#been a fan for years its a REALLY GOOD version | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helioooss · 6 days ago

Text

pulling your face close, wanting the inmost

synopsis: its been three years since minjeong left y/n waiting at the altar. throughout it all, jimin comes along.

w/c: 4.5k+

warnings: angst, blood (you’re a doctor), fluff. winter x you x karina

a/n: do you think my sleepless nights will make me insane? be honest. also meant to be really short but got carried away

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the train rattled as it sped through the early seoul morning, its harsh fluorescent lights bouncing off the windows and flickering faintly above you; hunched in the corner, staring blankly at the window; your scrubs noticeably wrinkled from the rushed way you’d thrown them on.

the person in the reflection was unrecognisable: hollow cheeks and dark circles etched like shadows beneath tired eyes — you were gaunt, tired; a reminder that the polished version of yourself, the one that used to smile, laugh and plan for a future, was long gone.

it screeched to a halt, jerking you out of whatever trance you were just in. as everyone else stood from their seats, you grabbed your bag and sighed; the weight of the day ahead pressing down on your shoulders.

your fingers tapped absently on your thigh as it slowed down, the doors automatically sliding open and you filed out with the rest of the crowd while keeping your head low.

the walk to the hospital from here wasn’t far, but you stopped at the station exit, digging a cigarette from your pocket. just one. it wasn’t a habit you were proud of, but it helped, even if only for a moment.

your hands trembled as you lit it and the first drag stung your lungs in a way that briefly drowned out everything else.

the memories clawed their way in anyway.

three years. it had been three years since minjeong walked out of your life without a word. she didn’t show up on the day that was supposed to mark your forever. no note. no call.

nothing but an empty altar and the stares of everyone you’d gathered to celebrate a love that, you’d come to realise, wasn’t as mutual as you believed.

it wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened.

mingyu came back into the picture. you had seen the rumours floating around online weeks before the wedding, fans gushing over how they spotted him and minjeong leaving the same restaurant; smiling like they used to in the good old days.

you asked her about it once, casually, your voice steady even though your heart raced. “did you see mingyu recently?”

she’d looked at you then, her expression unreadable, and shrugged. “it was just a friendly dinner. nothing to worry about.”

and like the fool you were, you believed her.

you exhaled sharply, watching the smoke curl into the crisp morning air. the morning rush of people already blurring into nothingness.

another day. another shift. another chance to bury yourself in the monotony of work. shaking your head, you snuffed the cigarette under your heel and started walking.

asan medical center loomed ahead, its sterile walls a familiar cage. work was your only escape now. it was ironic, really — the same place where you met her, where your love story began, was now the place you buried yourself to forget her.

by the time you arrived, you instantly slipped into your usual routine: quiet, focused and distant. the staff knew you as a good doctor — reliable, efficient and calm under pressure, but they also knew you as someone impossible to get close to.

“morning y/n,” jiwoo greeted as she walked into the staff room, her tone overly chipper. she was one of the few residents who still tried to engage with you, even though your responses were always curt.

“morning,” you mumbled, not bothering to look up as you stirred a spoonful of sugar into your coffee.

“how was your day off?”

“fine,” you said shortly. “just stayed home.”

she frowned. “you should go out sometime. have fun. meet people.”

“i’m fine,” you shook your head, taking a sip of the still bitter liquid. “i love my dog’s company.”

she hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, but eventually gave up as her shoulders slouched. “let me know if you ever want to hang out sometime, yeah? perhaps, you can even bring rome around.”

you nodded, not really hearing her. the truth was, you didn’t want to talk. not to her, not to anyone. talking meant opening up, and opening up meant risking another heartbreak. you couldn’t do it again.

three years ago, you would’ve been a different person — someone who laughed easily, loved deeply and believed in forever.

today, you were someone who stood in front of a room full of people, trying to find an explanation through tears because the woman you loved had run away. the embarrassment of that day still clung to you, a weight you couldn’t shake. there was nothing you could do except apologise to everyone — your parents, her parents, the guests.

but mostly, you apologised to yourself, for believing that you were enough for her.

it hit you the hardest that night, when you were alone in your flat, still dressed in your wedding suit that had taken you weeks to pick out.

the silence was deafening then, and for the first time, you realised she never loved you the way you loved her.

you didn’t hate her. you wanted to — god, you wanted to hate her. but you couldn’t. she was still the same woman who once made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who would drag you out of the rain just to kiss; the person who knew you the most.

she was still the love of your life.

and that was the cruelest part of it all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the day was dragging in the way only hospital shifts could. fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead and the faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, clinging to your scrubs. your shoulders were tight, weighed down by exhaustion and the kind of hollow loneliness you’ve since stopped trying to fight.

you were scanning through patient charts at the nurses’ station when you heard her voice — bright and teasing, cutting like sunlight through thick curtains.

“there she is,” she called out as she strode towards you, a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of iced coffee in the other.

you groaned inwardly; not another one.

jimin was the last person you wanted to see. her presence was like a splash of colour in a grey world, drawing the attention of everyone around her.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your tone more clipped than you intended.

she ignored the edge in your voice, plopping the bag onto the desk in front of you. “bringing you lunch, obviously. you’ve been skipping meals, haven’t you?”

“i’m fine,” you replied, already turning back to the chart in your hands.

“you’re always ��fine,’” she said, rolling her eyes. “and yet you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“what do you want from me?” you groaned, exhaling heavily as you closed the charts and began your stride towards the staff room.

it was easier to deal with her alone than be surrounded by people gossiping: what is minjeong’s best friend doing with her ex-fiancée?

“checking on you, obviously,” she said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “also, you skipped lunch again. so…” she quickened her pace behind you. “rina brought reinforcements.”

you sighed, glancing at her briefly. her dark hair was tied back in a loose ponytail and she was dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans.

for someone constantly in the public eye, she had a way of blending in when she wanted to.

“i didn’t ask for reinforcements,” you muttered, opening the door for her. “and i don’t need checking on daily.”

“clearly,” she replied, sarcasm lacing her tone as she looked up at you. “because you’re the picture of health and happiness.”

you shook your head. “you’re so…ugh, just something else.”

she opened the bag on the table, the smell immediately greeting your starved senses. “that’s why i brought food because if i left it up to you, you’d just keep surviving on coffee and whatever snacks you find lying around.”

you didn’t answer. you knew she meant well. jimin was one of the few people who hadn’t given up on you, even after you’d pushed her away countless times.

she started visiting you a year after the wedding-that-wasn’t, showing up with coffee, proper meals or just her company. you didn’t know why she bothered and you weren’t sure you wanted to.

“it’s your favourite,” she added, sliding the box towards you. “spicy pork and rice. come on, don’t make me waste a good meal.”

the smell of the food wafted up to you as you hesitated. it had been hours since you’d eaten and your stomach growled in betrayal. reluctantly, you grabbed the chopsticks and opened the container.

“there we go,” she said with a grin, settling into the chair across from you as she opened her own container; tonkatsu.

“you’re persistent,” you told her, taking a bite.

“someone has to be,” she replied, her voice softer now.

for a while, the only sound between you was the quiet clink of chopsticks against the container as you both ate in solitude. but jimin wasn’t the kind of person to let silence linger for long.

“how long are you planning to keep this up?” she asked suddenly as she threw her container into the bag, breaking the silence.

“keep what up?” you replied without looking at her, focusing instead on stabbing at a piece of pork with your chopsticks.

“this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at you. “the whole ‘lone wolf who doesn’t need anyone’ thing. it’s getting old.”

you sighed, not bothering to look up. “why do you care?”

“because i do,” she said simply, her tone infuriatingly casual.

you rolled your eyes, setting your chopsticks down with a little more force than necessary. “rina, we barely know each other these days. why do you bother to check in on me almost everyday?”

“i don’t know,” her grin faded, replaced by something more serious. “you were minjeong’s everything. and, for what it’s worth, she was my best friend. so maybe i care because i know what it’s like to be left behind by her too. or maybe, i simply just care about you.”

the words hit you harder than you expected. you looked up at her for the first time, caught off guard by the raw honesty in her voice.

“she left you too,” you said quietly, more a statement than a question.

she nodded, leaning back in her chair. “she was my anchor, you know? and then, one day, she was just…gone. no explanation, no goodbye. sound familiar?”

you swallowed hard, the ache in your chest growing sharper. “yeah, it does.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken grief and the strange sense of kinship that came with it.

after awhile, jimin cleared her throat, the light teasing tone slipping back into her voice as she watched you clean up. “so,” she began, “how’s rome? still the world’s most dramatic sausage dog?”

your chopsticks paused mid-air. rome. yours and minjeong’s dachshund. or just your sausage dog now, since she’d left. he’d been one of the few things that kept you going after she disappeared, a small source of comfort in a world that felt unbearably empty.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “he’s fine,” you said cautiously, not quite ready to let your guard down.

she raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “just ‘fine’? come on, y/n. give me something.”

you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “he’s good. healthy. still hates the postman.”

“classic rome,” she said, laughing softly. “does he still steal your socks?”

“every chance he gets,” you admitted, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “he buried one of my favourite pairs in the garden last week. i didn’t even know he could dig that deep.”

“a true criminal mastermind,” she laughed. “i miss him.”

you tilted your head, studying her for a moment. “i don’t think he hasn’t forgotten you.”

her smile faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to the table. “good, i’d like to bother him sometime.”

you nodded, not pushing further. the silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before, but it still carried the weight of everything unsaid.

“i have to go back to work soon,” you muttered slowly. “thanks for bringing me lunch, again.”

she leaned forward once more, resting her elbows on the table. “you know, you’re a lot nicer when you talk about rome.”

“am i?” you said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah,” she chuckled, grinning. “maybe you should bring him to work. he could be a therapy dog or something.”

“not sure the hospital would appreciate that,” you replied, shaking your head.

“probably not,” she agreed. “you talk about him more than you talk about yourself.”

“what’s there to talk about?” you asked, avoiding her gaze.

“a lot,” she said simply. “but you won’t let anyone in long enough to find out.”

“maybe because there’s nothing worth finding out,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended.

she didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “i don’t really believe that. i know you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat because a small part of you, buried beneath the layers of grief and anger and self-imposed isolation, wanted to believe she was right.

“you don’t have to do this, you know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “come here. check on me. it’s…unnecessary.”

“it’s not about necessity — it’s about wanting to. and i want to, y/n. because whether you believe it or not, you matter to me,” then, as if the idea had just occurred to her, she added, “you know what you should do? come to dinner with us tonight. aeri is hosting dinner at her place. yizhuo will be there too and they’d love to see you.”

“i don’t know…i’m not really built for —“

“they miss you,” she cut you off gently. “we all do. you don’t have to stay long. just come, have some food, catch up. it doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

you frowned, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your lunch container. “i’m not great at…socialising these days.”

“that’s fine,” she reassured, her voice soft. “just come as you are. no one’s expecting anything from you.”

you hesitated, torn between the comfort of your solitude and the faint pull of connection her words stirred in you. “i’ll think about it,” you said finally, though the words felt like an excuse.

for a moment, you let yourself wonder what it would be like to let her in, to let someone care about you again. but the fear of losing her — of losing anyone — was too much.

“don’t just think about it,” she said, standing up and grabbing her things. “you’re coming. i’ll pick you up after your shift. and don’t even think about bailing.”

“rina —”

“i mean it, y/n,” she cut you off with a grin that somehow felt more like a challenge. “we’ll eat at aeri’s. it’ll be fun. you might even smile. who knows?”

you shook your head, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at your lips as you watched her walk away. she paused at the door, turning back to look at you.

“and bring pictures of rome,” she added. “aeri and yizhuo will want to see how much of a menace he’s become.”

you didn’t respond, but you nodded, the warmth of her persistence lingering even after she was gone. as you returned to your rounds, you caught yourself thinking about her smile, her persistence, her refusal to give up on you.

you hated how it made you feel. hated the tiny flicker of warmth it sparked in a heart you had sworn to keep cold.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the shift had been surprisingly uneventful. for once, you weren’t racing from one emergency to the next and the patients you saw were mostly routine cases; check-ups, minor injuries, nothing life-threatening. as the hours dragged on, you found yourself in a slightly better mood than usual, a rare occurrence these days.

the thought of dinner at aeri’s later still felt strange, but not as daunting as it had earlier. perhaps it was the conversation with jimin, or maybe you were just too tired to keep holding up the walls you’d built around yourself.

jiwoo, ever persistent in her cheerful attempts to connect with you, caught up with you as you clocked out. “you seemed a bit more relaxed today,” she said, her tone light but teasing. “you’re not scaring off the patients as much.”

you smirked faintly, shaking your head. “glad to know i’m improving.”

as the two of you stepped outside, the cool evening air hit your face. you pulled out your nearly empty cigarette box, shaking one out with practised ease. the box crinkled, reminding you that you’d bought it only yesterday. you lit up, the flame from your lighter flickering briefly before catching.

she wrinkled her nose. “you really should quit, you know.”

“yeah, yeah,” you muttered, exhaling smoke into the air. “everyone’s a critic.”

she folded her arms, watching you for a moment before changing the subject. “so…karina from aespa really just brings you lunch sometimes? i feel like you’re pulling my leg.”

you chuckled softly, the sound surprising both of you. “it’s true. we know each other from my…better days.”

she tilted her head, curiosity written all over her face. “what does that mean?”

you hesitated, taking another drag from your cigarette. “we were friends. through minjeong.”

her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t press further. she’d been around long enough to know your ex was a subject best avoided. instead, she smiled softly. “must be nice to have someone like that still looking out for you.”

“it is,” you admitted quietly, unintentionally exhaling curls of smoke towards her direction. “sorry.”

she chuckled, shaking her head. “it’s okay — and you seem really bright around her, you know? i think she brings out the best in you.”

you hummed, nodding as you stubbed the cigarette under your shoe. “she’s just a friend; nothing more.”

minjeong and jimin. two names you hadn’t expected to be tied together so tightly in your mind. yet, lately, it was impossible not to think of one without the other.

minjeong had been everything to you once. she was the love you thought would last forever, the one you trusted with all of yourself. and even though she had shattered you, you still couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. there was a part of you that would always respect what you shared, even if it ended so painfully.

and then there was jimin. minjeong’s best friend. the one who had been there long before you entered the picture. the one who probably knew minjeong better than anyone else.

it felt…strange, wrong even, to start seeing jimin in a way that might be more than friendship. you respected her too much — her persistence, her kindness, the way she stayed by your side when no one else could reach you. she wasn’t just some comforting presence in your life; she was someone you admired deeply.

before jiwoo could say anything else, a sleek black car pulled up to the kerb. jimin leaned out of the driver’s side window, her signature grin lighting up her face. “well, well. look who’s socialising.”

her jaw practically dropped. “oh my god, it really is her.”

jimin waved casually. “hey, jiwoo, right? need a lift? there’s plenty of room.”

jiwoo blushed furiously, waving her hands. “oh, no, no. my boyfriend’s coming to pick me up. but thanks.”

“suit yourself,” she said, winking playfully before turning her attention to you. “you ready?”

you nodded, giving jiwoo a small wave before slipping into the passenger seat. the car smelled like leather and a faint hint of vanilla, a stark contrast to the cigarette smoke still clinging to your scrubs.

“you reek of cigarettes, you know,” she pointed out as she pulled out onto the road, her tone more teasing than scolding. “how many have you had today?”

you shrugged, leaning your head against the window. “i don’t count.”

“you should. your lungs aren’t invincible, doctor,” she quipped, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on the road.

you smirked faintly. “and you’re suddenly a health expert?”

“no,” she admitted, grinning. “but i care about you not hacking up a lung in ten years.”

the corners of your mouth twitched, the warmth of her concern nudging at the edges of your guarded heart. you changed the subject, gesturing at the car’s pristine interior. “nice car.”

“of course it’s nice,” she replied, flashing a proud smile. “you think i’d settle for anything less?”

you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “why do you think i catch the train, then?”

she glanced at you, curious. “i always wondered about that. you can afford a car. why put yourself through that misery?”

you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “because…i don’t know. it makes me feel better. seeing a million other miserable people in the train. reminds me i’m not the only one stuck in this mess.”

jimin didn’t respond immediately, her grip on the wheel tightening slightly. when she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “you’re not as miserable as you think, y/n.”

you huffed a small laugh, not entirely believing her but appreciating the sentiment. “sure.”

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just reflective. it was jimin who broke it. “do you need to stop anywhere before we head to aeri’s?”

you hesitated for a moment before nodding. “can we stop at my apartment? i need to feed rome and shower. i smell like the hospital.”

“of course,” she said, her tone brightening. “you know, i don’t mind. i’m just happy to hear more than two words out of you.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the faint smile tugging at your lips. “don’t get used to it.”

“too late,” she quipped, her grin widening as she turned the car towards your apartment.

the rest of the ride to your place was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. you found yourself glancing at her more than you intended, the soft light highlighting the gentle curve of her jaw, the way her hair fell just so around her face. she was undeniably beautiful.

it wasn’t something you hadn’t noticed before —jimin had always been striking, but sitting this close to her, the air between you filled with the faint scent of her perfume, it felt different.

more intimate.

your gaze lingered on her profile, tracing the slope of her nose, the soft pink of her lips, the way her expression relaxed whenever the traffic eased. the thought crept into your mind unbidden, catching you off guard: she’s really beautiful.

the streets blurred past, but your mind was elsewhere, swirling with a mixture of confusion and guilt. it felt wrong to think about her like that when she was minjeong’s best friend.

it was complicated enough having her in your life so prominently now. you couldn’t add feelings to the mix.

“what’s wrong?” jimin’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her tone light but tinged with curiosity.

you turned to see her glancing at you briefly before returning her focus to the road. her question made your heart race slightly and you felt heat creeping up your neck.

“nothing,” you said quickly, your voice betraying your awkwardness.

she smirked, clearly unconvinced. “you’ve been quiet. and you keep looking at me. what’s going on in that head of yours?”

you swallowed hard, your palms suddenly feeling clammy. you debated brushing it off, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. “you…you just look nice today, that’s all.”

the silence that followed was deafening. her grip on the steering wheel faltered slightly and her cheeks flushed a soft pink, lips parting as if she was going to say something, but she quickly pressed them together, biting back a grin.

“shut up,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual, but the blush on her face betrayed her.

you felt your own cheeks burn, suddenly hyper-aware of how close the two of you were in the small car.

“i was just saying,” you mumbled, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

“yeah, well, don’t,” she shot back, though her tone was more playful than serious.

the tension between you was palpable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was something else entirely, something neither of you was ready to name.

the car rolled to a stop just outside your apartment building, its headlights briefly illuminating the cracked pavement. you unbuckled your seatbelt, glancing up at the familiar, worn façade of the place you’d called home for years. it looked the same, but somehow it always felt emptier every time you came back.

“hey,” jimin began, her voice breaking through your thoughts. “can i please see rome? just for a minute. aeri and yizhuo will be so jealous.”

you frowned, your hand pausing on the door handle. “my apartment’s a mess. i haven’t had anyone over in a long time.”

“i don’t care,” she said easily, her grin unfaltering. “you should see the state of mine. you’d think i was filming a disaster documentary.”

you sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “fine. but don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

she flashed a triumphant smile. “deal.”

in the elevator, you found yourself uncharacteristically aware of her presence. it wasn’t just that she was your ex-fiancée’s ex-best friend — it was the fact that, even after everything, jimin was still here, still trying to pull you out of the dark pit you had thrown yourself into.

you shifted awkwardly, your hand trembling slightly at your side. the metal walls of the elevator seemed to amplify your unease. without a word, she reached over and gently squeezed your hand. her grip was steady, grounding, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to hold on.

“it’s okay,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t respond, but her touch was enough to steady you.

as soon as you unlocked the door, the sound of tiny paws skittering across the hardwood floor filled the air. rome came bounding towards you, his tail wagging so hard it looked like it might fall off.

“romie,” you said, your voice softening for the first time all day. you crouched down to pet him, his fur warm and familiar against your hand.

jimin let out an audible gasp. “oh my god. he’s even cuter than i remember.” she immediately dropped her bag and scooped him up, cradling him like a baby. “hi, buddy. remember me?”

he licked her face enthusiastically, his little legs wriggling in her arms. you couldn’t help but smile at the sight, even as you stood up and rubbed the back of your neck.

“make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment. “i’m going to get ready.”

she nodded, her attention fully on rome. “take your time. we’re going to have a bonding moment.”

as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water began to echo faintly, muffled by the door you’d closed behind you. she sat on the edge of your sofa with rome, her eyes wandering around your apartment.

the place was cleaner than she expected — it wasn’t messy, but it felt bare. the walls were stripped of personality and there wasn’t a single photo or decoration to suggest that anyone else had once shared this space with you. it was a stark contrast to the way she remembered it years ago, when minjeong had still been part of your life.

now, it was as if you had erased every trace of her.

her gaze drifted to the kitchen counter, where an open bottle of whiskey sat next to a half-empty glass. there were other bottles too, some empty, others half-finished, lined up neatly on the sideboard. her chest tightened at the sight, and she had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

all she wanted to do was love you. all of you. the person you were now, the person you had been before, even the parts that you were trying to bury under layers of pain and grief.

jimin leaned back against the sofa, letting out a soft sigh as her thoughts turned inward. it should feel wrong, this pull she felt toward you. you were minjeong’s ex-fiancée. she had been your everything once. she had seen it firsthand — the way the two of you fit together, the quiet understanding in your shared glances; your love seemed unshakable.

and yet, here she was, sitting in your apartment, waiting for you while you showered, her heart heavy with feelings she couldn’t push away.

she didn’t know when it had started. this shift in how she saw you. maybe it was that day at the hospital, months ago. she’d been visiting aeri and yizhuo and wanted to bring you lunch when she passed by the paediatrics ward and caught sight of you comforting a young boy.

he had been crying, terrified of getting his vaccinations and you’d knelt down to his level, your voice soft and reassuring.

“it’s okay,” you reassured in a gentle tone, holding out your hand for him to squeeze. “you’re so brave. and once it’s over, you’ll get a cool sticker. how about that?”

the boy had stopped crying long enough to nod and you smiled at him — wide, genuine and full of warmth. it had been the first time she had seen you smile like that in years.

all it took was that one moment.

she had tried to suppress her feelings after that. tried to remind herself of the boundaries she needed to keep but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about you.

she had gone on dates, tried seeing other people, hoping it would dull the ache but none of them made her feel the way you did.

no one else mattered. it was maddening as it was terrifying, but it was also undeniable.

jimin ran a hand through her hair, her fingers brushing against the back of her neck as she let out another sigh. aeri and yizhuo didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with how she felt.

“i don’t really see the problem,” aeri had said bluntly one night over dinner, shrugging as she picked her rice. “minjeong packed up and left her old life behind. what’s the problem?”

“you’re not stealing anyone’s woman,” yizhuo chimed in with a smirk, earning a glare from jimin.

“it’s not that simple,” jimin argued, though their words had lingered.

now, sitting here in your apartment, surrounded by the quiet evidence of your pain, she felt the full weight of her feelings.

she wasn’t just drawn to you — she was in love with you. completely, overwhelmingly in love.

the water shut off and the apartment grew silent. she straightened slightly, her heart pounding as she heard you moving around in the bathroom. she didn’t know if she could ever say it out loud, but in this moment, she didn’t need to.

“he likes you,” you said as you stepped out, nodding towards rome, who was now curled up in her lap, his eyes half-closed in contentment.

“what’s not to like?” she replied, scratching behind his ears. “he’s a smart dog. clearly knows quality people when he sees them.”

“right, of course,” you gave a faint smile, leaning against the doorframe. “ready to go?”

“yeah,” she said, reluctantly setting rome down. she grabbed her bag and followed you to the door, glancing back once at the apartment before stepping out.

as you rode down in the elevator, the silence between you was comfortable this time. she didn’t say anything about the empty walls or the whiskey, but when she handed you her car keys so you could unlock the door for her, her fingers brushed against yours and the gesture spoke louder than any words could.

…this shouldn’t be happening.

when the doors slid open to the ground floor, jimin spun her keys around her finger, her expression bright with mischief. she tossed them towards you without warning, the metal jingling as they flew through the air.

“you’re driving,” she declared, slipping into the passenger seat before you could argue.

you caught the keys instinctively, furrowing your brow. “why?”

“because,” she said, already buckling her seatbelt, “i want to test your driving skills. it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

you gave her an unimpressed look, holding the keys loosely in your hand. “you just want to be a passenger princess.”

she gasped theatrically, clutching at her chest like you just insulted her deepest values. “how dare you. i am not a passenger princess.”

“sure,” you said, shaking your head as you got into the driver’s seat. “whatever you say.”

jimin smirked, leaning back into the seat with a smug expression. “prove me wrong then. show me you can still handle a car like the pro you are.”

you rolled your eyes but started the car anyway, the familiar hum of the engine filling the space between you. as you adjusted the mirrors and pulled out onto the street, you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips.

for the first time in a while, the banter felt easy, even enjoyable.

but then, without thinking, the words slipped out.

“minjeong used to do that,” you muttered softly, almost to yourself. “she would always make me drive so she could either pick the music or nap.”

the air in the car shifted instantly, the lightness replaced by something heavier. you stiffened, gripping the steering wheel tightly as you realised what you said. your eyes stayed firmly on the road, the silence between you now deafening.

she didn’t speak right away and for a moment, you wished the earth would just swallow you whole.

then, she broke the silence, her voice softer, more careful. “you know…it’s okay to talk about her, i don’t mind.”

you blinked, your knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “is it?” you said flatly, though there was no anger in your tone, just weariness.

“yeah,” she replied turning slightly to face you. “it’s okay to acknowledge that she existed. that you loved her even though she hurt you, pretending she didn’t matter isn’t going to help you move on.”

you swallowed hard, throat tightening. the logical part of you knew she was right, but the emotional part; the one that still felt raw and exposed whenever minjeong’s name came up wasn’t ready to admit it.

so you said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably again.

after a minute of beating around the bush, jimin sighed softly, her voice tinged with regret. “sorry. i didn’t mean to push. i just —”

“it’s fine,” you interrupted, surprising even yourself with the quiet sincerity in your voice. you glanced at her briefly, a small, genuine smile crossing your face. “really.”

she relaxed visibly, her shoulders dropping as the tension eased. “okay,” she said, her own smile returning, though it was softer this time.

as you drove, jimin’s own thoughts began to spiral. hearing you talk about minjeong felt like a punch to the gut, but she couldn’t blame you. she was your first love, the one who had taken up all the space in your heart before it was broken.

how could she even try to compete with that?

she knew there was a part of you that might never stop loving minjeong, no matter how much time passed.

she glanced at you again, catching the way your shoulders had relaxed slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

it doesn’t matter how long it takes, she thought to herself. i’ll wait. for as long as it takes, i’ll wait for her.

when you pulled up to aeri’s apartment building, jimin hopped out of the car, clearly energised. she waited for you to join her, rocking on her heels as you locked the car behind you.

“ready for the chaos?” she asked, flashing a grin.

“as ready as i’ll ever be,” you muttered, following her into the lift as you took the luxurious sight in. “god, she’s expensive as ever, isn’t she?”

she chuckled, tapping your arm lightly. “don’t say anything about it or else you’re going to start a fight.”

the elevator doors slid shut with a soft hum, the quiet clink of the mechanisms filling the small space. you stood beside her, your hand clutching the strap of your bag as your stomach twisted with nerves.

it had been years since you had last been to aeri’s apartment, and now, as the numbers on the elevator panel lit up one by one, the memories began flooding back.

everything felt heavier in your chest — the last time you were here, everything was different. you hadn’t seen those girls properly in so long and the thought of walking into a space that had once felt so familiar left you uneasy.

jimin, standing close to you, noticed the slight tremour in your hand. without a word, she reached over and gently squeezed it once more, her fingers warm and firm against yours.

“you’re okay,” she said softly, her voice steady. “it’s just aeri and yizhuo. they’re gonna be so happy to see you.”

you nodded but didn’t say anything, focusing instead on the way her hand steadied your own. as the elevator neared the top floor, she started to pull away, her fingers slipping from yours.

but you held on, tightening your grip instinctively. “can you —” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “just for a bit longer.”

she didn’t say anything, but her fingers curled back around yours, holding on tightly. the two of you stood like that in silence, the elevator’s hum filling the space; it felt like the calm before a storm you weren’t sure you could weather alone.

the elevator dinged and you stepped into the hallway with jimin by your side. your hand was still holding hers from earlier, though you hadn’t realised it until she glanced down briefly, her fingers tightening just a little before she let go.

“sorry,” you awkwardly mumbled, blood rushing to your cheeks.

“don’t be.”

the warmth lingered even as you adjusted the strap of your bag and followed her toward aeri’s door; it opened before you could even knock.

“y/n!” aeri’s voice was the first thing you heard, loud and filled with surprise and excitement. “no way, it’s really you!”

you barely had time to blink before she lunged forward, throwing her arms around your neck and dragging you into a tight hug. before you could respond, a second body crashed into you from the side — yizhuo, her laughter echoing through the hallway.

“oh my gosh, she’s actually here,” yizhuo said, her grin wide as she squeezed you tightly. “rina, what the hell did you do to her? hypnosis? bribery? a chloroform rag?”

“definitely drugged her bubble tea,” aeri chimed in, her face still buried in your shoulder. “there’s no way y/n came here willingly.”

“guys, get off me!” you laughed, trying to push them away, but your voice lacked any real force. their energy was infectious, and though part of you wanted to retreat, a bigger part…one you hadn’t felt in years just wanted to stay in this moment.

“nope,” yizhuo groaned, holding on even tighter. “you don’t get to vanish for two years and show up out of nowhere like nothing happened. you’re gonna deal with this. this being us smothering you with love.”

“you should be grateful,” aeri added with a smirk, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. “this is premium-grade affection. we don’t just give this to anyone.”

jimin stood to the side, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “i didn’t drug her, by the way,” she said casually, her voice dripping with mock indignation. “she came because she missed you guys. obviously.”

“liar,” yizhuo shot back, narrowing her eyes. “there’s no way y/n came willingly. what’s your secret, jimin? blackmail? compromising photos?”

“it was the bubble tea,” jimin said, straight-faced. “i spiked it with nostalgia.”

“sounds like you put something stronger than nostalgia in there,” aeri quipped, her grin widening.

you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “you guys are ridiculous.”

“you missed us,” yizhuo said smugly, finally releasing you from her grip. “admit it.”

“maybe,” you muttered, smoothing down your shirt. “a little.”

aeri gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “a little? i’m hurt. offended, even.”

jimin stepped forward, pulling out her phone. “hold still,” she said, her grin mischievous. “this is a historic moment.”

“don’t you dare,” you warned, your voice rising in mock panic as she aimed the camera at the three of you.

the flash went off before you could stop her, capturing a candid shot of aeri still clinging to your side, yizhuo laughing uncontrollably and you mid-protest with a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“perfect,” jimin said, already typing away as she uploaded the photo to her story. “caption: my three idiots.”

“three?” aeri asked, raising an eyebrow. “don’t you mean two idiots and one innocent victim?”

“you’re definitely the biggest idiot here,” yizhuo smirked at her. “but it’s okay. we still love you.”

“barely,” jimin quipped, her tone teasing as she slid her phone back into her pocket.

the apartment buzzed with laughter and conversation as the four of you settled in for dinner. the table was covered in food — aeri’s version of cooking: ramen, pizza boxes, bowls of chips and a bottle of wine that she had insisted on opening way before dinner.

“so,” aeri began, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “doctor, what have you been up to? saving lives? breaking hearts? fighting crime?”

“you act like i’ve been doing something exciting,” you shook your head as you picked at your pizza. “it’s just been work. and more work.”

“classic y/n,” yizhuo threw her hands up dramatically. “always married to the job.”

“it’s a demanding spouse,” you joked, surprising yourself at how easily the humour came.

“does it at least make you breakfast in bed?” aeri teased, wagging her eyebrows.

“nope,” you replied, smirking. “just gives me migraines.”

“sounds toxic,” jimin said, her voice light. “you should break up with it.”

“and do what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “become a full-time boba taster?”

“not a bad idea,” yizhuo chimed in, taking another bite of her slice. “you’d have jimin’s full support.”

aeri shrugged. “or you could just be her housewife. she’s a millionaire, you know?”

you dared to steal a glance, expecting jimin to brush off their teasing, but instead, she was looking right at you. her gaze was steady, her lips tugged into the faintest smile.

the way she looked at you sent your heart racing and you quickly looked away, focusing on the slice of pizza in your hand as if it held all the answers in the universe.

as the night went on, you found yourself relaxing more, your initial nervousness melting away under the warmth of their banter. but then your eyes wandered to the wall across the room, where a cluster of framed photos hung.

they were all of aespa — smiling, performing, and posing together in various moments that captured their bond. your gaze caught one in particular: minjeong standing between aeri and yizhuo, her face frozen in time among her friends.

the memories threatened to creep in, but before they could overwhelm you, you felt jimin’s gaze on you. you glanced over and she was already smiling softly, her expression reassuring. it was enough to steady you, to remind you that it was okay to feel what you felt.

“we haven’t done much since minjeong left,” aeri’s voice cut through the comfortable buzz of the room.

“yeah,” yizhuo added, swirling her wine glass. “we’ve released a few singles here and there, but it’s not the same. we’re not really aespa without her.”

jimin nodded, her expression thoughtful. “it’s been different,” she admitted. “but we’re figuring it out.”

“figuring it out,” yizhuo repeated, snorting. “aka, doing nothing but lazing around and ordering takeout.”

aeri grinned. “we’ve perfected the art of slacking, we should win awards for it.”

their banter was light and the laughter genuine. it pulled you back into the moment. for the first time in what felt like forever, you found yourself laughing along with them — really laughing.

as the night wore on, the chaos around the table began to settle into a comfortable rhythm. the laughter quieted and the conversation took on a more relaxed, intimate tone. the pizza boxes were mostly empty and aeri poured another glass of wine for herself and yizhuo, both of them visibly enjoying the rare moment of everyone being together.

with your bag slung over your shoulder, jimin stood by the door while aeri and yizhuo hugged you tightly.

“you know,” aeri began, leaning back. “it’s really nice to have you here, y/n. we’ve missed you.”

“like, really missed you,” yizhuo said, her tone serious for once. “i mean, i know life’s been…a lot. but you don’t have to disappear on us, you know? we’re always here for you.”

the words hung in the air, their sincerity hitting you harder than you expected. you stared at the table for a moment, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your glass.

“i know,” you said quietly, your voice softer than usual. “and i’m sorry. for shutting you guys out. it wasn’t fair. i was more embarrassed —“

“it’s not about fair,” aeri interjected gently, setting her glass down. “we just don’t want to lose you again. you’re important to us, y/n. even if you’ve got your walls up, we’ll keep knocking.”

“and by knocking, she means barging in,” yizhuo added with a grin, earning a laugh from both you and jimin.

“i mean it, though,” she continued, her tone earnest. “we’re here for you. anytime.”

jimin glanced at you, her eyes soft, but she didn’t say anything. she didn’t need to — the look she gave you was enough.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “thanks, i…i missed you guys too. i’ll see you guys next weekend?”

“of course,” yizhuo smiled, kissing your cheek goodbye. “rome better be prepared for aeri’s annoying ass.”

aeri rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “stop talking, ning, y/n has to go!”

“yeah, right, forgot you guys were unemployed,” you rubbed the back of your head with a laugh as you turned and began to walk with jimin. “see you both soon.”

the walk back to jimin’s car was quiet, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the apartment. you shoved your hands into your pockets, your footsteps echoing lightly on the pavement. she walked beside you, her shoulder close enough to brush against yours occasionally.

“you okay?” she asked after a moment, glancing at you.

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, i had a good time.”

“good,” she said simply, her own smile soft and genuine.

you hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ground as you spoke. “i didn’t realise how much i missed them. being with them…it felt normal. like…like things weren’t so heavy for a while.”

she nodded, her pace slowing slightly. “that’s the thing about aeri and yizhuo. they’re chaotic as fuck, but they have this way of making you forget about the rest of the world.”

“they do,” you agreed, your smile widening just a fraction. “i think i needed that.”

she stopped walking and turned to face you, her hands slipping into her coat pockets. “you don’t have to wait two years to do it again, you know. they meant it when they said they’re here for you. and so did i.”

you met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes making your chest tighten. “i know. and…thanks, rina. for everything.”

she shrugged lightly, though the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “you don’t have to thank me. i just want you to be okay.”

“i think…i’m getting there,” you admitted, your voice soft. “slowly.”

she smiled, her expression a mix of relief and something else you couldn’t quite name. “that’s all that matters.”

as the two of you reached the car, you hesitated again, the words forming on your lips before you could stop them. “jimin?”

“yeah?” she asked, pausing as she unlocked the doors.

you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “thank you. for not giving up on me. and…for reminding me that it’s okay to let people in.”

her smile softened, and she reached out to squeeze your arm briefly. “i never would. i’m just glad you’re here.”

you nodded, climbing into the passenger seat as she started the car. as she drove, the hum of the engine and the faint city lights passing by felt less daunting than they usually did. for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t alone. and perhaps, you didn’t have to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the train rocked gently as it made its way through seoul’s early morning haze. you sat in your usual spot by the window, absently watching the buildings blur together. for once, you didn’t look like you had just rolled out of bed and barely made it to the station; your scrubs were tidy, hair tied back neatly and there was even a faint sheen of moisturiser on your face — a small but deliberate effort to feel a little more presentable.

it wasn’t much, but it was something. after that dinner with the remaining members of aespa, you found yourself thinking…about how much you had isolated yourself and how it might not be the worst thing in the world to try again.

to exist around people who cared.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you from your thoughts. you hesitated before pulling it out, already knowing who it would be.

from: jimin - aespa

do you still like purple taro bubble tea or has your taste in drinks gotten worse too?

sent 7:50 AM

you sighed, the faintest of smiles tugging at your lips despite yourself. she had a way of making her presence known, whether you wanted it or not. since dinner at aeri’s, she had been texting you more often, showing up at the hospital and generally refusing to let you retreat back into your solitude.

you stared at the message for a long moment, the smile fading as doubt crept in.

why was she doing this? why did she care? she was an idol, a successful one at that, with a million other things she could be doing.

the thought made your chest tighten. you typed a response, your fingers moving quickly.

to: jimin - aespa

yes, but you should do better things with your time than hanging out at the hospital with me.

sent 7:51 AM

you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you were being too harsh, but the thought of her spending so much effort on you — it felt undeserved. and it scared you. you hit send and immediately turned your phone off, tucking it back into your pocket.

the train ride passed in a blur, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels luring you into a daze. when you stepped off at your station, the morning chill greeted you, sharp against your skin. you pulled your coat tighter around yourself, your hand instinctively reaching into your pocket for your cigarette box. the box was light — too light — but you fished out a cigarette and lit it, the flame flickering in the breeze.

you took a long drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. it didn’t help much, never did, but it gave you something to do, something to focus on. your thoughts, as they often did, drifted to minjeong. her face, her voice, the way she used to call you at the hospital just to complain about how exhausting her day was.

but lately, your thoughts had started to wander elsewhere, too. to jimin. her relentless persistence, her easy smiles and just the way she had managed to slip into your life without you even realising. you hated how much space she was starting to take up in your head.

it felt…complicated. and you didn’t do complicated anymore.

as you walked, cigarette still in hand, your gaze caught on a small coffee shop just opening for the morning. the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted out, the barista flipping the “open” sign to face the street. you stopped in your tracks, hesitating before stepping inside.

the shop was warm, the faint whir of an espresso machine filling the air. you approached the counter, glancing at the menu even though you already knew what you wanted.

“can i get a caramel latte?” you asked, your voice soft but steady. after a pause, you added: “actually, make that two. one iced, one hot.”

the barista nodded, tapping your order into the register. you waited by the counter, the warmth of the shop a sharp contrast to the cool morning outside.

when the drinks were ready, you grabbed the cups and stepped back out onto the street, beginning your trek towards the hospital, the steam from the hot latte curling into the chilly air.

you didn’t usually do this — go out of your way for someone else. but jiwoo had been kind to you for nearly a year now, always trying to engage, smiling even when you brushed her off. maybe it was time to start giving something back, even if just a little.

when you walked into the hospital, the familiar buzz of activity greeted you. you spotted jiwoo at the nurses’ station, her head bent over a stack of charts.

you approached her quietly, holding out the iced caramel latte. “here.”

she looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. “what’s this?”

“thought you’d like one,” you replied, shrugging.

she stared at you for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “wow, y/n. are you feeling okay? did you hit your head?”

you rolled your eyes, but there was a faint smile on your lips. “don’t get used to it.”

she laughed, taking the drink. “thank you. seriously. this is…really sweet of you.”

you nodded, already turning to leave. “see you later.”

“karina’s a good influence isn’t she?” she raised an eyebrow, teasing tone audible. you flipped her off, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

right.

the rest of the day passed in a haze of patient charts and routine procedures. you kept your phone off, avoiding the temptation to check for a reply from jimin but as the hours wore on, you found yourself thinking about her text more and more.

despite your earlier message, you couldn’t shake the image of her showing up at the hospital later, bubble tea in hand, her grin as smug as ever.

you hated how much the thought warmed you. but you didn’t push it away either. maybe you were starting to feel okay with someone caring again.

the faint hum of fluorescent lights filled the space as you flipped through a patient’s chart. it was a rare quiet in your often chaotic schedule these past few days, one that allowed you a moment to breathe and reset before the next inevitable call.

signing off on an order, you heaved out a sigh as you reached out for your pen. then, an older nurse came barrelling towards you — panting.

“doctor y/n!” she called, her tone sharp enough to cut through the calm.

you straightened immediately, the chart forgotten. “what is it?”

“we’ve got a trauma case in the OR,” she said, her words rushing out in a panicked stream. “male, thirty-one, massive internal bleeding from a car accident. he’s critical. there’s no other trauma surgeon on call.”

you froze for half a second, the weight of her words sinking in. the situation wasn’t unusual; emergencies happened all the time, but when she added the final detail, your stomach twisted painfully.

“he was on his way to his wedding,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

the words hit you like

“prep the OR,” you said firmly, already moving. “i’ll be on my way.”

the words hit you like a truck, but you didn’t let it show. you pushed the memories down, shoving them into the mental box you had built for moments like this.

there was no time to think, no time to feel.

the operating room was a blur of activity when you arrived, the team already scrubbing in and preparing the patient. you quickly donned yours, hands moving with practised precision even as your mind raced.

the man on the table looked young, too young to be fighting for his life. his face was pale, his breathing shallow and the monitors surrounding him beeped erratically.

“what’s his status?” you asked, your voice calm despite the chaos around you.

“male, 31, car accident on the way to his wedding. chest trauma, ruptured spleen, internal bleeding, fractured ribs — we tried contacting other trauma surgeons, but you’re the only one available.”

you clenched your jaw, nodding as you pulled on your gloves. there was no room for hesitation now, no room for your own feelings to surface. the situation was painfully familiar, too close to home, but you buried it deep. your only focus was the man on the table, his life hanging by a thread.

you nodded, stepping into position. “scalpel.”

the surgery was gruelling. time seemed to blur as you worked, every second stretching into an eternity. the damage was extensive — a ruptured spleen, lacerations to the liver and fractures to his ribs that had caused additional complications. you moved methodically, your hands steady even as sweat trickled down your temple.

“suction,” you said, your voice steady despite the pressure.

the nurse complied and you continued, carefully navigating the delicate web of organs and tissues.

“laceration to the liver,” you muttered, leaning closer. “clamp here. we need to stop this before we lose him.”

time blurred as you worked, every movement calculated, every decision critical. the fractures in his ribs had caused additional internal damage, complicating an already precarious situation.

“keep the suction steady,” you said, glancing at the anaesthesiologist. “how’s he holding up?”

“stable for now,” came the reply, though the tension in the room didn’t ease.

the hours dragged on, your focus unwavering even as exhaustion began to creep in. piece by piece, you repaired the damage.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, the monitors began to steady. “his vitals are improving,” one of the nurses announced, relief evident in her voice.

“he’s going to make it,” you stepped back, your hands trembling slightly as you removed the gloves.

the team around you exhaled collectively, and a few murmured congratulations filled the room. but you didn’t feel triumphant — just drained.

you barely made it outside before pulling out a cigarette, your hands still shaking from the adrenaline. the first drag burned your throat, but the sting was grounding, pulling you back into yourself.

leaning against the hospital’s garden wall, you stared blankly at the stick in your hand.

the man’s story, on his way to his wedding, was too close to home. it dug up memories you’d spent years trying to bury.

the cigarette fell from your hand as the first sob escaped your lips, your shoulders trembling under the weight of three years’ worth of suppressed grief — fingers curling into fists, nails digging into your palms as your breath hitched.

the memories came in waves, unrelenting. you’d spent three years holding it all back: every ounce of heartbreak, every pang of humiliation, every question that would never be answered.

but tonight, the dam finally broke.

you thought about the way you stood there, waiting, believing with everything in you that she would show up. the way you smiled nervously at your parents, at hers, then to the guests who had all gathered to celebrate something that wasn’t real anymore.

the embarrassment, the pitying glances, the murmured apologies you had given when it wasn’t your fault — it all came rushing back, every detail sharper than it had been in years.

the door to the garden creaked open behind you, and you stiffened, trying to choke back the sounds of your crying. you didn’t want anyone to see you like this but the footsteps were soft, familiar and you knew who it was before you even looked up.

jimin.

she approached slowly, her shoes crunching lightly on the gravel. she didn’t say anything at first, just stopped a few feet away, her presence warm and steady. you didn’t look up nor acknowledged her, but you didn’t have to. she came closer, lowering herself to sit beside you on the bench.

at first, she didn’t touch you. she gave you space, her hands resting in her lap as she watched you silently. but when your sobs grew louder, your shoulders trembling uncontrollably, she shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you.

she had seen you leave the hospital, your steps hurried and your shoulders hunched as if you were carrying something too heavy for anyone to bear. she had followed, keeping her distance, not wanting to intrude but unable to let you be alone in whatever you were carrying.

“it’s okay,” she said softly, her voice steady and grounding. “let it out. i’m here.”

she’d never seen you like this. not even on that day three years ago. back then, you held yourself together, a picture of forced composure that betrayed none of what you were feeling.

you leaned into her without thinking, her warmth a comfort you hadn’t realised you needed. she wrapped her arms around you as the tears kept coming, her presence anchouring you in a way that words couldn’t.

she held you tightly, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, the other resting against your head. she didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop you. she just let you fall apart.

it felt like hours passed before your sobs began to subside, your breathing slowing into uneven gasps. you pulled back slightly, wiping at your face with trembling hands.

you didn’t dare look at her, too ashamed of your outburst.

“why do you do this?” you finally said, your voice hoarse and broken.

jimin frowned, tilting her head. “do what?”

“this,” you said, gesturing weakly between the two of you. “why do you keep doing all these nice things for me? why do you care so much?”

her expression softened, but before she could answer, you kept going, your voice rising with frustration — not at her, but at yourself.

“i’m…fucking look at me, i’m damaged goods, jimin. she left me for a reason and that’s because i wasn’t enough for her. and if i wasn’t enough for her, how the hell could i ever be enough for you?”

she opened her mouth to speak, but you pressed on, the words pouring out of you like a dam had broken.

“you should be with someone who has their shit together, someone who isn’t this broken mess. i don’t need fixing and i sure as hell don’t want fixing. i’m not your project, jimin. i don’t deserve this. i don’t deserve you.”

the silence that followed felt deafening. your chest heaved, the weight of your own words leaving you feeling exposed and raw. you kept your eyes on the ground, unable to face her.

then, slowly, she reached out, fingers brushing against your cheek and cupped your face in her hands, her touch gentle but firm. she tilted your head up, forcing you to meet her gaze. her eyes were glassy, tears brimming at the edges but her expression was steady.

“y/n,” her soft voice was shaking slightly but full of conviction. “you don’t get to decide what i feel. and you don’t get to tell me what you deserve because i’ve already decided what you deserve. and that’s everything.

you blinked, stunned into silence as she continued.

“i love you,” she said, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that made your chest tighten. “i love you. not because you’re perfect, not because you’re some project i want to fix. i love you because you’re you.”

her thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks, her voice breaking as she went on. “you’re messy. you’re stubborn. you push people away because you’re scared, and you think it’s easier to be alone. but you’re also kind and strong and you care so much that it hurts you. and i love all of it. all of you.”

your breath hitched, your heart pounding as her words settled over you. “jimin, i —”

“no,” she interrupted gently, shaking her head. “let me finish. i know you don’t believe me right now. i know you don’t feel like you’re enough. but you are. to me, you are.”

her voice cracked again as she took a deep breath to steady herself. “and even if you can’t see it yet, i’ll wait. i’ll wait as long as it takes for you to realise that you are enough. that you’ve always been enough.”

tears blurred your vision again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. you stared at her, unable to find the words, the weight of her confession leaving you breathless.

“jimin,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling. “i don’t know if i can —”

“you don’t have to,” she said softly, her hands still cradling your face. “not right now. not until you’re ready. but just…let me stay. let me be here for you. that’s all i’m asking.”

you nodded, the smallest of movements, but it was enough. she pulled you into her arms again, holding you tightly as your tears began to fall once more…not from grief, but from the overwhelming relief of not being alone anymore.

perhaps you didn’t have to carry everything on your own anymore.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the tiny apartment in lisbon was quiet, save for the distant sound of street vendors calling out to evening crowds.

minjeong sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor, her back leaning against the peeling wall. the room was sparse; just a bed, a suitcase, and a second-hand lamp casting a dim glow. this was her life now, moving from one place to the next, never staying long enough to plant roots.

it had been three years since she left.

three years of running, of trying to escape the shadow of the person she used to be. it hadn’t worked. no matter where she went, the memories followed her, clinging to her like smoke.

she thought back to the day she ran away with mingyu. she still didn’t understand why she had done it. it felt like rebellion; breaking free from the cage of her life. he had offered her a way out, a chance to escape the constant grind of fame, the suffocating expectations of being winter of aespa. in her desperation, she’d taken it without thinking.

it had been a mistake — the worst one of her life.

two weeks. that was all it took for everything to fall apart. he wasn’t the solution to her problems; he was just another lost soul trying to fill his own emptiness. they argued constantly, their personalities clashing until every word between them felt like a fight.

the final straw had been a shouting match in a dingy motel room somewhere in melbourne. she packed her bag that night and walked away, leaving him without a goodbye.

but leaving him didn’t fix anything. the damage was already done.

minjeong had spent the next three years living like a ghost, drifting from one country to another, working odd jobs to make ends meet. she cleaned houses in barcelona, waited tables in florence and even worked as a gardener in interlaken. she learned to enjoy the simplicity of it all — the routine of making her own meals, the anonymity of blending into crowds.

for the first time in her life, she wasn’t winter; the idol. she was just minjeong, a girl trying to figure out who she was.

the solitude changed her. she learned to live without the luxury she took for granted, without the constant validation of fans or the adoration of the public. it was hard, but it forced her to confront herself, to look at the mess she had made and start picking up the pieces.

but no matter how much she grew, no matter how much she tried to move on, there was one thing she couldn’t escape: you.

you had been the best thing that ever happened to her. she didn’t deserve you, not then and certainly not now. but you had loved her anyway, in a way that no one else ever had.

when the pressure of fame had weighed her down, when she felt like she was suffocating under the expectations of the world, you had been her lifeline.

she thought about the nights you stayed up with her, holding her close when the world felt too big. she remembered the way you would look at her, like she was more than the perfect image she tried so hard to maintain.

you saw her; the messy, flawed, human version of her…and you loved her anyway.

you had saved her when she was drowning. and how did she repay you? by leaving. by walking away on your wedding day, the day she should have promised herself to you forever.

she thought she was sparing you the burden of her brokenness, but all she did was break you too.

she thought about aespa too. they had been her sisters. she had abandoned them without a word, leaving them to pick up the pieces of her absence. she often found herself scrolling through their social media profiles, her heart aching at the sight of aeri and yizhuo laughing together or jimin’s rare selfies.

but it was jimin’s posts that hurt the most.

jimin had been her best friend, the one who knew her better than anyone else. now, her life seemed to revolve around you. her posts were filled with snapshots of dinners, quiet moments and candid photos of you that made minjeong’s chest tighten.

you were still beautiful, even more so than she remembered. but there was something different about you now — an air of weariness and guardedness that hadn’t been there before.

she knew she was responsible for that, and it tore her apart.

the breaking point came one quiet afternoon. she was scrolling through her phone, her thumb idly swiping through posts, when an article caught her eye.

“aespa’s karina opens up about her romantic life: ‘we’re taking things slow, but it’s happening.’”

her breath hitched as she clicked the link, her heart pounding. the article detailed jimin’s recent interview, where she had spoken openly about someone she’d been seeing.

“i’ve been spending a lot of time with someone who means a lot to me,” she had said. “we’re working our way through things in a romantic setting, but very slowly. there’s a lot of healing involved for both of us. but…i’m happy. she’s worth it.”

the accompanying photo was of jimin and you, leaving a restaurant together. her hand rested lightly on your back, her expression soft, almost protective. you looked relaxed, even happy, but there was still a shadow of something unreadable in your eyes.

minjeong stared at the photo for a long time, her chest tight. jimin’s words echoed in her mind: “she’s worth it.”

she closed her phone and sat in silence, her hands trembling. the reality of what she lost hit her all at once — not just you, but the life you could have had together.

and now, jimin was stepping into the space she had abandoned.

that night, she booked a plane ticket to seoul.

it wasn’t a decision made lightly, but she couldn’t stay away any longer.

she needed to apologise; to you, her family, to everyone she had hurt. she didn’t know if you would forgive her, but she had to try.

no matter how much time had passed, one thing remained true: you were her soulmate. and she wasn’t ready to give up on you, not yet.

“minjeong?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#Spotify #kpop x reader #kpop gg #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #karina imagines #karina x reader #karina #winter x reader #winter imagines #kpop imagines #minjeong x reader #jimin x reader

513 notes · View notes

bambooswordwielder · 10 days ago

Text

Obsessed with the fact that Shen Yuan only transmigrates when all the Peaklords have settled into their positions for a few years because the idea of Shang Qinghua being stuck watching Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge arguing for nth time about some budget detail that is DEFINITELY getting overblown now and just being stuck thinking

"Damn this would've been such a good enemies to lovers plot line... Imagine how much I could've made off of them..." and regretting not monetising their rivalry more before he killed off Liu Qingge ( "Oh and the angst Shen Qingqiu would've faced after his secret lover died and everyone blamed him for it! Fans would've been begging for more extras!" 🐹💔)

Like all the peaklords are desperately trying to mediate and fix the situation and Shang Qinghua is just imagining his one hundredth Fix-It Fic/AU where Shen Jiu is the King's trusted scholar and Liu Qingge is the King's personal bodyguard

Everyone thinks when a single tear falls from Shang Qinghua's eyes its because during Liu Qingge and Shen Jiu's fight they destroyed both his newly drafted budget (for the fifth time that month) and the fact they also destroyed the table (for the third time that week and the week just started)

Reality is Shang Qinghua is crying because he thought of an angsty death scene for the two Romeo and Juliet style because both their families couldn't accept them being together

Years of this pass and at some point he even picks up writing again (specifically about characters clearly based on Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge) and he gets really popular, popular enough his novels start to flood all of Cang Qiong and even Liu Mingyan takes some inspiration from them

Everyone knows damn well that the characters are clearly meant to be Peaklord Shen and Peaklord Liu, but no one tells because they all are legitimately waiting for the next volume of "Battle-to-your-poisonous-heart-and-peaches"

Does everyone know it's Shang Qinghua... Noooo.. Would anyone admit if they did know.... No.

Then all the sudden on day Shen Qingqiu suddenly looked in the dictionary and discovered what the word 'nice' is and now he doesn't abuse his students 🐹🤯

He even let himself get poisoned and potentially ruined his cultivation for life for Luo Binghe of all people!? Um excuse Airplane Logic, but the MC is supposed to only get all the good stuff AFTER he falls into the abyss!

And what's this about Liu Qingge helping to 'clear' his meridians so he has to personally visit Qing Jing peak every week?? Def something is off, an author knows fishy when he sees it

For how many years Shang Qinghua is stuck watching these two do their whole "You're my precious Shidi" and "I'll always be here for you" act and he's just stuck eating dogfood wondering when exactly is the marriage extra coming in and why the System won't tell me why Shen Qingqiu is acting all happy go lucky now

Shang Qinghua notices Shen Qingqiu talking to Yue Qingyuan more, he notices Qing Jing disciples running straight to Shen Qingqiu with joy and excitement rather than the reserved fear they had before, he notices how Shen Qingqiu only glares at him twice every meeting than before!

Maybe this isn't his version of PIDW, maybe it's a fan made version where Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu fall in love and with the power of love and friendship Shen Qingqiu learns to be kind and to care and isn't going to cause Luo Binghe to go down his dark path and maybe they can all have a happyily ever after—

*Endless Abyss Arc*

"Oh fuck–"

[Before Endless Abyss Arc]

*Shang Qinghua watching from a distance as Luo Binghe is practically clinging to Shen Qingqiu's side. Shen Qingqiu pats Luo Binghe's head and Luo Binghe does THAT smile he only does for his wives*

"Well this is an interesting fanfic..."

[After Airplane Reveal]

"Wait... So you're actually a transmigrater as well, Cucumber-Bro?"

"Yeah, and?"

"..."

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Do you hate, or have you at least at some point hated, Liu Qingge?"

"I– No–Wait what???"

"Let me reword it. Have you ever considered murdering him at one point?"

"WHYAREYOUASKINGMETHESEQUESTIONS!? YOUKNOWWHATHAPPENEDTOSHENJIU! IMNOTRISKINGHISFATE!"

"... So I'll take that as a no."

"OBVIOUSLY!?"

"So it's just a normal Friends to lovers 😮‍💨 No flavour 🙄"

Shang Qinghua was then brutally attacked.

[During the Five Years SY was dead]

*Shang Qinghua watching Liu Qingge go every single day to fight Luo Binghe for Shen Qingqiu's body*

"Oh my Airplane.... It's not a enemies-to-lovers... It's not Teacher X Disciple... It's a bloody love triangle with both! Oh how much money this plot would've made me 💔 I would've been able to pay for four months worth of rent and groceries!"

Random Disciple visiting An Ding: "Um.... Is Shang-Shibo okay? He fell on the ground?"

An Ding Disciple: "Leave him. He does that sometimes. Now about your budget request..."

*Shang Qinghua screaming in the background*

Random Disciple: "..."

An Ding Disciple: "..."

Random Disciple: "Should we check on–"

An Ding Disciple, now dragging other disciple away: "Let's settle this at your peak."

Years later when Bingqiu have already had their wedding and everyone has become somewhat tolerant of their relationship, Shang Qinghua just sighs loudly and Shen Yuan asks him what's up. Shang Qinghua looks him in the eyes and just shakes his head.

"My ship...💔"

"..."

"OW– Why did you have go hit me on the head!?"

"Because I don't want to know what's going on in there and I need to make sure what's in there stays in there."

#svsss #shang qinghua #shen jiu #liu qingge #shen yuan #liujiu #liushen #broke shang qinghua days 💔#imagine what was going through Shang Qinghua's mind when he started seeing his scum villain being nice to everyone #“You're not allowed to do that! That's against Protocol!”#Shang qinghua really thought they were in a enemies-to-lovers hurt/comfort fix it fic #Turns out he's stuck in Luo Binghe's self insert fanfic 💔#Yue Qingyuan: “Shang-Shidi we have to prepare a budget for Qingqiu-Shidi's wedding”#Shang Qinghua: “Oh? Really! Oh wow I thought Liu Qingge was never going to get his act together—”#Yue Qingyuan: “Oh no it's for Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe.”#Shang Qinghua: “...” *Incoherent screaming*#“MY ENEMIES TO LOVERS ARC 💔!”#ooc I know but canon is a recommendation we ignore #I based this mostly off me writing some scenes for ocs and realising I liked a ship other than my 'canon' one more #shen qingqiu #bingqiu

379 notes · View notes

thelovehypothesis · 2 months ago

Text

Between the Pit Walls and the Heartbreak

(part 2.1) (part 2.2)

Franco Colapinto x fem-engineer!reader

+3k words

a/n’s: full credit to @afterglowsainz go read their fic “don't smile” its amazingggg and so this is my take on the fic because I loved the concept and have two versions of part 2 for this! hope you like it.

warnings: angst!

Summary: Two hearts, one racetrack, and a love that no team principal can control. When love collides with ambition, can they find a way back to each other?

You stood at the other edge of the Williams garage, watching as Franco climbed out of his FW46 for what felt like the hundredth time that week. Every step he took felt heavier than the last, every glance between the two of you loaded with words left unsaid. It was different now, and both of you knew it.

When Franco signed with Williams to finish the 2024 season, your heart became a battlefield of excitement and dread. You were his race engineer, the one who knew him better than anyone else on the grid, the one who stayed up late going over data with him, strategizing, and pushing him to be the best. You had been with him since F3, a time when your paths crossed because of your families. They had been friends for years, and your parents had pulled some strings to give you a chance to prove yourself as a young race engineer, even funding the early stages of your career.

At first, people doubted you. They thought you were only there because of your family’s connections, but you quickly silenced those voices. You stayed up late, crunching data, analysing telemetry, and refining strategies for Franco’s races. You weren’t just there by luck; you were good—really good. Your talent quickly shone through, and soon enough, bigger teams were offering you positions. You could have taken those offers, stepped into a more high-profile role, but you never did. You stayed with Franco.

Because you loved him. You had fallen in love with him.

It had started subtly—a glance here, a shared laugh there. You weren’t just his engineer; you became his confidante, his friend, and eventually, you found yourself falling for him. He looked at you after each race win like you were part of his victory, not just a cog in the machine. Your bond deepened as you moved with him from F3 to F2, and every time a team came knocking with an offer, you turned them down. They could offer you prestige, money, and opportunities, but they couldn’t offer you Franco.

He was the reason you stayed. Every lap he completed felt like your own heartbeat; every podium, every victory was something you shared with him. It was more than just work—it was love.

But everything changed when he signed with Williams.

-The Call

The moment Williams confirmed Franco as their new driver for the remainder of the 2024 season, everything changed. You had been publicly by his side for over two years, a relationship that everyone in the paddock knew about. Your love story wasn’t a secret—far from it. Fans followed your every move, your Instagram was full of pictures of you two at races, on vacations, and even behind the scenes in the paddock. You had been his race engineer since F3, and people saw your partnership as an unbreakable duo both on and off the track.

When you were reassigned to Alex Albon’s car, it wasn’t just a professional shift; it felt personal. The move should have been a tremendous opportunity in its own right—working with a driver as talented and respected as Alex was no small feat—but it was hard to see it as a win when it meant being separated from Franco. The paddock was buzzing with speculation about how the change would affect your relationship.

But the hardest blow came in a private meeting with James Vowles, the team principal. He sat the two of you down, his tone serious, and made it clear in no uncertain terms: there could be no personal distractions. He acknowledged the public nature of your relationship, but made it clear that professionalism first, always. There was no room for messy relationships that could compromise team integrity, that moving forward, there needed to be boundaries. Williams was entering a critical phase, and the last thing they wanted was for emotions to compromise performance.

James’s words echoed in your mind long after the meeting ended. “It’s nothing personal, it’s about keeping the team focused. We’ve all seen how relationships can become distractions in this sport. We need to keep things professional, especially now that Franco is in F1.”

You had expected some tension when the move was announced, but not like this. You weren’t just any race engineer—you had stood beside Franco for years, helped him rise through the ranks. Your love had grown through the late-night data reviews, the shared victories, the quiet moments after race weekends when it was just the two of you. To be told that this love, something that had been a part of your lives for over two years, was now considered a “distraction” was gut-wrenching.

Franco was the one who made the call, though. “It’s for the best,” he’d said, voice breaking just a little. You could see how much it hurt him to say it, how his voice faltered for just a second, but you also knew he was trying to protect both of your careers. He couldn’t afford to let emotions get in the way now, not when he was on the brink of making a name for himself in Formula 1. And you didn’t want to be the one to hold him back, either. So you agreed, even though it felt like your heart was being torn in two. You could see the conflict in his eyes, but the weight of the moment crushed any objections you might’ve had. You didn’t want to be the reason he failed to thrive in F1. And so, with a single nod, you agreed to end it.

It was a quiet breakup—no big fights, no yelling, just an excruciating silence that followed you like a cloud for weeks. You’d kept things under wraps so well that even the fans didn’t catch on immediately. But they were observant; they always were. It wasn’t long before they noticed the subtle changes. Your Instagram went private, the photos of you two celebrating F2 podiums together disappeared, and though you still posted about the races, the personal connection that had once been there was gone.

Speculation began to swirl in the background, but you never confirmed or denied anything. You let the fans talk, let the rumours grow, because addressing them would only bring more pain. And in the paddock, Franco became just another driver. Professional, distant, and cold in a way you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t stand it.

You threw yourself into your work with Alex, who was a consummate professional, always supportive, but even he noticed the toll it was taking on you. “You don’t have to pretend, you know,” Alex had said one evening after a particularly long debrief session. “It’s okay to feel hurt.”

But admitting that hurt felt like a betrayal of everything you’d tried to hold together. So you buried it deeper.

As the season progressed, the distance between you and Franco only grew. He was focused on his races, and you were determined to be the best engineer you could be for Alex. But no matter how hard you tried to push Franco out of your mind, he was always there. You saw him every day, heard his voice over the radio, watched him in the garage. It was torture, and you couldn’t escape it.

There were moments when he would catch your eye from across the paddock, and for a split second, it felt like old times. But then reality would crash down, and you would remind yourself that things were different now. You weren’t his engineer anymore. You weren’t his anymore.

And yet, despite everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to move on. You still loved him. The offers from other teams continued to pour in—teams that saw your potential, that recognized your talent. Mclaren, Aston Martin, even Mercedes reached out, but you turned them all down. How could you leave when Franco was still here? You had built your career with him by your side, and even though your relationship was over, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

But you knew it couldn’t last. Eventually, you would have to make a choice.

—The Wall Comes Down

It wasn’t until Suzuka, late in the season, that Franco finally broke the silence between you two. The garage was quiet, most of the crew gone, but Franco lingered by his car, his eyes darting toward you as if summoning the courage to speak.

“Can we talk?” His voice was low, tentative, and you wanted to say no, 1you didn’t want to have this conversation. You had spent the last few months trying to bury your feelings, to focus on your work and pretend that everything was fine. But the look in Franco’s eyes told you that he wasn’t going to let you walk away this time.

“We shouldn’t,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Please” he pleaded and you found yourself nodding while he guided you to his driver's room.

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “I hate this. I hate that we don’t talk anymore.”

You crossed your arms, trying to guard yourself against the emotions surging within. “We don’t talk because you made that choice, Franco.”

His jaw clenched, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “It wasn’t my choice—it was the team’s.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of unshed tears. “But you agreed to it. You agreed to break up with me like it was just another strategy call. Like we were something you could let go of as easily as a bad qualifying lap.”

“I did it for us,” he said, voice rising. “For our future. You know how cutthroat this world is—how many careers get destroyed because of personal issues. I didn’t want that for you, or for me.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Don’t lie to yourself. You did it for you. You were scared, Franco. Scared that if things went wrong between us, it would ruin your big shot in F1.”

He looked away, the weight of your words hanging between you like a wall neither of you could cross. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice softer now, broken. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was scared. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“And how’s that, exactly?” you asked, unable to stop the bitterness from creeping into your tone.

“Look I know I messed up,” Franco said, his hands shaking as he spoke. “I thought breaking up was the right thing to do. I thought it would keep us both focused, but… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend anymore.” He paused for a moment. “I still love you,” he said, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had been waiting for them, hoping to hear them for months, but now they only made you angry.

“You can’t just say that and expect everything to go back to normal,” you said, shaking your head. “It doesn’t work that way.” You looked away, the pain of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “You made your choice, Franco. You chose your career over me. You can’t just come back now and expect everything to go back to the way it was.”

“I didn’t choose my career over you,” he said, stepping closer. “I thought I was protecting us both. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I know I hurt you. I know I made the wrong call, but I’m trying to fix it now. We can still be friends.”

“No,” you said firmly, taking a step back. “I didn’t need protecting,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes. “I needed you to trust me. To trust us. But you didn’t. And I..I��I can’t just be your friend, Franco. Not when I’m still in love with you.”

The silence between you stretched out, the weight of your confession settling in. Franco’s face fell, and for the first time, you saw genuine regret in his eyes.

“I didn’t realise…”

“You didn’t want to realise,” you corrected. “You thought it would be easier to just put distance between us, to make things ‘professional,’ but that’s not how feelings work. You can’t compartmentalise everything.”

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away. “I need space, Franco. I can’t do this anymore.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, Franco nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He looked at you, his eyes full of regret, and for the first time, you saw how much this had been hurting him too. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He turned around and you watched as he walked away, your heart breaking all over again, but you knew it was for the best. Some things just couldn’t be fixed with a pit stop.

-The Offer By the time the season neared its end, you received the call you’d been avoiding for months. Red bull was offering you a position. They wanted you to join their engineering team, and the offer was too good to ignore. Prestige, a hefty pay raise, and the chance to work with another driver—a new start.

You took the job. You had to. Staying with Williams, staying near Franco, was suffocating you. And the moment Franco found out you were leaving for Red Bull? It broke him in a way you hadn’t expected.

-The End of the Season

The season wrapped up in Abu Dhabi, and the celebration felt hollow without Franco by your side. You watched from a distance as he soaked in the cheers from the crowd, the flashes of cameras capturing the culmination of a year of hard work. He had grown into a formidable driver in F1, and you couldn’t help but feel pride for him, even if you had been reduced to just another observer.

You had kept your distance for months, determined to stay professional despite how much it hurt. But as the night went on and the paddock grew quiet, you found yourself lingering. The afterparty was in full swing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join in. Instead, you found a secluded spot near the pit garages, letting the sound of the distant laughter and music wash over you as you replayed the season in your mind—every moment you had spent avoiding Franco, pretending like your heart wasn’t breaking every time you saw him.

“Hey.” His voice startled you, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned around, and there he was—Franco, standing there, his eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in a long time. Regret. Pain. Love.

“I’ve been looking for you all night,” he said softly, stepping closer. He was still in his race suit, unzipped to his waist, a reminder of everything that had changed, and yet, everything that still felt the same.

“You found me,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You hadn’t seen him this close in what felt like forever. His presence stirred up emotions you had tried so hard to bury, but here they were, bubbling up to the surface.

“I didn’t think you’d stay.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncertain, a far cry from the confident driver everyone saw on the grid. “I thought you’d already be gone.”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. There was so much you wanted to say, but where would you even begin?

Franco took another step toward you, his eyes searching yours. “I miss you,” he said, his voice breaking just a little. “I know I messed up. I thought I was doing the right thing, for both of us, for our careers. But I was wrong. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay without you. It’s not. I’m not.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you had been carrying the weight of this heartbreak for so long that it felt almost impossible to let it go. “Franco, we—” You paused, trying to gather yourself. “We made a choice. You made a choice.”

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice desperate. “I know I made the choice, but it was the wrong one. I thought we could just focus on our careers and put everything else aside, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend like you’re not the most important thing in my life.”

You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I thought I could handle it too,” you admitted. “I tried to be professional. I tried to focus on my work with Alex and push everything else away, but it’s been… it’s been hell.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he stepped even closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours. “I thought I was doing what was best for us, for you. I thought if we stayed apart, we could avoid all the complications, but I didn’t realise that losing you was the biggest mistake I could make.”

Tears blurred your vision, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled you into his chest, holding you tight as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong, and for the first time in months, you felt like you could finally breathe.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered into his chest, your tears soaking into his race suit.

He held you tighter, his hand gently stroking the back of your head. “I missed you too,” he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. “Every day, I missed you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, and in that moment, all the walls you had built up around yourself came crumbling down. The hurt, the anger, the distance—it all melted away, leaving just the two of you standing there, raw and vulnerable.

And then he kissed you.

It was soft at first, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay. But then, as you kissed him back, it deepened, all the months of pain and longing pouring into that one kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had been through together, everything you had survived. It was a kiss that reminded you why you had fallen in love with him in the first place.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were crying. His forehead rested against yours, his hands still holding you as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath shaky. “I never stopped loving you.”

You let out a soft sob, nodding as you wiped the tears from your cheeks. “I love you too, Franco. I never stopped. But we can’t just pick up where we left off. It’s been months. We’ve both changed, and... I’m still so hurt.”

Franco's face crumpled with regret, his eyes filled with desperation. “I know I messed up. I don’t want to rush anything. I just want to be with you again, even if it takes time. We can take it slow. I’m willing to do whatever it takes, just—please. I can’t lose you again.”

You shook your head, your heart breaking all over again, but this time, for a different reason. “Franco, I don’t think you understand. It’s not just about time or taking it slow. I’ve been trying to heal, trying to move on from everything. You hurt me, and I can’t go back to that place.”

He swallowed, his voice shaky. “But we can try—can’t we? We can figure it out together. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

You looked down, your hands trembling as you tried to steady yourself. “It’s not that simple. I’ve accepted an offer, Franco.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “An offer?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the next words. “Red Bull offered me a position, and I took it. I’m going to be Max Verstappen’s new race engineer.”

The shock on Franco’s face was immediate, his body stiffening as he processed what you said. “Red Bull? Max’s engineer?” His voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief clouding his expression.

You nodded, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over again. “This is my chance, Franco. My career—this is everything I’ve worked for, and I can’t let it slip away because of what we used to be.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable, but so was the understanding. He took a step back, realising that he had already lost you, not because you didn’t love him, but because too much had changed.

“I… I didn’t know,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as you spoke. “I didn’t plan for it to happen like this. But this is what I need to do, for me. I need to move forward.”

Franco stood there, silent, his eyes fixed on the ground as he tried to absorb the reality of your words. “So… this is it?”

You wiped away the last of your tears, your heart heavy but resolute. “I think it has to be. I’ll always care about you, but I can’t keep holding on to something that’s hurting me. You have your future, and I have mine.”

He looked up, his gaze searching yours one last time, as if hoping for a miracle. But when he saw the finality in your eyes, he nodded, defeated. “I understand.”

It was the hardest thing you’d ever done—walking away from Franco when you still loved him. But this wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about you, your dreams, and your future. And for the first time in a long time, you were choosing yourself.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, the sounds of the paddock fading into the background as you stepped into the unknown, leaving behind the man who had once meant everything.

But you didn’t look back. Not this time.

--- THE END ---

hope you liked it, part two is on its way.

Lots of love, Em!

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #williams f1 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris x y/n #franco colapinto smau #franco colapinto imagine #f1 2024

550 notes · View notes

empty-movement · 4 months ago

Text

GOGAI, GOGAI!!! COME GET UTENA KIBBLES

It's September 3rd. It's 1997. Princess Diana just died, and that's very important to lots of people. You, however, are chewing your nails to nubs waiting for the climax of Revolutionary Girl Utena's Black Rose Saga. It's going to air today.

But like any good fan, you're already one step ahead, because you've spent the last couple days thumbing through Animedia's September issue supplemental, the 100 page Duelist Bible. Strangely, it appears to be in English??? Wow! Thanks Nagumo for translating, Ayu Ohseki for Japanese editing, teasot for proofreading, and ME, FUCKIN' VANNA, for scanning and scanlating this massive booklet!

We've got duel summaries! We've got character design sheets! We've got a school directory! We've got THE DUEL RULES. We've got cast interviews! WE'VE GOT THAT CHU-CHU DOLL CRAFT GUIDE. Check it ALL out here, in the Something Eternal Bibliothèque! You can flip through it page by page here, or you'll also find on the page a link to a PDF version for your at home viewing/archiving needs!!

This gargantuan tome really gets it across that in 1997, you didn't have a fandom wiki or on demand viewing. If you didn't catch and record the episodes, a booklet like this becomes a critical tool for keeping track of everything that's happened up to now, and is also a way for the series creators to tap fans on the shoulder and draw attention to details they want seen but not explained in the show directly. For example, this drops at the close of the BRS, but points out Touga's sword isn't the same in Keiko's duel and in the opening sequence. A thing we don't see cashed in until MUCH later!

This has been a true and absurd labor of love on my part. I even rescanned the booklet from my originals because their quality (decades old lmao) was not worth scanlating. This took a ludicrous amount of time, and has been a main project of mine for over a year now!! I'm so happy to have gotten it done in time for the Something Eternal Watch-Along thread, and I really really hope everyone finds something cool and interesting about it! The really cool thing is this now completes the set of magazine supplementals by the big three magazines made for Utena during its run. We now have fully scanlated this, as well as Animage's June Utena Dossier, and Newtype's November Utena? (Oh My!) UTENA! Take a stroll through memory lane, be they yours or someone else's!

As always, if you like this kind of content, consider supporting us on Patreon! Especially right now, a holy grail acquisition is in the works that I will bleed to share with y'all. More on that later, lmao.

Revolutionize the World! Love, Vanna

#revolutionary girl utena #rgu #sku #utena meta #empty movement #utena translation #anime #animage #anime history #animedia #newtype #anime archiving #anime translation #utena #anthy

563 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 3 months ago

Text

why are you obsessed with me? — ryomen sukuna.

"You seemed really into it tonight." he noted casually, though his eyes held that familiar gleam. “Just playing my part, darling.” you replied with a shrug, but your voice was softer, a hint of something warmer seeping through. Sukuna stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. "Maybe we’re both playing a little too well, aren’t we, baby doll?" he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. You met his gaze, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Or maybe we’re not playing at all." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the crowd outside.

GENRE: alternate universe - modern singers au!

WARNING/S: romance, fluff, secretly dating, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, elaborate roleplay, making out, smut, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, teasing, flirting, playfulness, dancing and singing, possessiveness, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of sexual tension, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, frontman! sukuna, front!woman/soloist! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.9k words.

NOTE: finally the starter for this year's kinktober!!! i liked this idea of sukuna being a frontman and just dating another singer and just like getting off doing this play of them having this rivalry but they're actually together??? i sat there and was like 'actually, their bed activities must go wild after every fake fight!'; anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

PEOPLE DIDN’T KNOW HOW IT STARTED. But everything about the rivalry was electric, charged with an intensity that made headlines and drew crowds. Anyone who had been there from the beginning would swear it was something you had to experience firsthand—a front-row seat to the wildfire that was your feud with Ryomen Sukuna.

Both bands had climbed their way to the top on different wavelengths: you, with your poetic lyrics and magnetic stage presence, a master of drawing the crowd into the emotion of your songs; and Sukuna, with his raw, untamed energy and unapologetic attitude, commanding attention like a force of nature. The music industry loved pitting you against each other, fanning the flames of competition, but no one had expected it to escalate the way it did.

It started innocently enough. Sukuna, in a radio interview, casually commented, “Sure, they're good, if you’re into that whole soft and emotional vibe. I just think music should have a bit more… bite.” The host laughed, the audience cheered, and Ryomen Sukuna’s grin was all teeth—sharp, confident. “You know, you gotta expect more!”

You had fired back the next day on social media with a witty post: “Bite all you want, but if your bark’s louder than your music, maybe you’re just a dog chasing its own tail.”

The tweet went viral within minutes.

The fans loved it. The music blogs devoured it, dissecting every word, every implication. Both your names were plastered across headlines, articles speculating about a burgeoning rivalry that was just too juicy to ignore. The tension simmered, but it was still lighthearted, still playful.

Then Sukuna took it to the next level.

At his next concert, in front of a sold-out crowd, he made a spectacle of it. “This next song….” he announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s dedicated to someone who thinks they can keep up with me.” His grin was wicked as the crowd roared in anticipation. The opening notes rang out—an aggressive beat, the kind that grabbed you by the throat. The lyrics were sharp, mocking, filled with clever jabs that made it unmistakable who they were about.

"Got your head in the clouds, but no feet on the ground, baby doll." Sukuna sang with a sneer. "You talk about a big game, but all I hear is sound. Nonsense!"

The audience went wild as the guitar line merged with the drums. The pyrotechnics were going insane with the beat. People ate it up. Social media exploded. Hashtags trended within the hour. Your name was on everyone’s lips, and suddenly, it was your turn.

Not to be outdone, you fired back at your own concert, taking shots at his image, his music, and even his fans. The cheers and screams were deafening; you knew you had his attention. From then on, it was an all-out war, a back-and-forth of jabs and taunts, each concert a new battleground.

Then came the diss tracks.

You released yours first, a biting, cleverly constructed anthem that didn’t just mock his music but dissected his entire persona with surgical precision. The internet went wild. Memes, fan theories, reaction videos—your name was on everyone’s lips. Sukuna's response was swift, and his diss track hit like a punch to the gut. It was brutal, unapologetic, and catchy enough that even your own fans had to admit it was a banger.

Lines were drawn. Your fans and his went head-to-head on every platform imaginable, turning comment sections and fan forums into war zones. Arguments broke out, allegiances were tested, and friendships fractured. The media couldn’t get enough, fueling the fire with articles dissecting every lyric, every post, every glance exchanged between you two. It wasn't just a rivalry anymore; it was a movement.

And through it all, there was an unspoken understanding between you and Sukuna. A thrill in the way your eyes met across the stage, a shared smirk when your names were spoken in the same breath. You were rivals, sure, but there was something else there too—a magnetic pull that neither of you could deny. Every diss, every jab, was just a prelude to something bigger, something inevitable.

People just had to be there. To witness the chaos, the passion, the music that became the soundtrack to an unforgettable war. To see how a feud could blur the line between hate and something far more dangerous. To feel the tension crackling in the air, knowing that this was only the beginning.

On your next concert, where you decided to strike back. “Heard some noise the other day, bothersome noise really.” you told the crowd, a sly smile playing on your lips. “Sounded like a toddler throwing a tantrum. So, I thought, why not give them something real to cry about?”

The audience cheered, sensing the impending retaliation. And you delivered, every line of your song a retort, every beat a blow aimed squarely at Sukuna. "You get on my nerves; You're so fuckin' annoying, you could poison poison?" you sang, a smirk on your lips as the crowd chanted along, the hook instantly catchy, an earworm that would haunt Sukuna’s name for weeks.

By the next day, the diss track was trending everywhere. Ryomen Sukuna was asked about it during an interview, and his reaction was priceless. He chuckled, clearly amused, his eyes gleaming with something dangerously playful. “Oh, I’m annoying, am I?” he mused, leaning back in his chair. “Well, sweetheart, when you’re that easy to rile up, it’s just too tempting not to play.”

Behind closed doors, though, it was a different story.

Backstage at a private after-party for Uraume’s album reveal, Ryomen Sukuna cornered you with a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "That was cute, baby doll." he said, his voice low, intimate. "But you know you just gave me more to work with, right?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please. As if you could come up with something half as clever."

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, his smirk growing. “You think I’m not capable of playing your game?”

"I think you're used to being a blunt instrument, hm?" you teased, leaning closer. "But there's an art to this, darling. Not just noise."

His grin widened. “We’ll see about that, baby doll.” he murmured, his hand brushing yours—intentionally, deliberately. For a moment, your breath hitched. There was a charge in the air between you, an unspoken understanding.

It became a pattern. Each new concert brought a fresh wave of insults, veiled in clever lyrics. Every interview turned into an opportunity to stoke the fire, to keep the fans on the edge of their seats. The tension, the back-and-forth, the rapid-fire comebacks—it all played out in front of the world. But behind the scenes, it was like an elaborate game, a high-stakes dance that neither of you could quit.

"You seemed really into it tonight." he noted casually, though his eyes held that familiar gleam.

“Just playing my part, darling.” you replied with a shrug, but your voice was softer, a hint of something warmer seeping through.

Sukuna stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. "Maybe we’re both playing a little too well, aren’t we, baby doll?" he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You met his gaze, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Or maybe we’re not playing at all." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the crowd outside.

He chuckled, leaning in closer until his lips were a breath away from yours. "Careful, my baby doll." he whispered. "People might start thinking about something else.”

Your smile widened, eyes locked with his. "Maybe it is." you replied, your heart racing in your chest, as his lips finally met yours, soft yet insistent. “Maybe it isn’t.”

══════════════════

THERE WAS SO MUCH ADRENALINE. You were pacing back and forth, adrenaline coursing through your veins as your bandmates tuned their instruments, stealing glances at you. The festival was the biggest one yet, and your set was right after Sukuna and his folk.

The perfect setup for another battle, another clash in this never-ending war. It was another festival gig and Sukuna was here again. But you weren’t just thinking about the performance. Your thoughts kept circling back to that smirk Sukuna flashed you from the stage earlier, as if daring you to make the first move tonight.

Your bassist nudges you with a grin. "You’re not seriously thinking about what he said last week, are you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Of course not." you lied. "But he’s been pushing it lately, don’t you think? I’m just figuring out how to outdo him this time."

Just as you said that, the door swung open, and there he was—Ryomen Sukuna, flanked by his own entourage, looking as smug as ever. His eyes zeroed in on you instantly, that familiar glint of mischief lighting up his gaze.

“Ready to get outclassed again?” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. Your set was… okay, if you’re into repetitive noise.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, ignoring the tension that rippled through the room. “Is that the best you’ve got, sweetheart? Because I’ve heard your new track… and honestly, I’m not impressed.”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart pounding with a mix of frustration and exhilaration. “Right, because your lyrical masterpiece about your ex was so groundbreaking. What was it called again? ‘Cliché’? Or was it ‘Cringe’? Hard to tell.”

Sukuna laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine, though you’d never admit it. “At least people are talking about it, baby doll.” he shot back, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, you and I both know… this isn’t about the music anymore.”

You took a step closer, refusing to back down. “Oh? Then what’s it about, Sukuna? Enlighten me.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper that only you could hear. “It’s about this… you and me, driving each other crazy. Admit it—you’re having fun.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. For a second, the noise of the festival outside seemed to fade, and all you could hear was your heartbeat, loud and insistent.

“You wish.” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m just here to win, Sukuna.”

His grin widened, and he moved even closer, so close you could see the sparks in his eyes. “Then let’s see who wins tonight, baby doll.” he murmured, a challenge in every word. "And maybe, just maybe… we’ll figure out what the hell this really is."

Before you could respond, he turned on his heel, heading out with a laugh that lingered in the air long after he was gone. You stood there, breathless, wondering how the hell he always managed to get under your skin—and why a part of you liked it so much.

Your drummer nudged you, pulling you back to reality. "So… what’s the plan now?"

You smirked, grabbing your microphone, your adrenaline surging. “The plan?” you said. “We give them a show they’ll never forget.”

As you took the stage, you saw him standing off to the side, watching you with that infuriating grin. The crowd was roaring, the lights were blinding, and somewhere in the midst of it all, you felt the spark ignite again.

This was far from over.

The roar of the crowd vibrated through the stage as you stepped up to the microphone, eyes scanning the sea of faces. And there he was, off to the side, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face. Ryomen Sukuna was waiting—waiting to see what you’d do, how you’d respond to his taunts, his challenges. The rivalry had become a game, but one neither of you were willing to lose.

You leaned into the mic, letting the energy of the moment wash over you. "How’s everyone doing tonight?" you shouted, and the crowd erupted in cheers, the noise almost deafening. "You know, I wasn’t sure if we should even bother showing up after that last set."

You paused, letting the words sink in, and a wave of laughter and excited murmurs rippled through the audience. Your guitarist strummed a sharp chord, and the band jumped in with the opening notes of your new track—the one that had set the internet ablaze.

The fans knew the first lines by heart, screaming them back at you with an energy that could only come from shared devotion. You caught Sukuna’s eye, feeling that familiar thrill at the challenge that lay in his gaze.

Halfway through the set, you decided to escalate things. You turned back to the mic, catching your breath. "You know, guys…." you began. “There’s been a lot of talk lately… about who's really on top in this scene."

The crowd cheered louder, sensing where you were going. "Some people think it’s that guy over there." You pointed in Sukuna’s direction, and the audience erupted into a mix of boos and cheers. “Hey pink head.”

Sukuna, ever the showman, gave an exaggerated bow, playing to the crowd’s reaction, which only made them more riled up.

“But I think we all know, everyone.” you continued, leaning forward with a grin. “That the real reason people are here tonight… is to see which one of us cracks first. So, what do you say, Sukuna?” You called out, your voice carrying over the noise. “Why don’t you come up here and face me?”

A ripple of excitement and disbelief swept through the crowd. Ryomen Sukuna’s smile grew wider, and without missing a beat, he moved toward the stage, his entourage trailing behind. He jumped up onto the platform, grabbing a mic from one of the stagehands, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You really wanna do this, baby doll?" he taunted, his voice low and teasing. "Because I don’t think your fans can handle what I’ve got in store."

You stepped closer, the tension thick between you, the audience practically buzzing with anticipation. “Oh, I think they can handle a lot more than you can, Sukuna.”

He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to echo off the stage walls. “Alright then, let’s give them a show.” He turned to the crowd. "How about a little live battle, right here, right now? Let’s see who’s really got the chops."

The crowd went wild, chanting both your name and his, the noise rising to a fever pitch. Your bandmates looked at you, uncertain but excited. You gave them a nod—it was on. You faced off with Sukuna, mics in hand, the beat dropping low and steady, building tension. The music swelled, and Sukuna started first, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“You think you’re on top, but you’re just a phase,

A flicker, a flame that’ll soon be erased.

I’m the storm, the fire, the one they all fear,

And when this is over, you’ll wish you weren’t here.”

The crowd erupted, and you could see the challenge in his eyes, daring you to match his intensity. He continued on, people saying ‘ey’ ‘oh’ and screaming as they echoed their words. You stepped up, not missing a beat as you grinned at him.

“You swagger and boast like you’re king of the stage,

But all that you’ve got is that pathetic, tired old ass rage.

I’m the light, the spark, you’re the one drinking cheap booze.

When I’m done, your crowd’s gonna give you nothin’ but boos.”

The audience was in a frenzy now, torn between the two of you, your words cutting into the night air like knives. Sukuna leaned in closer, his grin still in place, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer force of his presence. He was electric, enigmatic. He was everything all at once as you looked at him.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that, baby doll.” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the chaos. “But do you really think you can outlast me?”

You smirked, adrenaline coursing through you like a drug. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The beat dropped again, faster, harder, and the two of you kept going, each line sharper, each verse more biting than the last. It wasn’t just a performance anymore—it was a test of will, a clash of two forces too strong to coexist but too intrigued to stay apart.

And somewhere in the midst of it all, as the crowd surged and screamed, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t trying to win this battle. Maybe you were just trying to keep Sukuna’s eyes on you for as long as possible.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T WANT TO GO TO PRACTICE TODAY. But you decided that you were going to go anyway. Mainly because your bandmates said they’ll buy you your favorite matcha drink with your favorite croissant today. And you like to be given free stuff, so off you went, dressed in baggy clothes and headed to the studio.

The studio lights were dimmed low, and the energy in the room crackled with excitement. Your bandmates were clustered around, phones in hand, eyes glued to the social media explosion that followed your latest diss track.

They seemed more excited than you. Especially now that you get to perform it live. You sat in the center, drinking your matcha drink with a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips. The track had dropped at midnight, and by morning, it had already become the talk of the town.

The song was everywhere now. Fans and critics were dissecting every line, every beat, comparing it to Sukuna’s latest attempt at a rebuttal. But this time, you’d hit a nerve. You knew that already. Sukuna’s the type to enjoy saying something about anything and everything. Your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced down to see a message from your manager.

"Check his story." it read. “Now.”

You quickly grabbed your phone, pulling up Sukuna’s social media. Sure enough, an Instagram Live was broadcasting in real-time. Ryomen Sukuna lounged on a familiar couch, the blue glow of his phone screen casting a soft light on his face. His expression was a mix of amused disbelief and genuine intrigue, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, alright, you guys.” Sukuna drawled, glancing at the camera. “I gotta hand it to them—this track is… something. From you-know-who.” He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “But seriously, 'why you so obsessed with me?' That track is pretty interesting.”

He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “That hook… damn, it’s catchy. I’m almost flattered, really. Almost.” He paused, his grin widening. “You really think I got a Napoleon complex, baby doll? Because last I checked, I was standing pretty tall.”

The comments exploded—hearts, fire emojis, and a flurry of messages from fans of both sides, hurling playful and not-so-playful insults. He knew you would be watching his broadcast. You leaned back in your chair, smirking as you watched him. The song had clearly gotten under his skin, just as you’d intended.

Sukuna’s grin faded slightly as he continued, “But let’s talk about some of those lines. ‘Last man on earth still couldn’t get this’? Ouch. You know that’s not true, baby doll.”

Hesnickers, a mischievous gleam in his scarlet eyes. “Because if I remember correctly… you were the one who couldn’t stop staring at me from across the room just a while ago.”

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, but you kept your expression neutral. No way you’d give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his words affected you. At least….You shake your head, continuing to drink your matcha drink. Not here, you think. It would be too obvious.

Sukuna leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “But seriously, props to you and your crew. You got everyone talking, and that’s what it’s all about, right?” He winked at the camera. “Now, I guess I’ll just have to come up with something to top it… and I will.”

He ended the Live with a cocky grin, and your phone buzzed again—a new message from your manager. “He’s biting. Good job. This is gonna blow up.”

Your drummer chuckled, “Did you see the way he was trying so hard not to laugh? He’s loving this just as much as we are.”

Your guitarist nodded, absently strumming a few chords. “Oh, he’s definitely going to come back with something. What’s the next move?”

You grinned, leaning forward, fingers tapping rhythmically on your knee. “Next move? We keep pushing. He wants a war, we’ll give him a war.”

Your bassist chimed in, “And if he’s obsessed, we’re gonna make sure he stays that way.”

The room burst into laughter, and you felt a rush of adrenaline. You had Sukuna’s attention, and you weren’t planning on letting go anytime soon. You stood up and put your drink away. “Alright, alright. Time to practice.”

A few hours later, as you were leaving the studio and headed for dinner with your bandmates, your phone buzzed again—a private message from Ryomen Sukuna himself.

“Nice track, baby doll. You got guts. But don’t think for a second this is over.”

You smirked at the screen, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed back a quick reply. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

With that, you hit send, knowing full well that this game of cat and mouse was far from over. The rivalry had taken on a life of its own, and you were ready to see it through to the end.

The days following the Instagram Live were a whirlwind of activity. The media coverage of your feud with Sukuna was relentless, and the buzz around both your diss track and Sukuna's playful response only grew louder. Your fans were eagerly waiting for the next move, while the anticipation among Sukuna's followers was palpable.

Your studio was buzzing with a new energy as your band prepared for the next stage of the rivalry. You were in a brainstorming session with your team, mapping out strategies and refining ideas. The stakes had never been higher, and everyone was determined to capitalize on the momentum.

As you reviewed some rough cuts of new material, your phone once more buzzed with a notification—a direct message from Sukuna on Instagram. You raised an eyebrow. Your curiosity piqued, and opened it to find a short video clip.

The video showed Sukuna lounging in his familiar and stylish, minimalistic apartment, the camera focused on his face. He had a relaxed, almost smug expression, and he started speaking directly to the camera.

“Hey, baby doll.” he began, his voice smooth and confident. “I see you’re still all fired up from our little game. Can’t say I’m surprised. But if you think you’ve got me cornered, you’re in for a surprise.”

He paused, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’m working on something that’ll blow your track out of the water. Something special, just for you.” He leaned in closer, his tone dropping to a more intimate level. “And I promise, it’s going to make you rethink everything you thought you knew about this competition.”

Sukuna ended the video with a wink, and the message was signed with a flourish: “Yours truly, Sukuna.”

You chuckled, impressed by his confidence and intrigued by his hint. You knew this was only the beginning of a new round in your ongoing rivalry. You showed the video to your bandmates, and they were immediately excited.

“Looks like Sukuna’s not holding back.” your drummer said, leaning over to get a better look. “What’s our move?”

You grinned, feeling the familiar thrill of competition. “We push the envelope even further. If he’s coming at us with something big, we need to be ready to top it. Let’s go all in.”

The team rallied, diving into planning and creative sessions with renewed vigor. Ideas were thrown around, debates sparked, and everyone was charged with the excitement of outdoing Sukuna. Later that evening, as you were reviewing the final mix of your new track, your phone buzzed again.

It was another message from Sukuna, this time with a photo attached. It was a behind-the-scenes shot from his recording studio, showing him with headphones on, a focused expression on his face. The caption read: “Just a little preview of what’s coming your way. Can’t wait to see your reaction 😉”

You couldn’t help but smile. The rivalry was as thrilling as ever, and Sukuna’s antics only made it more engaging. You replied with a playful message: “Bring it on, Sukuna. We’re ready for whatever you’ve got.”

As you finished up for the night, you felt a rush of anticipation. The battle between you and Sukuna had transcended mere competition; it had become an electrifying dance, each of you pushing the other to new heights. And you were more than ready for the next move.

The stage lights cut through the darkness, bathing Sukuna in a dramatic, almost ethereal glow. The crowd roared with anticipation, their excitement palpable as they waited for Sukuna’s next performance. You were in the VIP section, surrounded by your bandmates, eyes fixed on the stage. The rivalry had reached a new peak, and tonight was the next chapter.

Sukuna appeared at the center of the stage, wearing a tailored black suit that accentuated his confident, charismatic presence. His expression was a mix of cocky assurance and playful challenge. He grabbed the microphone with an almost theatrical flair, and the band behind him struck up a powerful, bass-heavy beat.

He began to sing, his voice dripping with both charm and defiance. The lyrics were a direct response to your latest track, each line crafted to counter your words with his own brand of swagger and wit.

“You think you’re clever with your little diss track, babe,

But let me show you what I’ve got—watch me take it back.

You throw punches in the dark, but I’m the light that blinds,

Every move you make, every line you drop, I’m right behind.”

The crowd cheered, their energy feeding into Sukuna’s performance. His voice was smooth and commanding, each note perfectly delivered with an edge of playful arrogance. As the chorus hit, Sukuna took a moment to address the audience directly. He flashed a grin and winked in your direction, his eyes locking with yours for a brief, charged moment.

“And you think you know me? Think you’ve got my number?

Watch me turn this game around, and watch you slumber.

I’m the king of this stage, and you’re just a player,

So step aside, baby doll, it’s time for a new layer.

Call me up, call me late, rumble some date.

Come on, be obsessed with me, get home late.”

The wink was truly unmistakable—a flirtatious, provocative gesture that carried both a challenge and a promise. You bit your lower lip. It was clear that Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just participating in this rivalry; he was fully immersed in it, relishing every moment and using it to his advantage.

Just as much, you also couldn’t help but be impressed, despite the competitive edge. The rest of his performance was electrifying, and Sukuna’s ability to blend his charm with his musical prowess only heightened the tension and excitement of your ongoing feud.

As the song ended, Sukuna raised his arms in victory, soaking in the applause and cheers of his fans. He glanced over at you again, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. The crowd’s energy was palpable as they chanted Sukuna’s name, and you could feel the shift in the air—an unspoken understanding that this battle was far from over.

You turned to your bandmates, a determined gleam in your eyes. “He’s got moves, no doubt about it. But we’ve got our own plans. Let’s give him something he won’t forget.”

══════════════════

YOU AGREED TO MEET UP IN HIS STUDIO. After all, you had a key to his studio. One of only two people, besides his manager. The echo of the door clicking shut behind you was the only sound in the dimly lit room. The minute you stepped inside, a familiar hand grabbed your waist, spinning you around with a rough but playful urgency. You couldn’t help but feel adrenaline rush through you.

You looked up to see Ryomen Sukuna’s smirk inches from your face, his eyes dancing with mischief. You couldn’t help but bite your lips as he lets his attention stuck on you for a little while longer. He’d just gotten here after a long schedule today, that you knew. But he just couldn’t pass up this moment. He missed you, after all.

“You’ve really done it now, baby doll.” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "That track? You know it’s all anyone is talking about. Got my fans in a frenzy, and I can't say I'm not impressed."

You laughed, slipping your arms around his neck. “Wasn’t that the plan?” you whispered back, feeling his grip tighten possessively around your waist. “To keep everyone on their toes? To keep you on your toes?”

Sukuna’s smirk softened into something a little darker, a little more heated. “Oh, you’ve got me on my toes alright, baby doll.” he replied, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that?”

You shivered at the feel of his breath against your skin, but you didn’t back down. “And you love every second of it, darling.” you shot back, daring him with your eyes. “Admit it, Sukuna. You like it when I push your buttons.”

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a thrill through you. “Maybe I do, baby doll.” he admitted, nipping playfully at your earlobe. “Maybe I love watching you act all tough out there, throwing shade at me like you mean it. Gets my blood pumping.”

You tilted your head back, grinning up at him. “You think you’re the only one who gets a thrill out of this? Watching you strut around on stage, pretending you’re so unaffected…” You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. “I know better. I see how you watch me.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what I think when I’m up there, you know.” he growled, his lips brushing against yours, the air between you charged with electricity. “No idea how much I want to drag you off that stage and—”

You cut him off with a kiss, fierce and demanding, pouring every bit of the adrenaline still buzzing through your veins into the press of your lips against his. He responded instantly, kissing you back with a hunger that made your knees weak, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, panting slightly, foreheads resting against each other. “I knew you’d enjoy it, our little roleplay.” you whispered, your lips brushing his with every word. “I knew you’d love playing this game.”

Sukuna laughed softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Oh, it’s more than just a game, baby doll.” he murmured. “It’s our foreplay.” He grinned wickedly, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip. “Every line, every taunt, every verse… just getting me more worked up for moments like this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned into his touch, your smile matching his. “So… what’s next?” you asked, teasingly. “Another diss track? Or are we moving on to something a little more… physical?”

He chuckled again, his lips brushing yours in the faintest of kisses. “Both, baby doll.” he whispered. “Always both. I’ll keep you on your toes, and you keep me guessing. That’s how this works, right?”

You nodded, feeling the thrill of his words spark through you. “You already know it well, darling.” you grinned at him, pulling him closer for another kiss, deeper this time, more intense.

Because behind all the public drama, the mock insults, the fan wars and the staged battles, there was something real—a chemistry, a connection, that neither of you could resist. No one else knows, and they didn’t have to. Because that’s what makes it fun, that’s what gets you hot, high for him.

This elaborate game of rivals was just another way for you and Sukuna to both express that pull, that irresistible need to keep challenging each other, to keep pushing each other’s buttons in every way possible. And you knew, as he did, that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

As Sukuna’s lips moved against yours, his kiss deepening with a fervent intensity, you felt the world around you blur into a haze of desire and adrenaline. His hands roamed possessively over your body, each touch a reminder of the raw, unfiltered connection that existed between you.

The heat of his skin, the firm grip of his hands, and the way he pressed you closer only heightened the sensation that this was more than just a physical encounter—it was an embodiment of the fierce rivalry and undeniable attraction that had been building between you two.

The way his fingers traced your curves, his touch both commanding and tender, spoke volumes. It was as if he was claiming you, not just in the heat of the moment but in a way that was deeply intertwined with the ongoing battle of wits and passion you both were engaged in. The contrast between his rough, assertive touch and the gentle caresses created a whirlwind of emotions, each sensation adding to the already charged atmosphere.

As you pull back slightly, your breaths mingling, Sukuna’s gaze locked onto yours, his eyes dark with a mix of satisfaction and challenge. His smirk, still present, held a promise of more to come—more battles, more games, and an unspoken agreement that this was only the beginning of an exhilarating journey. For a moment, you think you fell in love deeper with him again.

The gradual approach of his fingertips was a slow, tantalizing tease, each moment stretched out with the deliberate pace of someone who knew exactly how to build anticipation. You could feel the heat from his touch even before his fingers made full contact, the mere thought of what was to come causing your breath to hitch and your body to respond eagerly.

As his fingers inched closer, their warmth and the promise of what lay ahead created a growing sense of urgency and need. The gentle caress of his fingertips, as they brushed against your inner thighs, was both intimate and assertive, a clear indication of his intent. The friction was electric, a stark contrast to the cool air around you, amplifying every sensation as his touch grew more purposeful.

You could feel his breath against your skin, each exhale sending shivers down your spine. His eyes, locked onto yours with an intense focus, conveyed both a challenge and a deep-seated desire. The way he watched you, his gaze dark and smoldering, only added to the overwhelming allure of the moment.

His fingers finally made contact with your womanhood, the touch both delicate and firm, exploring with a confident familiarity. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and anticipation as his fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles, teasing and testing. Each stroke was designed to elicit a response, to push you further into a state of heightened arousal.

A satisfied smirk curled on Sukuna’s lips, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of pride and desire. “You know it don’t you, hm?” he growled, his voice rough with arousal. “No one else can touch you like this, no one else can make you feel what I do.”

His words were a taunt and a promise, each thrust a reminder of the exclusive, raw connection between you. “You need this, don’t you?” he continued, his voice low and seductive. “You need me to push you, to make you feel every inch of me.”

Your breath hitched, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as a moan slipped from your lips. He was relentless, and he knew it, his movements intentional and powerful, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Admit it, baby doll.” Sukuna demanded, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. “Admit that no one else can make you feel this way.”

You bit back a moan, your head tilting back as you fought for control, but the way he looked at you, the way he moved against you—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. “You… you’re so full of yourself, darling.” you managed to gasp, though the quiver in your voice betrayed how much he was getting to you.

Sukuna chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin. “Maybe.” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse. “But you like that about me, don’t you? You like the way I take control… the way I make you lose yourself.”

As Sukuna’s breath grew heavier, mingling with yours, he leaned in closer, the heat of his body was all too much for you. His eyes, locked onto yours, held a smoldering intensity that combined both dominance and a profound passion. The teasing brush of his fingers, so close to your most intimate area, sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fiery need that built with every second.

When you finally released a groan escaping your lips, you held him tightly, your body trembling with the intensity of the moment. Sukuna’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and approval.

“You really get a load of it when it’s good, don’t you?” he teased, his voice low and filled with a playful edge. His tone was both confident and affectionate, the snicker that followed underscoring the satisfaction he felt in having pushed you to such a heightened state.

Sukuna’s words hung in the air, a provocative mix of satisfaction and challenge. His fingers continued their gentle, lingering caress, prolonging the aftershocks of your release. The smirk on his face was unmistakable—a blend of triumph and deep-seated affection that he only reserved for moments like these.

“You know, baby doll..." he said, his voice softening to a more intimate tone. “it’s not just about getting a reaction. It’s about knowing how much you need this—how much you crave every bit of it.” His hand moved with deliberate, gentle strokes, still teasing, ensuring that the aftermath was as intense as the build-up.

You looked up at him, breathless and flushed, meeting his gaze with a mix of desire and exhaustion. The connection between you two felt palpable, a mix of competition and passion that seemed to define every interaction.

“Is that so?” you managed to reply, your voice hoarse but laced with playful defiance. “And what makes you think you’re the only one who can bring me to that edge?”

Sukuna’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his lips curving into an even broader smile. “Oh, I don’t think I’m the only one. But I do like to think that I’m the best at it. There’s something about our… little games that just makes everything so much more exhilarating.”

He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear. “And you love it. Every second of it. The highs, the lows, the rivalry... it’s all part of the thrill.”

You shivered at his words, the heat of his body and the intimacy of the moment amplifying the connection between you. His touch was a constant reminder of the dynamic between you two—a blend of passion, competition, and mutual desire that made every encounter both electrifying and deeply personal.

As the intensity of the moment began to wane, Sukuna’s touch softened, and he held you close, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. The playful glint in his eyes remained, but there was also a deeper sense of satisfaction, as if the night had cemented something unspoken between you two.

“I guess we’ll just have to keep this up, you know?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

He starts to emphasize his words, his voice low and commanding, as he enters you with a slow, deliberate thrust that sends a shudder through your entire body. Each movement is precise, calculated, as if he wants to draw out every sensation, making sure you feel the intensity of him.

Your grip on his shoulders tightens reflexively, your nails scraping against his skin, leaving faint trails in their wake. The contact seems to please him, a low, almost primal growl escaping from his throat, vibrating through his chest and into yours.

The warmth between you both intensifies, the heat of the moment engulfing you. It’s stifling, but you crave more of it, each moment more consuming than the last. Your mind, once racing with scattered thoughts, is now empty, surrendered entirely to the sensations overwhelming you.

Every nerve is alive, tuned to the rhythm of his body against yours. As Sukuna pushes deeper, your world narrows to the singular, undeniable reality of him filling you completely. It’s overwhelming, exhilarating, and you’re lost in the sheer intensity of it. All that exists is him, inside you, and the way your body responds to every movement he makes.

“Say it, baby doll.” he insisted, his hand moving to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill through you. “Say you need me.”

Your heart pounded with thunderous applause, and for a moment, you hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But the way he looked at you, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, pulled the confession from your lips.

“I… I need you, darling.” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your body arching against his, craving more. “I need you, Sukuna. All of you.”

A satisfied grin spread across his face, his hold on you tightening as he captured your lips in a fierce, claiming kiss. “That’s right.” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “Only me. Always me.”

And with that, he moved with renewed intensity, each deep thrust and touch a declaration, a challenge, a promise that you were his—and that no one else could ever come close to what the two of you had. He was good, he was good at making you feel like this.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your shoulders, down the curve of your spine—each kiss a mark, a reminder that this, whatever it was between you, was uniquely yours. Every gasp, every moan he drew from you only seemed to fuel him more, his movements becoming more fervent, more determined to prove his point.

And you couldn’t help but revel in it—the way he knew your body, the way he knew exactly how to drive you to the edge and pull you back, just to see the need in your eyes grow stronger.

“You love it, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “You love the way I make you feel… the way I take you apart and put you back together again.”

You could only nod, lost in the rhythm of his movements, the intensity of his gaze, the heat that built between you. Because he was right—there was something about the way he touched you, the way he pushed you, that no one else could ever replicate. And in that moment, with his hands on your skin and his voice in your ear, you knew that you were exactly where you wanted to be.

He continued with a deliberate rhythm, his movements precise and relentless. You could feel the intensity building, every touch and motion sending waves of sensation coursing through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a mix of pleasure and the sheer force of his actions. He always knew how to push you to the edge, how to test your limits, and tonight was no different.

Each thrust was a carefully measured challenge, a dance of dominance and submission that left you breathless, gasping for air yet craving more. The friction between you was electric, sparking and crackling like a live wire, building with every moment until you felt like you might burst from the sheer pressure of it.

Sukuna’s eyes never left yours, a dark, consuming gaze that seemed to see right through you, drinking in every reaction, every gasp and shiver. “You feel that?” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. “That’s what happens when you get me riled up and excited, baby doll.”

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat, your body trembling under his touch. He was relentless, every motion a reminder of his strength, his intensity, and the unique connection that bound you together. It was overwhelming, all-consuming, the kind of sensation that left you dizzy and reeling, your heart pounding in your chest.

But beneath the raw physicality, there was something more—a deep, unspoken understanding, a bond that neither of you could deny. His touch wasn’t just about possession or power; it was about claiming you in a way that no one else ever could. And in his eyes, you could see the same need reflected back at you, a hunger that matched your own.

“Tell me, baby doll.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Tell me you feel it too.”

“I feel it, darling.” you whispered, your voice breaking with the intensity of the moment, your hands gripping his arms as if anchoring yourself to him. “I always feel it… with you.”

A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his gaze softening for just a moment, a flicker of something almost tender beneath the heat. “Good, good…” he said softly. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not now… not ever.”

And with those words, he moved with renewed determination, his hands tightening on your hips, his body pressing closer, as if trying to fuse the two of you together. The rhythm between you became more frantic, more desperate, as if neither of you could get enough, as if the very air between you was charged with the electricity of everything left unsaid.

The world around you faded, until there was nothing but him—his touch, his voice, his breath against your skin. And in that moment, you knew that whatever games you played in public, whatever battles you waged on stage, nothing could compare to this. To the way he made you feel, to the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

And as the pleasure built to a fever pitch, you surrendered to the sensation, letting it take you over completely, knowing that with Sukuna, you would always find yourself right back where you belonged—in his arms, in his gaze, lost in the heat of this dangerous, undeniable connection.

Your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, a rhythm known only to the two of you. Sukuna’s grip tightened, fingers digging into your skin just enough to remind you of his presence, his power. His breath was hot against your neck, each word he whispered sending a fresh wave of heat through your veins.

"You're mine. Only mine." he murmured against your ear, his voice thick with conviction. "No one else gets to have this… to have you like this." His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone both thrilling and comforting in its intensity.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark desire and something deeper—something that made your heart clench in your chest. "You think anyone else could handle you?" he taunted, a sly grin spreading across his lips. "Handle us?"

You couldn’t help but smile back, despite the breathless state he had you in. "N–no one." you managed to reply, your voice a whisper, yet full of certainty. "No one else would even come close. Only you.”

His grin widened at your words, his eyes lighting up with that familiar mix of pride and satisfaction. "Damn right." he said, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing, almost tender gesture before capturing them in a fierce kiss. “Only me.”

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, the air between you charged with an intensity that was almost palpable. "We could do this forever, you know," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his expression suddenly serious. "Keep pretending, keep pushing each other… but you and I both know the truth."

You looked up at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his gaze. "And what's that truth, Sukuna?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against yours as he spoke. "That no matter what happens on stage, no matter what anyone else thinks… this is real. What we have… it’s real."

For a moment, all the bravado, all the games, all the theatrics fell away, and it was just the two of you, standing at the edge of something deeper, something more profound. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of rightness settling in your bones. "Yeah, of course." you whispered back, your hand finding its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "It’s real."

And as his lips met yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, you knew that whatever this was—rivalry, love, obsession—it was something you wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Because with Sukuna, every line blurred, every touch sparked, and every word spoken between you felt like the beginning of a song only the two of you knew the lyrics to.

A song that, no matter how many verses you added, would never truly end.

══════════════════

epilogue

The social media buzz had been relentless since the rivalry between you and Sukuna had begun. Fans and media alike were glued to every update, eagerly dissecting every new development in your ongoing feud. It was a carefully crafted spectacle, each move calculated for maximum impact. But what came next was entirely unexpected.

Sukuna was known for his bold, often controversial social media presence, but this latest post took things to a whole new level.

The photo he shared was striking and intimate—a mirror selfie in which Sukuna stood with his back to the camera, his muscular body on full display. In front of him, you were barely visible, your form concealed mostly by his arm, his body strategically positioned to cover you. The image was provocative, suggesting an intimacy that had never been publicly acknowledged before.

The caption, simple yet loaded, read: “My baby doll likes excitement.”

The post exploded across the internet. Fans, already used to the charged tension between you two, were stunned into silence before erupting into a frenzy of speculation and excitement. The comments section was a whirlwind of reactions, from shock to adoration, as people tried to make sense of this unexpected revelation.

At first, there was a stunned silence from your side. You were sitting in your living room, scrolling through your feed, when you saw the post. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the image and the caption. The boldness of it was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

Minutes later, your phone buzzed with notifications. Your own social media accounts were flooded with messages, your fans reaching out with a mix of curiosity and support. Some were confused, others were jubilant, but everyone was talking about it.

You decided it was time to respond, and you crafted a post that acknowledged the new development without backing down from the playful rivalry. You shared a photo from one of your concerts, the stage lights casting a dramatic glow.

Your hands were littering towards his naked chest while you were dressed on your stage outfit. He came to visit you and well....had fun in your waiting room. You added a caption: “Guess Sukuna’s not the only one who likes a little excitement. See you on stage, my darling.”

Sukuna’s reaction was swift and equally bold. He replied to your post with a comment: “Looking forward to it. Let’s see who can keep the audience more entertained.”

The exchange between you two set the internet alight. The combination of intimacy and competition only fueled the frenzy, turning your personal revelation into the hottest topic of the moment.

Behind the scenes, the two of you found solace in the chaos, a private celebration of your bold move. When you next met, the atmosphere was charged with a new kind of excitement.

Sukuna greeted you with a grin that spoke volumes. “Well, that certainly stirred things up, hm?” he said, pulling you into a fierce hug.

You laughed, your heart racing with the thrill of it all. “You’ve got that right.” you replied, looking up at him with a smile. “But you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Ready for the next round?”

You looked into his eyes, a mix of challenge and affection in your gaze. “Always.” you whispered back. And with that, you both knew that whatever came next, it would be just as exhilarating and unpredictable as the ride you were already on.

371 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 10 months ago

Text

Title: ducky

Fandom: hazbin hotel

Pairing: Lucifer x reader

Warnings: reader is Jessica rabbit coded, make reader, sexual themes, reader hates Valentino, softcore nsfw, crack treated seriously, Lucifer is a simp, reader cross dresses, reader wears lipstick, the word daddy

Notes: the amount of rewrites boy howdy

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

After every show, (name) had gifts waiting from fans.

Flowers, expensive jewelry and other things were always there but one thing always stuck out to him, an adorable rubber duck dressed like him, wearing an adorable version of the show he did previously. Todays was his pink dress, the jazz singer loved cross dressing and it seemed his admirer noticed every detail of his outfits... It had him swooning! "Oh the note!" He said looking for the rose gold paper with black ink, another joke that was corny and wishing him a good day... Oh he was so wonderful!

It was the best part of his day, really it was.

Before this, his eternity was always so drab... Singing his songs and nothing of interest happening.

"It's time" one of his security guards said seriously and (name) nodded, placing the duck in his suit pocket before leaving with the men and out the back area of the club where the limo was waiting for him.

Not before catching eyes with the one person be despised and was sadly obsessed with him, Valentino smirked as he stepped out of the limo across the street as (name) got into his own faster, not wanting to deal with him especially after a performance. He couldn't stand that moth! The demon had been obsessed with (name) for years along with his little picture box friend, he remembered when they sent him molds of their erections! Disgusting!

(Name) Made sure his driver left faster, not wanting to deal with that man any more than he needed to.

"Your father requested your presence" the driver said to (name) who looked passive "what for?" He asked as a smile found its way in his face as the driver explained about some project the demon was partaking in and wanted (name)s help, the jazz demon excited to see what was taking all his father's time these days "then let's go see, shall we?"

(Name) Was not expecting some hotel on the edge of town "Hazbin hotel?" He mumbled curiously as he walked into the hotel, his driver going on his break and (name) wasn't expecting his father to be arguing with a small blond man "papa?" He asked with a passive Expression, where Alastor smiled (name) kept passive "(name)! There you are!" Alastor said dismissing the other immediately to walk to his son "how was your show little one?" He asked his son who let out a soft huff, amused "it was quite well, what's this shindig?" He gestured to the group of people and his dad grinned.

"I have someone for you to meet"

Everyone knew who (name) was, he was on every billboard across pentagram city and Angel dust knew how obsessed Vox and Valentino were with him, throwing tantrums whenever their wooing attempts went south.

But what they didn't know was that (name) was Alastors son.

"Wait son?! Sinners can't procreate?" Charlie asked curiously as Alastor laughed robotically "he was my son when I was alive, sadly I died when he was little--"'--and I was raised by grandma!" (Name) Continued and they were curious on how (name) was in hell but decided not to prod on that and now that they looked at them, they could see the resemblances.

Height being a main one, (name) just a bit shorter than his dad.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all, now why am I here?" He asked his father curiously and the radio demon grinned wider "well you see, we need someone to notice this place and what better than the most popular jazz singer in this place!" Alastor said merrily and (name) raised an eyebrow but sighed "I will on a condition" Charlie was vibrating with excitement as she nodded "whatever you want!"

"I'm looking for someone, I don't know who they are but I have a few clues" (name) pulled out the notes and the duck from his pockets "this person botherin' ya?" Husk asked suspiciously and (name) shook his head "quite the opposite actually!" Charlie and Alastor looked at each other and then the rubber duck in realization as Lucifer looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Dad, is that your duck?" (Name) Drew his attention to the now panicking fallen angel who looked back at (name) stressed out "I think we should talk" (name) said to the blond man who followed nervously, the two going off somewhere as everyone processed what just happened.

"I can expla--" (name) stopped him with a kiss, gently holding Lucifer's face and his thumbs stroking his cheekbones before pulling back "I uh, I don't understand?" Lucifer said dumbly and (name) grinned "I never got a chance to tell you how my day was, awful rude doll~" he whispered to Lucifer and smiled at the smudged red lipstick from his performance on Lucifer's lips "s-so does this mean...?"

"Oh darling, I'm not gonna let you go... But I gotta ask, what's your name? Or should I just call you ducky?" (Name) Teased the other who looked incredibly flustered "maybe baby? Or daddy?" He teased and Lucifer was deeply confused at how this walking sex symbol was related to fucking Alastor but the kiss he was being pulled back into made him forget it all.

"They have been there awfully long" Charlie fretted and Angel dust snorted "he's related to smiles over there, god knows what's happening"

"I'm gonna check on them" she said nervously and Alastor followed, fatherly instincts kicking in as they went to the room the two wandered off too, hearing gasps and grunts and the sound of something knocking over. In a panic Charlie opened the door and Angel dust couldn't hold his laughter at Alastor and Charlie's horrified faces at the scene before them.

(Name) On-top of Lucifer with his suit half off his body and Lucifer was no better with an exposed chest and unbuttoned pants connected to (names) full lack of pants, Lucifer sporting Hickey's and red lipstick all over his body.

"DID IT HAVE TO BE HIM?!" Lucifer was exasperated as the two quickly put themselves together and Charlie was traumatized at the fact she saw her dad... Like that.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #lucifer x reader #Lucifer x male reader #male reader #x male reader

932 notes · View notes

cybernaght · 1 year ago

Text

The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe.

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”.

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours.

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we?

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals.

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation.

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth.

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space.

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality.

Part two. Microanalysis

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling.

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season.

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal.

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal.

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works.

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time.

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever.

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding.

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs.

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain.

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To.

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another.

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership.

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another.

Three, Intentionality

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed.

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media.

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic.

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking.

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way.

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness.

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here.

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all.

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo?

I do.

#fandom thoughts #fanon #good omens #good omens 2 #bbc sherlock #merlin bbc #think piece #it's been years and I still have no idea how to tag #conspiracy theories #fandom content #all fandoms

2K notes · View notes