and detached. “i loved you all those years and i still wasn’t enough for you.”

“no,” mina said quickly, her eyes wide with desperation. “you were always enough. more than enough. i got caught up in the fame, in everything i thought i needed and now i know none of it mattered. we had dreams of our future together, y/n, i worked hard so we could achieve it…and i messed up real bad, blinded.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and raw. you wanted to believe her. god, you wanted to believe her, but the hurt was still there. and painful.

“you have no idea what these past four years have been like for me,” your voice trembled, only noticing that you were both alone together. “i rebuilt my life from nothing. i tried to forget you. but every time i think i’ve moved on, something reminds me of you.”

mina’s face crumpled, and she took another step closer, until she was right in front of you. “please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “please don’t shut me out again. i know i don’t deserve it, but i want to make things right. i need you, y/n. i’ve always needed you.”

you looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in years, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes. she wasn’t the mina on stage, the idol who commanded the attention of millions. she was just the girl you fell in love with all those years ago, the one who used to hold your hand and share secrets and breathless kisses in the dark.

but could you trust her again?

before you could answer, jihyo stepped into the room, gently placing a hand on mina’s shoulder. “let’s give it some time,” she said softly. “y/n’s been through a lot. this isn’t something that can be fixed overnight.

mina nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks as she took a step back. “i understand,” she whispered. “but i won’t give up. not on you.”

with that, she turned and left the room, leaving you standing there with the rest of the girls, your heart heavy with everything that had just happened.

you didn’t know what the future held. you didn’t know if you could ever forgive mina for what she did.

as you stood there, watching the door close behind her, you learned that a part of you, no matter how small, wanted to try.

the following months were a blur. after that night at the concert, mina tried reaching out to you in every way possible — texts, calls, even showing up at the bookstore where you worked. you ignored her, still unsure if you were ready to let her back into your life. every time you saw her name flash on your phone, your heart clenched, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

eventually, mina’s messages became less frequent, though you knew from the other twice members that she was struggling, bad. they told you about her anxiety, how she was barely able to perform anymore, how the weight of losing you was crushing her. part of you felt guilty, but another part of you knew that she needed to face the consequences of her actions.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it wasn’t until mina made a public announcement that everything changed.

you were stunned.

the day of mina’s public press conference arrived like a storm, unexpected and impossible to ignore. you hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even heard rumours about it until you stumbled upon a news headline on your phone while you were on a break at the bookstore.

“mina myoui of twice speaks out in emotional press conference: ‘i lost the love of my life because of my own mistakes.’”

your heart dropped. your hands shook as you clicked the link, the video starting almost instantly.

there she was, standing behind a podium, dressed simply in black, her face pale and drawn. cameras flashed incessantly, the noise of the reporters’ murmurs filled the room as she stood there, clearly struggling to keep her composure.

you hadn’t seen her like this before — not in all the years you were together, not in the countless press events she’d attended as an idol. this was different. this was raw.

as you watched, you could almost feel the vulnerability radiating off of her, like she was standing there with her heart in her hands, baring it for the rest of the world to see.

“thank you all for being here,” mina began, her voice shaky but resolute. she clutched the edges of the podium as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “there is something i need to say. something i’ve needed to say for a long time.”

she took a deep breath, and in that moment, you could see the weight of everything she had carried for years. all the pain, the regret, the guilt; it was written on her face, in the way her shoulders slumped, in the tremble of her voice.

“i’ve made many mistakes in my life, and the biggest one of all was losing someone i loved more than anything. i’ve stayed silent about it for a long time, out of respect for them, and because…because i didn’t know how to face the truth.”

the room fell silent. even the reporters, always hungry for a story, seemed to sense the gravity of what she was about to say.

“i was in a relationship,” mina continued, her voice cracking slightly. “a relationship that i cherished more than anything in this world. you all would have known her as y/n.”

your breath caught in your throat as you listened, the words cutting deep. this wasn’t the mina the world was used to seeing. this wasn’t the idol, the face on billboards — this was the real mina: vulnerable, scared and desperate to make amends.

“my y/n,” she said softly, the name falling from her lips like a confession. “she was everything to me, she loved me when i was just mina, not an idol, not a public figure, just me. we were just kids.”

there was a collective gasp from the room, the reporters scribbling furiously in their notebooks, but mina didn’t stop. her eyes were red, tears shimmering at the edges, but she pressed on.

“i hurt her bad,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper now, but it was clear, unflinching. “it was a stupid, selfish mistake, and i’ve regretted it every single day since.��

the cameras zoomed in on her face, capturing every tear that slipped down her cheeks. you could see the pain etched into every line, the desperation in her eyes as she looked directly into the camera, as if she were speaking to you and only you.

“but i let the pressures of this industry, the expectations, get to me. i thought i needed to be someone else to survive in this world, and in the process, i lost the one person who truly mattered.”

you felt your chest tighten as you watched her fall apart in front of the world. it wasn’t just an apology; it was a public plea, a desperate attempt to reach you, wherever you were. and it was working. despite everything, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion that crashed over you as you listened to her words.

she paused, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming.

“i need you to know that i haven’t stopped thinking about you. i haven’t stopped loving you. not for a single day. and if i could go back and change everything, i would. if i could give up this life, this fame, this career, to have you back, i would do it in a heartbeat.”

the silence in the room was deafening. even the reporters seemed to be holding their breath, captivated by the rawness of her confession.

mina took a shaky breath and looked down at her hands, her voice breaking completely as she spoke the next words. “i’ve been lost without you but i don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said, her voice barely audible now. “i don’t expect you to even want to see me again. but i had to say this. i had to let the world know what i did, and how much i regret it. because you deserve to know how much i loved you. how much i still love you.”

there was a long pause, and for a moment, it seemed like she was going to break down completely. then she straightened up, her eyes red and swollen, but resolute.

“i’m taking a break from everything,” she added quietly. “i need time to reflect, to heal, and to figure out who i am without all of this. i’ve been relieved all of my duties from twice, i need to find myself again and i hope you can all understand.”

the room was still. no one dared speak. no one dared interrupt the moment.

mina glanced down at the podium, her hands shaking slightly as she folded the piece of paper in front of her, though she hadn’t read from it once. then she looked back up at the camera, her expression full of sorrow, but also a kind of hope.

“y/n,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, “if you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, i’ll be waiting.”

and with that, she stepped away from the podium, leaving the room in stunned silence. the cameras continued to flash, the reporters murmured amongst themselves, but mina didn’t look back. she walked out of the room, her shoulders slumped, her heart laid bare for the world to see.

“what the fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, messages from everyone slowly flooding in.

years were spent building a life away from her, convincing yourself that you were over it, but now, after hearing her speak, after seeing the depth of her pain, you weren’t so sure.

you had loved her. and a part of you still did.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

over the next few days, the media exploded with the news of mina’s press conference. it was everywhere: on social media, in magazines, in every corner of the internet.

and amidst all the chaos, amidst all the noise, you found yourself replaying her words in your head over and over again.

she was stepping away. from everything.

because of you.

you hadn’t responded to her messages, her calls, or her letters for so long. you had kept her at arm’s length, refusing to let her back in after the way she hurt you. now, after seeing her like that; vulnerable, so broken — you wondered if you had been holding on to your anger for too long.

could you really spend the rest of your life shutting her out?

one day, as you sat in the bookstore, staring blankly at the stack of books in front of you, taylor came up to you with a hesitant look on her face.

“you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle. “you’ve been… kind of out of it since that whole press thing with, uh, you know…her.”

you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “i don’t know, taylor. i really don’t know.”

taylor paused, then handed you another envelope. “this came for you today. from japan again.”

it was from mina. you didn’t even need to open it to know. she had been sending them regularly now, each one more heartfelt than the last, each one filled with the same desperation and regret you had seen at the press conference.

you knew what she was asking for. forgiveness. a second chance.

but could you give it to her?

you hesitated for a long moment, then finally tore open the envelope, your hands shaking slightly as you unfolded the letter.

it was long, full of apologies and regrets, but it was also full of memories. mina wrote about the life she had imagined for the two of you, the life she had lost because of her mistakes. she wrote about how she was living in a small cabin in kyoto, trying to find herself again, and how she wished you could see the beauty of the place with her.

she had changed. she wasn’t the same person who had broken your heart all those years ago.

for weeks, the letters kept coming, each one more heartfelt than the last. mina poured her heart out on paper, describing her days in kyoto, the simple life she had built for herself away from the spotlight. she wrote about how much she had grown, how she had learned from her mistakes, and how much she still loved you.

“do you think you could forgive her?” taylor asked one day, her feet up on the register and fingers greased with butter from the fairy bread in her hand. “like i don’t know man, she seems pretty genuine about all this.”

“she has changed,” you mumbled, folding the piece of paper gently into a box filled with her letters.

and just maybe, you weren’t the same person either. by the time you finished reading her last letter. your decision was made.

you stared down at the blank paper in front of you, the pen heavy in your hand. for a long time, you just sat there, unsure of how to even begin. every time you thought of mina, it was like two opposing forces collided within you: one pulling you toward her, remembering the love you had, and the other pulling you away, reminding you of the pain she had caused.

and yet, despite the weight of it all, you found your hand moving almost on its own, words spilling onto the page.

dear mina,

i’m not sure where to start. i don’t even know if i should be writing this. it’s been four years and i thought i had moved on. but then you went and did something like that, something i never expected.

you paused, biting your lip as you stared at the words. it felt like you were pouring your heart out onto the page, but it also felt vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be in a long time.

you continued writing, the words coming easier now.

i watched your press conference. i saw you standing there, telling the world about us. you have no idea how hard that was for me, hearing you talk about what we had, what we lost. for a long time, i thought i’d never be able to forgive you for what you did. when you cheated, it broke something in me that i didn’t think could ever be fixed.

now, after seeing you like that, after reading your letters…i don’t know, minari. i don’t know what to think anymore.

you sat back for a moment, rereading what you had written. it was honest, raw, and for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to confront the emotions you had buried.

i can see that you’ve changed. i can see that you regret what happened. and maybe i’ve changed too. maybe i’m finally ready to let go of the anger.

you hesitated, your pen hovering over the paper. maybe. the word felt heavy, unsure. but wasn’t that the truth? you didn’t know if you were ready to forgive her completely, however, you were ready to start, and that was something.

i don’t know if i’m ready to forgive you, not completely, you wrote, the words feeling like a relief as they left the tip of your pen. but i’m willing to talk. i’m willing to hear you out, to see if there’s something left between us. i think we both owe it to ourselves to figure that out.

you paused again, your heart pounding as you realized what you were about to do. this was the first real step toward letting her back into your life, and it scared you.

so, if you’re serious about this — about us — then i’m willing to try again.

sincerely, y/n.

you stared at the letter for a long time after you finished writing, the words on the page blurring as you thought about everything that had led you to this moment. you had spent years running from your feelings, building walls to protect yourself, but maybe it was time to stop running. maybe it was time to face the love you had lost and see if it could be rebuilt.

the next day, you mailed the letter.

weeks passed after you sent the letter, and for a while, there was nothing but silence. part of you had expected that — after all, mina had disappeared from the public eye, taking a hiatus to heal, just like she said she would. you wondered if she had received your letter, if she was still in that cabin in kyoto, waiting for your response.

“how are things with mina?” your dad casually brought her up over the phone, the air filling with tension.

“uh, yeah, i don’t really know,” you spun your fork around. “we’re sort of talking.”

“that girl loves you with all her life,” he sighed. “it was a shame to see her go.”

“i know.”

“forgive her, y/n!” your mum’s voice rung from the line, albeit a bit distant. she must’ve been in the kitchen. “love is all about hurting, if it finds its way back to you, don’t close your door to it.”

then, one day, you received a letter back.

your heart pounded as you opened it, mina’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the page. you sat down at your small kitchen table, hands trembling slightly as you began to read.

dear y/n,

thank you. thank you for writing back, and thank you for giving me a chance, even if it’s just to talk. when i received your letter, i couldn’t stop crying. i know that i don’t deserve your forgiveness, and i wasn’t sure if you would ever want to speak to me again, but knowing that you’re willing to at least try…it means everything to me.

i understand that you’re not ready to forgive me yet, and i don’t expect you to be. i know i hurt you deeply, and it’s going to take time. but i promise, y/n, i’m not the same person i was back then. i’ve had a lot of time to reflect on who i am, on what i want out of life, and more than anything, i want to be the person you fell in love with again.

i’m still in kyoto, living a quiet life in the cabin. it’s peaceful here, in a way i’ve never experienced before. sometimes, i walk through the cherry blossom trees, and i think about what it would be like if you were here with me, seeing the beauty of this place.

i know i have a long way to go to prove myself to you, but i’m willing to do whatever it takes. i’ve been thinking about the life we could have together — the one we dreamed of. i want us to have a future again.

but i also know that i have to earn it. so, i’ll wait. as long as it takes, i’ll wait.

with all my love, mina.

her letter rest in your lap, it smelt just like her. they all do. your mind was swirling with thoughts and emotions. it felt surreal, hearing from her again, reading her words, feeling the sincerity behind them.

and in that fleeting moment, you realised something. you wanted that future too.

over the next few months, you and mina exchanged letters regularly. they were long, filled with memories, apologies, and hopes for the future.

she wrote about her days in kyoto, about the small joys she found in the quiet life she was leading, about how she was rediscovering who she was outside of the idol world. you wrote back, telling her about your life in australia, about taylor, about the bookstore and the ocean that had become your refuge.

slowly, the walls between you began to crumble.

and then, one day, you made a decision.

you booked a flight to kyoto.

the air in kyoto was crisp and cool as you stepped off the plane, the cherry blossoms in full bloom as you made your way through the city. it had been years since you had been in japan, and the familiarity of it felt strange, almost foreign after the life you had built in australia. there was something comforting about it too, something that made your heart beat faster as you thought about what was waiting for you.

mina.

you hadn’t told her you were coming. you wanted it to be a surprise, and you weren’t even sure what you were going to say when you saw her. after months of letters, after all the words and apologies and hopes shared between the two of you, you knew one thing for sure:

you had to see her.

you followed the directions she had given you in one of her letters, winding through narrow streets and past beautiful gardens until you reached a small cabin nestled at the edge of a quiet grove of cherry trees. the sight of it took your breath away.

simple, unassuming, but surrounded by a beauty that seemed almost unreal.

for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the cabin, your heart pounding in your chest. this was it.

you took a deep breath, then walked up to the door and knocked.

there was a long pause, and for a minute, you wondered if she was even home. then, the door opened, and there she was.

she looked different, yet the same. her hair was longer, pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she was dressed simply in a cream sweater and black joggers. but it was her eyes that caught you—the same eyes you had fallen in love with all those years ago, filled with shock, hope, and something else…something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“y/n?” her voice was soft, disbelieving, as if she couldn’t believe you were standing there in front of her.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing as you looked at her, taking in every detail. “hi, mina.”

for a long moment, neither of you moved. you just stood there, staring at each other, the weight of everything that had happened hanging in the air between you. and then, before you could say anything else, mina stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight, desperate embrace.

you hesitated for a second, your body stiff with the shock of it all, but then you melted into her embrace, your arms wrapping around her in return.

like coming home after being lost for so long.

“i’m sorry,” mina whispered against your shoulder, her voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you closed your eyes, holding her tighter. “i know.”

you stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding each other as the cherry blossoms fell gently around you, the weight of the past slowly lifting.

you were ready to find your way back to each other.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

over the next few years, you and mina rebuilt what had been broken. it wasn’t easy — there were still moments of hurt, moments when the past threatened to resurface, but you both worked through it.

you travelled together, exploring the places you had always dreamed of visiting. you laughed and cried together, and found joy in the simple moments of life.

one day, in a quiet moment under the cherry blossom trees, mina got down on one knee and asked you to marry her.

you said yes.

the wedding was small, private, just the two of you and a handful of close friends. it wasn’t the grand, public affair that mina’s life had once been filled with: it was quiet, intimate, and full of love.

“mrs and mrs myoi!” all your friends cheered, the ones who have been there throughout your journey, throwing petals of flowers at you.

“i can’t believe you’re actually married,” rosé cries alongside jennie, them pushing each other playfully in the crowd. “i hope i’m not next.”

you laughed and as you stood there, hand in hand with the woman you had once thought you had lost forever, you realised that you had both found your way back to where you belonged.

together.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the soft glow of the morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm haze over the room. you sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion etched into every part of your body, but there was an undeniable peace that had settled over you. next to you, mina lay with her head against the pillow, her hair tousled, eyes soft as they gazed at the tiny bundle in your arms.

in your lap, wrapped in a light blue blanket, was your son.

he was small, delicate, his tiny fingers curled around your thumb as he slept soundly, oblivious to the world around him. his dark hair, still wispy, stuck out at odd angles, and you couldn’t stop staring at him.

mina shifted beside you, reaching out to gently stroke his cheek with the pad of her finger, her eyes filled with wonder and something deeper. “he’s so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion. “i think he’s going to have those striking eyes of yours.”

you smiled, feeling a swell of pride and love in your chest. “yeah, he really is.”

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, just taking in the sight of your son, feeling the enormity of the moment settle over you. it had been a long journey to get here, but now, sitting here with the love of your life and your first child, it all felt worth it.

mina leaned her head against your shoulder, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “what should we call him?”

you had talked about names for months, tossing ideas back and forth, but now that he was here, the name you both loved most seemed to fit perfectly. even the girls had their input, but you put a halt to it when jeongyeon suggested bob.

“yuto,” you said softly, the name feeling right on your tongue. “what do you think?”

mina smiled, her eyes shining with tears. “yuto,” she repeated, testing it out. “it’s perfect.”

yuto stirred in your arms, his tiny face scrunching up for a moment before he settled back into sleep. you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the overwhelming love you had for him already.

mina wrapped her arm around you, pulling you closer, and the two of you sat there in the quiet of the morning, holding the newest member of your family. yuto was yours — yours and mina’s — a symbol of everything you had been through, of the love you had fought so hard to rebuild.

“welcome to the world, yuto,” mina whispered softly, her voice full of love.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the house in australia was quiet, except for the gentle rustling of leaves outside and the occasional sound of the ocean in the distance. it had been their home for decades, a place filled with laughter, love, and memories that spanned a lifetime. the walls were lined with photos, capturing every stage of their journey together —the wedding, the birth of their children, and moments spent with friends who had become family.

yuto, their eldest, a kind and thoughtful person who had followed in your footsteps, becoming a producer in his own right, though he chose to stay out of the limelight. he had his mother’s calm demeanor, often the one to bring peace during any family chaos.

their second child, a daughter named haruka, was full of fire and creativity. she had her own art gallery in melbourne and was known for her bold, expressive paintings that often captured the vibrant landscapes of australia. haruka was fierce, protective, and carried the weight of being a middle child with grace, always looking out for her siblings.

next came their son akira, who had inherited your grace and sense of purpose. akira was a dancer, like his mother once was and he traveled the world performing in renowned dance companies. he had a quiet intensity about him, thoughtful and introspective, yet he was always the first to call when something important happened, making sure the family stayed connected despite the miles between them.

the youngest, hana, was the baby of the family. she was gentle and soft-spoken, often the quiet observer in a room, but her empathy and kindness shone through in everything she did. hana worked as a therapist, helping children and families navigate difficult moments, and she was adored by her nieces and nephews for her gentle, nurturing nature.

you and mina had watched your children grow into adults with pride, and though the years had weathered your bodies, the love you shared remained as strong as ever. you were in your early 80s now, both of you moving slower than you used to, but still finding joy in the simple moments; like the quiet sunday mornings where you’d sit together, sipping tea and watching the world wake up.

it was during one of those mornings, the sun just starting to filter through the curtains, that you and mina found yourselves reminiscing about the old days.

“do you ever think about the girls?” mina asked softly, her hand resting on yours, her touch still as warm as ever.

you nodded, your thoughts drifting back to the early days of your life together, back when twice had been at the height of their fame. “i do,” you said, your voice quiet with the weight of memories. “it feels like a lifetime ago.”

she sighed, her gaze distant as she thought of her old friends. “chaeyoung and dahyun…” she trailed off, her voice breaking slightly.

they had passed years ago, both gone too soon. chaeyoung’s death had hit the hardest —unexpected and sudden, a loss that none of you had been prepared for. dahyun had followed a few years later, her health declining steadily after a battle with illness. the grief had been heavy, but the bond between the remaining members of twice had only grown stronger with time, even as life took them in different directions.

“and tzuyu,” you added, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. tzuyu had lived a long, full life, but her passing had left a hole in all of you. “she was the last to go, wasn’t she?”

mina nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “and nayeon,” she said quietly. “she’s not doing well. i’m afraid she won’t make it next christmas.”

you knew. nayeon had been in and out of the hospital for years now, her health fragile, and though you both tried to stay in touch, it was difficult. the distance, both physical and emotional, had grown over the years.

but the love was still there, a bond that time couldn’t break

“we had a good life,” mina whispered, leaning her head against your shoulder. “didn’t we?”

you smiled, your heart full. “the best,” you agreed. “we’ve been through so much, but we made it through together. and our children and grandchildren, minari, they are beautiful.”

she smiled, her eyes closing as she let out a contented sigh. “i love you forever, y/n, in every lifetime, i’m certain i’m yours.”

“i love you too, my darling,” you whispered, your voice filled with all the love you had carried for her over the decades.

the two of you sat there for a while longer, the silence between you comfortable, the weight of the years resting gently on your shoulders.

when you woke up the next morning, the room was still.

mina didn’t wake.

you stared at her peaceful face, your heart breaking as you realised she left in her sleep. she looked so serene, as if she had simply drifted away, leaving behind nothing but the memory of her warmth.

the tears came before you could stop them, your chest tightening with grief so profound it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

your children came quickly, each of them devastated by the loss of their mother. yuto, always the calm one, held you close, his own grief hidden behind the mask of strength he wore for the rest of the family. haruka sobbed openly, her fiery nature unable to be contained in the face of such a loss. akira was silent, his face pale and drawn, while hana cried quietly, her hand clasped tightly in yours as you all tried to process the reality of a world without mina.

the remaining members of twice arrived shortly after, their faces etched with the same grief you felt. nayeon, despite her frail health, had insisted on being there, leaning heavily on jeongyeon for support. jeongyeon’s face was a mask of sorrow, her strong shoulders carrying not only her grief but that of those around her. momo remained quiet, she had always been close to mina, her hands were clasped and her lips trembled as she tried to hold back her tears. sana leaned against momo, her arms wrapped around her in comfort, and yet her own grief threatened to overwhelm her. and lastly…jihyo, the one who had organised the funeral and made sure it would be perfect for your wife, her usual composure cracking from the weight of losing mina.

they held a small, private funeral for mina, just family and her closest friends. it was simple, just like she would have wanted. the ceremony was filled with bittersweet memories, with stories of her laughter, her grace, her kindness. everyone spoke of how beautiful she was, inside and out, and how deeply she had touched their lives.

as you sat there, listening to the stories being shared, the grief felt overwhelming. it wasn’t just that you had lost your partner, your soulmate.

it was that an era had ended. the life you had built together, the memories you had shared, felt so fragile now.

“she was everything to me,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you spoke to those gathered around you. “i don’t know how to live without her.”

but the truth was, you didn’t have to.

because not even a week after mina’s passing, you went to bed one night and never woke up.

when your children found you, there was no shock, no surprise. there was only peace. they knew, as did the remaining members of twice, that you and mina were always meant to be together, in life and in death.

your passing was marked by another quiet funeral, this time with even more tears but also a sense of comfort. your children, yuto, haruka, akira, and hana, stood together, knowing that the love you and mina shared would live on in them. the twice members gathered again, this time to say goodbye to both of you, their tears mingling with soft laughter as they shared stories of the lives you had lived.

“they were always together,” nayeon uttered, her voice hoarse from crying. “it’s only fitting that they left together too.”

jeongyeon nodded, wiping at her eyes. “they lived a beautiful life. they were happy.”

“they had each other,” sana added softly, her voice filled with emotion.

and in the end, that was all that mattered.

you and mina, after decades of love, pain, joy, and sorrow, had found your way back to each other in the most permanent way possible.

and now, in whatever came next, you were together once again.

because that’s how it had always been, and that’s how it always would be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end

[itsanerdlife]

Rumors

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

The struggle of living in a small town, rumors run faster than the truth ever could.

“Nah, swear up and down, blue in the face, she was with Rogers last night.”

“Saw her car leaving Rogers’ drive around one this morning.”

“Your girl was with your best friend all night? Man, that ain’t right.”

Four years down the drain. The only woman he could ever love, caught with his best friend. World shattering news coming from around the small town they grew up in. Losing his best friend and the love of his life.

Packing up his truck he didn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone. Leaving behind his phone and no note of where he would be going.

Without waiting to hear the news.

Without confronting either of them.

Three years later

“Don’t forget to sign the card on the counter.” I call into the kitchen, at the two brothers making breakfast.

“On it!” Howie calls back.

“Sign my name too.” I hear Peter comment.

“We might be twins, but I’m not forging your signature asshole.” Howie retorts.

Shaking my head, I continue to grab up baby toys off the floor, tossing them into the toy bin on the edge of the rug.

“Ohhhhhh.” AJ coos at his uncles.

“Yeah, no cussing in front of the baby.” Peter scolds Howie. “Tell uncle Howie, he’s being bad.” Peter snickers.

“Naughty.” AJ agrees.

“Don’t teach him anything more damaging, I already have to explain the peeing outside thing to Miss. Ivy, he peed in her potted plants outside her shop.” I huff, coming into the kitchen with them.

Both my brothers cringe, AJ grins proudly.

Jet black hair cut short, dark blue eyes, chunky cheeks from baby fat still. He’s a smaller version of his father almost to the T. Aside from the darkness of his blue eyes.

The father that left town without a word. Without a second thought. Without knowing about him. Small town rumors and he split without even a goodbye.

Fuck Bucky.

He missed out.

I smile at my son. Who grins back.

“Momma, we, we, we go to Nana’s today?” He asks excitedly.

“We’re going to Papa’s shop and than you’ll go home with Nana tonight.” I nod, reminding him.

“Momma work tonight?” His head tips.

“Yeah, momma works tonight.” I sigh, shrugging. “But that means, I wake up in the morning and we’ll have a big family breakfast with your uncles and your nana and papa.” I remind him.

“I spend the night with Papa?” He lights up.

“Don’t you let him teach you no more bad habits. He’s still in trouble for teaching you to burp your ABC’s.” I give him a stern look.

“So gross.” Howie sighs.

“I puked on G.” AJ admits, his little shoulders coming up to his ears.

“We remember little man.” Peter chuckles.

AJ goes about eating his eggs and toast.

“No burping.” Howie points a finger at him. AJ sighs in disappointment. I snort into my coffee cups, rolling my eyes.

------

“How old is he now?” Gwen the other bartender grins at the photo on my phone.

“We’re turning three in two weeks.” I grin as I lock my phone and slip it into my back pocket.

“Feels like just last week Peter was running around with newborn photos and listing off his stats like he was the hottest rookie to come off the bench.” She laughs, grabbing three beers from the cooler.

“He still does that, let’s not pretend he didn’t want to throw a party cause AJ was successfully potty trained at sixteen months.” Shaking my head, I rinse the cocktail shaker out in the sink under the bar.

“I mean at least he’s not missing out on any love.” She gives me a soft smile.

Nodding slowly. Only a few people actually knew who AJ’s father was. Most people still decided to believe and fuel the rumor mill.

“Yup. Guess good enough is enough.” I nod, my tone slightly bitter. I can’t help it. I hate it, but I can’t help it.

AJ was missing out, because his father chose to believe the rumor mill of our small town instead of trusting me.

Friday nights I worked the night shift at the bar, to help pad out being a single mom and keeping my kid comfortable.

It’s a typical Friday in the bar.

A familiar laugh, slithers down my spine.

“Damn been a long time since we’ve seen your ugly mug.” Sam Wilson greets someone.

The laugh comes again. “Life was good without seeing your big ass forehead.”

My heart races, palms slick, my chest grows tight.

“Y/N?” Gwen is watching me. My whole body jumps, causing me to drop a beer bottle. It shatters, the noise gaining attention.

“Fuck.” I shuffle back.

My eyes connect with winter blue ones, watching me. Shocked to see me. A flicker of anger still there.

“Oh honey, are you okay?” My head snaps to the side. My mom, Pepper Stark stands in the opening to the back, with my son on her hip.

“Mom?” I blink at her.

“I know I normally call, but he had a full melt down about going to bed without a kiss from you.” She bounces AJ on her hip. He’s tucked against her.

“Oh I’m so sorry.” I turn hurrying to scoop him up.

“Always night, night kisses.” He mumbles, completely distraught.

“Yes, always. I know, I know.” I squeeze him to me, kissing him over and over on his cheeks and forehead. Finally, he starts to giggle as I sway with him.

“Better?” I ask him. He nods slowly, still snuggled into me.

“Who that momma?” He wonders, looking down at him, he’s peeked up, watching someone off to the side.

Looking over, I find what has my son’s attention, not what, but who.

Bucky.

Staring at us.

“Mom, take him.” I hurry handing back my son to my mother. “No more fussing, go to bed like a big boy for Nana.” I lean in kissing him. He huffs but nods.

“Night momma.” He pouts.

“Night baby.” I give a small wave as my mother hurries away with my son.

“Y/N?” He’s suddenly right at the bar. Sucking in a deep breathe. I shift to face the man that abandoned me and his son. His jet black hair a little shaggy, scruffy jaw line, and wide winter blue eyes.

“What do you want James?” I snap at him.

“Is that, that my son?” He points towards where my mother had been standing.

“No that’s my son.” I correct him.

“Y/N? Seriously.” He stares at me.

“Why don’t you go listen to the rumor mill to find out.” I sneer at him. I stalk away, leaving him standing there.

-------- Everything Peaches 9/21/24 @mo320 @ml7010 @kmc1989 @babizza @coley0823 @royal-sunflower @camelliasblossom @shinycupcakebaker @purpleeclipseeggsland @daughterofthenight117 @hisredheadedgoddess28

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @jbbarnesgirl @kaylaphantomhive

[leirastar]

new world | chapter 7

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 1.2k | 5 minutes A/n: SORRY FOR THE LONG UPDATE! I OFFICIALLY TURNED 20 this week!!! that's why i didn't update this past week. i will be gone for a week because i will be going abroad to travel! please wish that i will arrive safely! and chapter 8 will come soon after! Warning: none that i know of

There was something raw in his voice, something unyielding, like an oath carved into stone. His words pressed into you, heavy yet comforting, leaving no room for doubt. You believed him—you couldn’t not believe him—because Yunho was not a man who made promises he couldn’t keep. The air between you thickened, charged with a weight you didn’t know how to carry, the pendant on your chest suddenly feeling less like a gift and more like a lifeline.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as you stared at him, the golden-brown of his eyes glowing softly in the dimming light. His presence was overwhelming, like a shield and a storm all at once, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“you can’t say things like that..” you whispered, though your voice wavered, betraying the ache in your chest.

“what I say are the truth.”

His voice was low, deliberate-as though the words were a vow only you were meant to hear.

The faintest curve of his lips appeared, a ghost of a smile, as though he knew the effect his words had on you. For just a second, the tension cracked, and you let out a shaky breath, followed by the smallest, disbelieving laugh—soft and barely audible, but enough to ripple through the air.

“My uncle will never let me hear the end of this.”

Yunho’s brow furrowed faintly. “Your uncle?”

You laughed softly, though the sound carried more nerves than amusement. “He’s been teasing me endlessly about some apprentice in Caius. He thinks I’d leave the outskirts if I fell in love.”

Yunho’s expression darkened slightly, the faintest flicker of something sharp passing across his face. “And what do you think of that idea?”

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the quiet edge in his voice. “I told him no,” you admitted softly. “I don’t want to go back to the capital. Not after my parents…”

Your voice trailed off, the thought lingering heavy in the air. Yunho’s gaze softened, his golden-brown eyes holding yours with a quiet understanding. “I understand.”

You looked down at the pendant again, the jewel pressing coolly against your chest as your fingers traced its edges. “The outskirts are home now. It’s quiet here. Safe.”

Yunho’s voice broke the silence, gentle but carrying a quiet weight. “And if you were to leave the outskirts—would that be so bad? Perhaps with a gentleman?”

Your heart stuttered, the quiet question threading itself into the silence between you, the quiet hanging heavy between you as the meaning of his words settled like a stone in your chest. Slowly, you turned to face him, your breath catching at the way his gaze held yours—steady, golden, and far too close.

“No,” you said finally, voice soft but certain. “I don’t think it would.”

Something shifted in Yunho’s expression—a soft, almost relieved smile that eased the sharp lines of his face.For a long moment, neither of you moved, the space between you charged with something unspoken—something that pulled at you like gravity. You could feel the warmth of his hand even though he wasn’t touching you, the air between you so still that even the faintest movement might shatter it.

You swallowed, your pulse fluttering wildly. “Thank you…for the pendent”

The words felt insufficient, too small to contain the moment.

Yunho’s gaze held yours, steady and unwavering, as though he was searching for something—an answer you didn’t yet know how to give. Slowly, his hand lifted, his knuckles brushing faintly against your cheek. The touch was feather-light, as though he wasn’t sure he had the right, but the warmth of it sent a tremor through you, your breath catching in your throat.

The silence around you deepened, the distant hum of the wind fading into nothingness. It was just the two of you, the world narrowing to the space between his hand and your skin, to the way his golden-brown eyes softened as they lingered on you.

Your heart pounded, loud and insistent, each beat echoing like thunder in your ears. He was close now—close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath against your lips, sending shivers trailing down your spine. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, as though any sudden motion would break the fragile tension holding the moment together.

Yunho’s thumb brushed against your cheek, the touch deliberate but so achingly gentle it nearly undid you. His gaze dipped, lingering at your lips for just a heartbeat too long before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Yunho…” you whispered, though you didn’t know what you meant to say.

His hand stilled, his thumb hesitating just below your jaw, as though holding you there, as though asking a silent question neither of you dared to voice aloud. For one suspended moment, you thought he might kiss you—his lips just a breath away, the space between you humming with electricity.

so close.

But then, he pulled back, so slowly it felt like a quiet unraveling. His hand fell away, leaving your skin cold and aching for the touch that had been there just a moment before. The absence of it sent a shiver through you, one that had nothing to do with the wind sweeping across the hills.

Yunho leaned back slightly, his expression carefully composed, though something lingered in his eyes—something unspoken but undeniably there. His gaze shifted to the horizon, as though to steady himself.

“We should head back before the wind picks up.”

You exhaled shakily, the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipping past your lips in a quiet rush. You nodded mutely, your heart still hammering in your chest as you turned away, focusing on gathering your things.

But even as you mounted your horse, your fingers clumsy against the reins, the moment lingered—like the phantom warmth of Yunho’s touch on your skin, like the way his eyes had dipped to your lips, only to pull away.

You didn’t dare look back at him right away, afraid of what you might see, but you could feel his gaze on you still—trailing after you like a shadow, heavy with the weight of what almost was.

And as the wind swept around you, tugging at your cloak and hair, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from lingering on the space between his hand and yours, on the closeness of his lips. The pendant pressed cool and heavy against your collarbone, a quiet weight that settled deeper than it should have.

The cold lingered there—where his touch had been—like a whisper of something unspoken, a promise carried on the wind. A promise that he would come back.

And somehow, you believed it.

Masterlist

six | eight

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[navybrat817]

Hey- if you're still taking prompts for ficlet Friday- Bucky and #31- pinky swear.

Oh, this is sweeet! How about more of our drunk!Bucky before that night out?

Pinky Swear

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 800

Warnings: Talk of fear of heights, backstory, slight angst, slight fluff

A/N: Takes place before Pretty Girl.

Bucky deeply inhaled the cool evening air and exhaled slowly. He hadn't moved from his spot on the outdoor sofa since he sat down, but he knew the number of steps it would take to get from his seat to the door. Looking at the rooftop guardrail, he reminded himself it was more than tall and sturdy enough to prevent anyone from falling. He was fine. Everything was fine.

“Bucky!” your pretty voice beckoned to him over the rest of the chatter from the group. “Come look at this view.”

Finding a stable point to look at was always good practice when he was afraid, and who better to look at than you? His pretty girl. You weren't technically his girl, but you were in his heart and you looked extra pretty tonight. He told himself the reason his heart stopped was because of how pretty you looked and not because of how close you were to the guardrail.

And here you wanted him to join you, but his body wouldn't move.

“I’m good right here,” he said, his smile tight. He gripped his beer bottle so tight he almost shattered it.

“You sure?” you smiled over your shoulder.

All he had to do was take a breath, get up, and join you. His head spun at the very thought, and he couldn't do it. He was a fucking coward. “I’m good,” he said again.

There was a frown on your pretty face as you went over to the sofa and sat beside him. “Hey. Are you okay?”

You always seemed to know when he was feeling off and he wanted to remove the concern from your eyes. “I don't…”

“You don't what?”

He inhaled and exhaled again, and he felt your pretty gaze on him as he ran a hand through his hand. There was nothing wrong with telling you. Maybe it would make him feel better. “I don't like heights,” he said above a whisper, feeling some of his anxiety subside.

It stemmed from his childhood when he lost his dad in a parachute accident, and it never went away. The fear only got worse when he fell from the train. When he was under HYDRA’s command, he wasn't allowed to experience fear. They locked it away deep inside with the rest of him. Now that was himself again, his fears came back to the surface stronger than before.

“Oh, Bucky.” You moved a little closer and angled your body as if to shield him from the view. It was sweet of you. “Are you okay?”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I'm fine as long as I don't go to the railing.”

Your eyes widened and he felt like shit when he saw the guilt that swam there. “Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have asked you to look if-”

“Don’t be. You had no idea,” he said, putting his hand over yours and quickly pulling away when he realized what he did. “I know you wouldn't have asked if you knew.” You were one of the most thoughtful people in his life. If you knew in advance that he hated heights, you not only would've kept him far from the railing, but you would've made the gang move the gathering somewhere else to accommodate him.

“No, I wouldn’t push you out of your comfort zone,” you confirmed, staring at your hand where he touched it.

“You’d somehow widen the comfort zone so I felt okay,” he smiled. That was the kind of person you were.

“Maybe,” you smiled. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he nodded. Anything you wanted.

“If you don't like heights, what made you come up here?” you asked curiously.

You.

But he didn't admit that you were the reason. It would've been the right time or place. “I… I don't want it to be a big deal. Besides, I wouldn't look like a team player if I skipped,” he answered, and he was telling the truth. You were still the number one reason though.

“Well, if you aren't feeling it, we can go to the lounge. Just say the word,” you offered.

“We?” he repeated.

You played with the hem of your shirt, which made him smile. “Yeah, I mean, if you want the company.”

Bucky always wanted your company. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, leaning in a little closer. “And listen. I know this is silly, but if you could not say anything. Steve’s the only one who knows and…”

Bucky was learning to be vulnerable again. He was trying. And if there was anyone who wouldn’t use his fears against him even in a joking manner, it was you. He trusted you.

“I won't say a word,” you whispered.

“You swear?” he smiled.

You surprised him by wrapping your pinky around his, and your touch would linger long after you let go. “Pinky swear.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And we still need him to confess.