#bestie i am not crying at all there's just something in my eye

[lightningandfireinmybones]

oof okay listen, i felt like in order to best understand the latest chapter I should go back and re-read ch.6 as well. i'm glad i did!

now I was originally going to comment my thots on ch.7 but as you will see it all got derailed so.. this is a love letter to my bad bitch Val Vel.

(i'll be back for Aemond cause bestie that last chapter was a huge one)

i'm adding a read more although since this is an ask idk if it will work <3

Her best friend, her most assertive protector, and she had been unforgivably absent to him for years. Running away from demons that were part of her.

yeah... ouch Val babe! And it's well established that she's not feeling that way only about Grey Ghost, or her brother, or even Aemond. It's her entire family, her complete support network that she feels like she has let down by leaving (in her mind abandoning) and now that she is back (let's not forget the circumstances of her return; under preassure from Daemon and emotional distress over Rhaenyra's health, after a life threatening situation which was half inability to care about herself and half ectively putting herself in danger) she still feels like she cannot "Do the Right thing" to not hurt her loved ones, not be a nuisance, not cause them any more grief.

the other parts of her, the ones she’d let down repeatedly.

and that's the fucking worst! if she were self assured she might have been able- better eqiupped- to handle all that stress and most importantly, find healthier ways to deal with her trauma and guilt. But now her tattered self confidence is just a mean companion. She can be self assured and make decisions for herself but she will be left in the wake of things feeling like she messed up, like she made a stupid choice (she often does). it will only feed her self hatred and fuel her self destructive/ self harming tendencies.

baby Val... ilysm. and i like to remind myself that val isnt just a person who happens to do drugs. Instead, she is struggling with substance abuse. She is experiencing the symptoms of her horrible mental state.

She’s not nearly numb enough, the lure of oblivion strong, but she pushes through. 

The walls are up, she’s unfortunately sober, and she wants to escape. She wants to stop feeling like an unwanted failure.

also there's something so interesting about the way she interacts with Dalton. i think i love it because there are no expectations there from either side. she can just call him, give no explanation, not bother with niceties and small talk and just "order" him to service her in some way and he does. i think her relationship with him is in its own way the most freeing one she has atm? the most open?

there is no emotional baggage, it's clear to them both what it is, and let's not act surprised, he is also enabling her in her Sad Slay Era. the open acess to drugs, to sex, to that exact type of physical only affection that is enough to drown out everything else while simultaneously look nothing like the deeper, emotional bond and (im never beating the romantic accusations) love they shared with Aemond.

Dalton is cool, a fine mist, a spring day with a bit of heat. He is easy, a Sunday morning in, all easy confidence and cocky smiles.

Dalton is uncomplicated and looks, acts, talks, exists completely unlike Aemond. ofc she's calling him up.

[...] Each brush of his tongue, each nip of his teeth is pleasant, but not exhilarating.

bet. i love how every thing she does to dalton is somehow mirrored in a reverse order in her memories. like she does to him what was done to her. as a way to return to those moments safely while not being in the physical position to be reminded of aemond? since they were opposites maybe the way to distance herself from what she felt with him is to act like him? idk idk... there's sth too important hapenning here and im too dumb to put it into words but bestie you slayed!

The flashbacks Val has are devastating and i hate you for them!

“You don’t give me orders,” Aemond growls, slamming her back into the wall. “I am in control here, Valaena. Never forget that.”

which is ofc followed by a "show of dominance" from Val. baby girl... intrusive thoughts are H A R D to deal with.

Maybe Im talking out of my ass but!

in her past Aemond had been controlling and assertive and dominant and whichever other synonym we can use BUT it was in a way that she explicitly enjoyed. It was a known, well established thing between them and was safe for her to explore with him.

I feel like once you drop the chapter where we see precicely what happened between them it will all make sense and just click together so nicely.

because im getting the vibes (i may be way off here) that the issue was that due to their shared trauma and childhood together, and since they clearly loved each other, as well as being each other's first AND a family member on top of that AND a safe haven from everything going on in their lives AND SINCE Val was well aware of Aemond's struggles what with his father and whatnot, she -at some point- / -probably due to aemond pushing too hard- started feeling a tad unsafe by this. or even better, insecure.

let's go with Insecure actually. because i feel like at some point the balance they had established, how they were equals in their relationship kinda shifted in a way? maybe she felt like her choice was being taken away ? (especially if aemond does end up pushing about free sex and tries to explore his breeding kink). Poor Val is scared of pregnancies and also they are extremely young!

so perhaps she made herself feel guilty for not being able to cater to precicely every need aemond had, especially when it felt good to do so, when it was pleasurable for her and worked as a bonding thing for them. that and the fact that it probably was legitimately sth that she did not fully vibe with at her age, it made her feel guilty and bad for not being able to set that boundary since to an extent it probably felt like a betrayal to Aemond??

and to actually leave him? go away for years? while knowing that she loves him and wants to be with him except for something that we dont yet know having happened between them. it was an extreme choice maybe? we have yet to find out. But whatever it may be it was definitely a hard decision and definitely cost her a lot but seemed as the best choice at the time.

but now she has to deal with the hurt and damage that choice left her with and bestie she's not doing okay!

“I think I like this assertive side of you,”

and val immediately thinks of her "sin" against aemond. how in the past this assertiveness has backfired and was used by her to betray and hurt him and in her words "fuck him over"

Baby you are unwell! it's okay. take deep breaths!

[...] like no more than an errant task to check off his to-do list. He said he’d always want her, but who would want her, the way she was?  Always telling her what she wanted to hear.

yes yes.. I'm a burden. I'm a bad person. Nobody loves me. They are only lying to placate me.

OOOOOFFFFFF. hard to return from that imma tell you that much

“Is this what you want, Valaena? You want me to control everything, down to the air you’re breathing?” Aemond whispers, searching her face. “Yes,” she chokes out, the word hanging in the air between them like a curse or a vow.

no i am normal about this. my felling are quite "meh" about those lines i dont understand what you're talking about. coudn't care less if i tried honestly.

curse or vow. Quite the choice of words. Quite the contradicting meanings. it's almost like someone who say it both ways and felt strongly about both those words would have a bad time trying to rationalise it in their mind and deal with the emotional side of it.

(I HATE YOU BESTIE WHY MUST YOU BE AN AUTHOR WHO USES WORDS THAT MAKE ME F E E L T H I N G S!!!)

[...] he’d no doubt leave her after realizing she wasn’t coming back. 

Hm... are thoughts of abandonment something you deal with regularly miss?

also aemond looked hot on the stairs.. no smartsy comment. just that he looked hot. thank you for your service ma'am

Shame, a different kind than had diffused her this morning, warms her cheeks. Criston had called ahead while she’d been waiting in the car. Now her brother could be disappointed in her too. 

i am mentally well. i am again normal about this.

[...] You’re a fucking disaster, Valaena.” “You think I don’t know that?” She says indignantly. 

“You think I don’t know that?”

Dread surges through her. She can imagine it: her mother’s contrived tears, Daemon’s white knuckled grip, the disappointment on both of their faces. She can see a news headline, something about the party princess, another round of infamy for their family.

“Don’t tell them.” [...] The humiliation she brings on herself never stops. 

she needs help yes. when you're feeling this badly about yourself that you see yourself as a disaster, a sidappointment, someone who only hurts, harms, lets down, puts in danger their loved ones, when you feel like it cannot possibly get any better it can't stop (and usually one feels that way about themselves way before anyone else notices) hearing someone out of concern say it aloud, put it into words, call you out on it feels only as a confirmation of what you already knew.

yes dread, yes humiliation. now that they see her as she truly is surely they will hate her as much as she hates herself and since she is solely a burden they will let her go.

Val my most beloved! <3 <3 <3

A sunny smile on her face, Valaena ends the Facetime, throws her phone on the counter, and proceeds with her skincare routine, finally satisfied.

Finally satisfied, after taking back control. ilhsm! perfect way to end this chapter bestie, truly as always a work of art!!

bestie this is such a thorough analysis i honestly cannot being to express my gratitude that you spent this kind of time on my brain rot bc you are SHOWING OFF THAT GRAD SCHOOL MIND, thesis level work thank u

this chapter was really supposed to send valaena to rock bottom and have a series of painful realizations,,, can't fix what you don't want to admit is broken:')

and yes dalton and valaena are written that way because dalton is both enabler and symptom relief, a little bit of a stress ball where valaena can work out her feelings with no expectations

and BESTIE i cannot wait for you to read the chapters of their last interactions, i have to know your thoughts on it when we get there lmaooo

and thank you bestie, i'll be honest, the curse or vow line was one i was v proud of so i'm glad it landed right lmfao, i like this idea of the heaven/hell, only two absolutes possible for aemond and valaena, and curse (a haunting, a loss, a feeling of fear) or vow (a promise, a light, a reason to be) is what they could be to each other, in every situation

this chapter was brought to you by the soul-crushing song "the archer" by taylor swift, where we get to explore terrifying self-hatred and doubt, applied liberally to our girl valaena

valaena is not easy to satisfy, double entendre intended, so i wanted to give her at least one win this chapter lmfao

but pls thank you for this!!! these anaylsis and long comments are honestly so meaningful and motivations, they make me feel like a real author:')v v grateful, thank you bestie

SALIVATING for your thoughts on the aemond chapter omg i could read your analysis on anything

[melatien]

tiny yoichi (unwillingly) lures out soldiers by being his helplessness little self so his brother can strike

[norrisainz33]

the call || platonic grid & gr63

☆ summary: y/n y/l/n gets a call up to race for alpine with 6 races left in the 2024 season and she’s got something to prove.

☆ pairing: platonic!grid x crush!george russell x rookie!female!reader

☆ fc & warnings: no fc. some hate comments and poor grammar on my end

☆ a/n: i was inspired by franco and liam getting called up to race for the remainder of the season and here we are. no hate to este bestie, just pretending dw. this is not supposed to be accurate to exactly how things have been playing out. smau mixed with writing!!

part 2 | part 3

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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f1: 🚨 breaking: y/n y/l/n will be racing under the number 95 for alpine for the remainder of the 2024 season alongside pierre gasly. y/n’s first race will be the united states grand prix. this is the first time since 1992 that a woman has raced in a grand prix format - this will be a historic weekend.

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user1: this is the best thing to ever happen to me you don’t understand

pierregasly: ready to attack the rest of the season with you ynuser!!

ynuser: here’s to a strong finish 💪🏻

alpinef1team: we can’t wait to have our girl on track!

user12: they really think a woman is going to be any better than what they had??? please….

user1: oh you are miserable. get out of here

georgerussell63: epic! ynuser i am so proud of you

ynuser: 🤍 see you in austin

user2: i can’t believe im witnessing a woman f1 driver in my life time. i am crying real tears of joy

landonorris: from our karting days to f1. you are amazing ynuser! looking forward to being on track with you

ynuser: so glad to be racing with you again lando 🤍

user3: this is monumental

user6: we got a woman in f1 before gta6

✿

you sat in silence staring down at the paperwork in front of you. everyone had long since left returning to their duties, allowing you to process what you had just been told. “it’s really happening,” you whispered feeling tears welling in your eyes. you were about to become an f1 driver - a real life f1 driver!! and no, not just a reserve driver who did nothing but the sim all day every day. your shoulders sagged as you blew out a sigh. “it was all worth it,” you thought back to the years of blood, sweat and tears put into racing — from leaving the comfort of your childhood home to go karting in europe, to watching your parents give up everything to make sure your dreams came true, to finding yourself in f1 academy where you won the championship, to fighting for a chance to race in f2 and becoming the only woman to finish in the points - you had given everything to this sport and you were finally getting your chance.

you picked up your phone and dialed your best friend. “y/n? hi! did you have your meeting yet?!”

“i’m going to drive the rest of the season,” you said softly.

“WHAT?!” your best friend practically screamed into the other end of the phone.

“i’m taking the second alpine seat!!! im going to be starting in austin.” the tears of happiness started falling now.

“oh my god y/n/n!!!! YOU DID IT BABY YOU DID IT!” you could hear your best friend jumping up and down in excitement.

“i did it.”

✿

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user1: i can't explain to you how excited i am to see you on track this weekend y/n

pierregasly: jealous you got the media duties with the horses and not the american football team like i did.....

ynuser: HAHA idk why they didnt send us together

pierregasly: they knew our joint slay would be too much to handle

user7: as a young woman in a male dominated field... thank you for representing us. i love you and i am so proud of you

yourbff: my flight lands in exactly 1 hour and i am shaking with excitement

ynuser: if you think you're shaking with excitement you should see me... just got word im in the pre race press conference with george and max v......... pray for me girl

yourbff: okok we knew this was going to happen. of course they'll want to talk to you!! you're the new face on the grid

ynuser: is it bad to admit im afraid?

yourbff: admitting you’re afraid just means you’re human y/n. you're allowed to feel

ynuser: idk what i'd do with out you

yourbff: you'll never have to know! now go get ready!! i'll be there just in enough time to make the conference start.

yourbff: p.s your media day fit absolutely ate that dress and the cowgirl hat was lethal. f1 should be thanking you for being such a baddie

georgerussell63: howdy ms y/n

ynuser: howdy georgie --- see you at the press conference 🙂‍↔️

georgerussell63: looking forward to it

landonorris: NEIGHHHH

ynuser: lando?

landonorris: sorry was pretending to be one of those horses so you'd pay attention to me

ynuser: hahahahaha you muppet. ive missed you

landonorris: i missed you too y/n/n! believe it or not i miss fighting it out on track with you too. ready to smoke ya just like i did in our karting days

ynuser: i mean you are in a mclaren and have a lot of practice so id certainly hope you were faster than me

landonorris: well when you put it like that its not as fun.......

user9: bought an alpine hat and am bedazzling a shirt with your name on it as we speak

✿

the alpine pr team had wasted no time sitting you down as soon as you got to austin. they ran through what to expect from your media duties, how to respond to any and all questions that might be thrown your way and how to save face if needed but somehow as you sat down on the iconic white couch and looked out at the crowd of reporters forming in front of you, you felt all of that training start to fail you. the nerves were taking over as george and max took their spots to your right. you were thankful when the british driver gave you a reassuring smile and a slight nod letting you know it was ok.

"good afternoon and welcome to the 2024 united states grand prix!" the interviewer beamed at the camera before turning his attention to the three of you. "today we are joined by max verstappen, george russell and formula 1's newest driver, y/n y/l/n."

the interviewer started by asking max about the championship and how he was feeling about lando continuing to close the gap. you used that time to steady your breathing, knowing a question was headed your way at any moment. "y/n, first of all, i want to say congratulations!" the interviewer grinned and you smiled back. "you are coming into this season with only 6 races left and a rather tall order to get up to speed quickly for some points and fight for a seat on the grid in 2025. how are you feeling about it all?"

you sighed, relieved at an easy first question, "thank you! i'm trying to take it all in stride. it's definitely a tall order because these guys have had 19 races to get a feel for their cars, work with their teams, and solidify their standings… i'm going to have exactly one free practice to learn everything before heading into sprint qualifying and i think that puts me a little bit on the back foot. though, i am more confident than ever that i can pull out some points and finish this season strong for alpine."

the interviewer nodded along intently as you spoke, "do you think being the first female in formula 1 since 1992 also puts you a bit on the back foot?"

this. this was the type of question you were dreading. you knew what it was like to be questioned about your skills purely because you were a woman, it had been happening throughout your entire life but that didn't mean it still didn't get to you. you picked your mic back up but before you could say anything into it, george was already speaking, "i don't think thats a fair question to ask. her being a woman has nothing to do with her racing, let us not forget that she is here for a reason. y/n has an incredibly impressive resume and i'd be happy to recite it for you if you need the reminder."

*george fcking russell. the man that you are* you thought as a smirk formed on your face. "thank you george," you said managing to keep your voice steady as you continued, "i don't think being a woman puts me on the back foot at all. it's 2024 - i think we're past the point of asking questions like this. I may be the first woman in way too long to race in a grand prix but i certainly will not be the last." you put the microphone down, daring the interviewer to say something in return but instead he turned his attention back to max and kept it there for the remainder of the session which you weren't mad about at all.

✿

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ynuser: p9 baby!!!!!! i scored two points!!!! cota - thank you for the love and for an incredible first weekend in formula 1. i will never forget you 🤍

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user9: best weekend of my life!!!! first gp i’ve ever been to and i got to meet you at the fan zone!! i couldn’t have asked for more

alpinef1team: try not to say goat challenge failed

ynuser: 🤍🩷

user10: i sobbed watching you cross the line

pierregasly: points points points points

ynuser: you next bestie!!

pierregasly: we’re going to both score big this triple header i just know it

user13: i love how these two have become instant friends. i hope alpine doesn’t split my family up in abu dhabi

user44: history - we’re watching you make history

francisca.cgomes: i don’t think you understand how attached i am to you now y/n

ynuser: and i don’t think you understand how much i love you kika. legally you have to come to all the rest of the races please and thank you

francisca.cgomes: for you? done!

pierregasly: um? hello?

ynuser: im sorry p.. look away

yourbff: i have no words. i love you more than life itself

ynuser: i love you - thank you for being there

landonorris: statement MADE

ynuser: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

georgerussell63: i’m so proud of you im about to openly weep

ynuser: we can openly weep together

carlossainz55: congrats y/n!

ynuser: thank you carlos 🤍

francolapinto: viva y/n!

ynuser: viva franco!

lewishamilton: 🤍🤍

ynuser: 🩷🩷

user15: noticing so many of the drivers here supporting her is everything

user4: and the fact that so many of them are praising her efforts and talking so highly of her in interviews 🥹

user15: everyone loves her (except for the rbr duo, did you see her and checo having words after that race?)

user4: omg yeah grandpa was pissed but honestly he’s probably just worried she’s going to take his seat

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user9: pretty, talented, smart … you’re the whole package

landonorris: hell yeah it does. the car will be here in about an hour! meet us in the lobby?

ynuser: yes!! assuming we shouldn’t come down too early since we run the risk of people being down there?

landonorris: yeah, no more than 5 mins before

user10: hottest person on the grid no doubt

georgerussell63: blimey i’m excited

ynuser: me too! i need a drink after this weekend

georgerussell63: you better get used to it y/n! this is your life now

ynuser: and i’m glad it is 🤍

user14: i think i have a crush on you

oscarpiastri: hi

ynuser: hi oscar!! did lando send you the details for tonight?

oscarpiastri: yes he did!

pierregasly: me and kika are ready to GO

ynuser: me and y/bff are too! let’s get this party started

user11: keep this momentum going into mexico y/n!!

user4: we needed a chronically online it girl in this sport so bad im so glad you’re here

✿

george poured you another glass of champagne as you giggled, "i should really be sick of champagne by now but i don't know that i ever will be."

"well thats good y/n/n! you're going to be drinking a lot more of it soon enough," george said loud enough that you could hear him over the music. the club was packed with more people than you would've expected for sunday evening especially a sunday evening in texas but here you were in a packed club chugging champagne with old and new friends. oscar, lily, carlos, rebecca, lando, george, pierre, kika, franco, charles and alex all came out with you and y/bff and you were honestly a bit shocked by the turn out. though you should've known that lando and george were not going to let you celebrate by yourself.

you had grown up with the two of them on the karting track and you even managed to be in f2 in the same year george won the championship. they meant a lot to you -- you looked up to them since the start so to have their unwavering support now that you made it to f1 meant more than you could express. none of this was going to be easy but being surrounded by a strong support system would make it a lot less painful.

you smiled up at george as he downed the last bit of his cocktail, intently watching as the last little bit dripped from the side of his mouth. you took a big gulp reminding yourself of the room of people around you. that was another thing that was around since your karting days... your massive crush on george. while you both had seen other people between now and then, there was no doubt that it was still alive and well. but as far as that was concerned, it was a bit of a one sided crush. it's not that george had ever told you outright that he wasn't interested, you just never had the guts to tell him and he only ever made one move and has been ignoring that it happened since. the closest you two ever got to something more than friends was the night after he won the f2 championship. you two were inseparable during that season so when he asked you to come with him back to his hotel room after his massive party, you didn't think twice about it. you two flopped down onto the bed with your takeaway meal fresh in front of you and the tv turned on to some animated movie you couldn't remember the name of. george was sitting close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of his body from where he gently was resting against yours. "y/n/n," he whispered causing you to look up at him, "i love you." you smiled, having heard him say this many times.. he was your best friend after all. "I love you too!" you responded and before you could process what happened, his lips were on yours. and unfortunately for you, thats about where that ended. george realized what he was doing and absolutely panicked, begged you to forgive him and to not talk about it again so thats what you did. but on nights like this one, where he was looking fine as ever... it was hard not to long for him.

"helllooooooo earth to y/n!!!" lando almost shouted pulling you out of your thoughts.

"yes, yes! hi!" you rolled your eyes taking the drink out of his hand.

the rest of the night passed in a blur of celebrations, laughs and champagne. things were looking up and you couldn't be more excited for what the future held for you. you had done it. your dream had come true.

✿

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alpinef1team: 1 down. 2 to go. mexico city, here we come!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: omg if you made it this far... thank you for reading!!! likes and reblogs are massively appreciated. i'm thinking of making this a series with y/n racing in the last few races of the season. if you liked this, let me know so i can judge if this will get a part 2!! much love 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[hanniebaeee]

Mystery Girl

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive MDNI

Genre: best friends to lovers, fluff

Summary: You and Hyunjin are best friends. You know absolutely everything about him. But not this one thing - his mystery girl. The one he can't stop talking about. The one who seems to have stolen his heart completely.

a/n: For Jinnie, 'coz I miss him...

You’ve been Hyunjin’s ride-or-die bestie since forever - like, forever. You were the girl who’s seen him through literally everything. Point is, you were his everything. And he was your everything. 

But lately? Hyunjin has been all sorts of weird. Like, “humming love songs in the shower” weird. And he won’t shut up about this girl. This mystery goddess who has apparently stolen his heart and soul.

You were sprawled on his couch, legs slung over the armrest, reading a book, while he sat on the other end of the same couch, grinning into his phone. You tried so hard not to stare because, truth be told, you’ve been in love with this idiot since you were 14 and he drew a heart on your arm with a Sharpie.

“She’s just… ugh, she’s perfect,” he groaned, flopping back dramatically that his head landed on your thigh. “Like, her laugh? It’s so sexy. And the way she bites her lip when she’s thinking? Oh my god...”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your brain.

“Okay, Romeo, calm your tits. Who even is this chick? You’ve been going on about her for weeks, and I still don’t have a name. What does she look like? Since when do you have secrets from me, hm?” 

He smirked, propping himself up on his elbows, and giving you a dreamy look.

“She’s just…I don't know how to say it…Like, she’s so funny, but also kinda clumsy in this hot, chaotic way. And her body? Chef’s kiss. I’d worship her like a goddess if she’d let me.” he sighed, and you did your best to ignore the way your stomach twisted. 

Picturing him worshipping someone else - some flawless angel who probably doesn’t trip over her own feet like you do had you jealous as fuck. It made you want to cry because you’ve been in love with Hyunjin so long it’s practically a chronic condition at this point.

But you were a good friend. The best friend. So you swallowed the ache in your chest and plastered on a grin.

“Sounds like a catch,” you said, tossing a throw pillow at his stupidly gorgeous face. “So what’s the problem? Ask her out already.”

He caught the pillow and hugged it, groaning again. 

“But what if she’s not into me? What if she thinks of me like a…I don't know…brother? I’d die. Literally keel over. You’d have to plan my funeral.” he said, pouting and burying his face into the pillow. 

“Oh, please,” you snorted, nudging his thigh lightly with your socked foot. “You’re Hwang Hyunjin. You're literally a heartthrob. She’d have to be blind or brain-dead to say no. Just go for it.”

He sat up, eyes glinting with mischief.

“You think I’m a heartthrob?” he asked, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” you grumbled, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m just saying, ask her out. Worst case, she says no, and I’ll buy you ice cream to cry into.”

He stared at you for a beat too long, and you could swear there was something weird in his expression. Like he was about to say something, but then his phone buzzed, and he dived for it breaking the spell.

“Hang on, I need to do something.” he said, grinning into his phone again, and your insides burned with jealousy because it obviously looked like he was texting her. 

---

Later That Night:

Hyunjin: Okay, emergency. I need your help crafting the perfect text to send her. Something sexy but not creepy. 

You: Jinnie, it's like 2 am. What's wrong with you?

Hyunjin: Pretty pleaseeeeeeee

Hyunjin: Who else would I ask

You: Idk, Lix? 

Hyunjin: Come on. 

You: How about “Hey, you free this weekend? Wanna hang out? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.

Hyunjin: Ooh, that’s good. Mysterious. Sexy. She’ll be all over it.

You: Yeah, yeah, I’m a genius.

Hyunjin: I’m sweating. What if she thinks I’m hitting on her too hard?

You: She’s gonna think you’re a dork either way, so just hit send, you noodle.  

---

One minute later:

Hyunjin: OH GOD I’M GONNA PUKE.  

You: LMAO relax, she’s not gonna call the cops over a flirty text. 

Hyunjin: What if she laughs at me?

You: If she’s laughing, it’s probably because you’re a pabo and she’s into it. Chill. Go to bed.

Hyunjin: Can’t sleep. Too busy imagining her

Hyunjin: I mean, her smile. Imagining her smile.  

You: Oh my God ewww, go to sleep Hyunjin! 

Hyunjin: Too late for that

You: ’m begging you to stop before I bleach my eyes. Goodnight.  

You tossed your phone aside, heart pounding. He was so whipped for this girl, and it was killing you. You wanted to scream and throw a fit, but instead, you just buried your face in a pillow and sobbed.

---

Two hours later:

Your phone buzzed again. You were half-asleep, sprawled across your bed, but you grabbed it anyway.

---

Hyunjin: Okay, I’m doing it. I’m gonna confess tomorrow.

You: Good for you. 

Hyunjin: Yeah. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want her. She’s everything, bro. Like, she’s funny and hot and she gets me. I’d be an idiot not to go for it. 

You: Go get her, Jinnie. I’m proud of you.

Hyunjin: Thanks. Couldn’t do this without you. You’re the best.

You: Anything for you, loser. Night.

---

You took in a shaky breath. He was confessing tomorrow. And you’ll be there, cheering him on like the world’s saddest wingwoman, while your heart shattered into a million pieces.

The next morning, Hyunjin texted you at the crack of dawn - okay, fine, 10 a.m., but that was basically dawn for you. You were still groggy from the two hours of sleep you got when your phone pinged. 

---

Hyunjin: Get your ass out of bed. We’re going on a picnic.

You: A what now? I’m not leaving my blanket cocoon for anything less than free food.* 

Hyunjin: It’s a picnic, dumbass. Free food is the whole point. I’m picking you up in 30 min. Wear something nice. 

You: Excuse me, I always dress nice.

You: What's this about? 

Hyunjin: Just shut up and get ready. You’ll see. 

You: When I show up, if you’re smooching your Mystery Girl, I’m rioting.

Hyunjin: LMAO no smooching without your permission. Promise. Now move it.  

---

You groaned, rolling out of bed like a grumpy burrito. A picnic with you? What was this, some kind of rehearsal for his big moment with her? Your heart ached as you got ready, thinking about this. 

But then you reminded yourself. You were a supportive bestie. You could handle this. Probably.

Half an hour later, Hyunjin pulled up in front of your building in a flowy white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest (because of course) and black jeans that hugged his dancer thighs in ways you didn't want to talk about in this state of heartbreak. He was holding a bouquet of daisies, and you narrowed your eyes, as he grinned up at you. 

“Flowers?” you squawked, pointing at them like they were a live grenade. “Dude, did you get stood up or something? I am the replacement?”

He smirked, tossing his hair back like the dramatic bitch he was.

“Nah, these are for later. Get in, loser. We’ve got a date with nature.” he said, winking at you. 

You narrowed your eyes but climbed into the passenger seat, your sundress swishing around your knees.

“If you do something silly, I’m disowning you.” you threatened. 

“Relax,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve got this under control.”

---

He drove you to this little clearing by a lake, all golden sunlight and wildflowers, like something out of a storybook. You watched in silence as he spread a blanket - red and white checkered, because Hyunjin was nothing if not extra - and started unloading your picnic onto the blanket. Starting with a bottle of wine, and a spread of sandwiches, strawberries, those little chocolate pastries you loved.

Your heart did a weird flip, but you chalked it up to hunger. So this was oddly specific for a replacement date. 

“Okay, this is adorable,” you admitted, plopping down cross-legged on the blanket, after he gave you permission to do so. “Mystery Girl’s gonna lose her mind when you bring her here..”

Hyunjin sat across from you, stretching out his (ridiculously) long legs so they brushed against yours. He’s got that look again, soft and intense, like he’s about to do something.

“Yeah, well, I wanted it to be perfect. For her.” he said, giving you a smile that made your heart leap. 

Ok, damage control - you grabbed a strawberry and popped it in your mouth, trying to ignore it.

“So, what’s the plan? Gonna woo her with your  sandwich skills?” You joked, and he chuckled, leaning back on his hands, shirt gaping open to reveal more of his toned chest.

“Maybe. But I was thinking… something simpler. Just tell her how I feel. Straight up.” he said.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a grin.

“Good call.  Honesty is good. She'll totally love it.” you managed to say, fidgeting with your fingers. 

He tilted his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You think so?”

“Of course,” you said, snagging a sandwich and taking a bite to avoid his gaze. “You’re Hwang Hyunjin. You could say something silly and she’d still swoon.”

He laughed softly, so soft that it sounded almost nervous.

“Okay, then. Here goes.”

You were mid-chew when he sat up straighter, and turned to face you fully. Your brain was still on supportive-bestie-mode, so you didn’t clock what was happening until he opened his mouth.

“Ok,” he says, voice all husky and serious. “I’m crazy about you. Like, stupid crazy. You’re gorgeous and hilarious and you make me lose my damn mind every time you smile. I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, maybe years to be honest, so… yeah. I’m in love with you. And I want you to give me a chance to prove to you that I can be more than a pabo…and more of a…you know…”

Your brain flatlined. Literally. 

The sandwich slipped from your fingers, tumbling onto the blanket as your mouth opened, closed, opened again, but all that came out was a strangled, “H-Huh?”

“You heard me. It’s you, idiot. Always has been.” Hyunjin was grinning now, cheeks pink, holding the daisies out to you.

The world was spinning. Your chest tightened, your vision blurred, and - oh shit, you were actually going to faint. You’ve been in love with this man since you were a literal child, and now he’s hitting you with this? At a picnic? With daisies and sandwiches? Your arms and legs shake even though you’re sitting, and before you can stop it, you tip forward, falling right into his chest.

“Whoa - shit!” Hyunjin yelped, dropping the flowers to catch you. His arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, pulling you tight against him as you slumped there, face smushed into his chest. (He smelled so good, and it was so hot and overwhelming, you thought you'd actually die.) 

“Are you okay? Oh my God, did I kill you?” he was babbling, one hand cradling your head, the other patting your back gently. “Babe, don’t pass out on me! I just confessed! This is supposed to be romantic!”

You were dizzy, clinging to his shirt, muffled against his chest as you said, “You… you’re in love with me?” 

“Yes, you silly girl!” he said, laughing hysterically now, still holding you like he’s terrified you’ll pass out again. “Who else would it be? I’ve been drooling over you for years! How did you not see it?”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, and his face was just inches away, his nose brushing against yours. Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could feel it through his shirt.

“I thought… I thought you meant someone else,” you wheezed, swaying again. “I’ve been dying over here, you asshole!”

He tightened his grip, pulling you closer so you were practically in his lap, his breath hot against your forehead. “Dying? I’ve been dying! You’re the one who’s oblivious! I’ve been flirting with you nonstop, calling you hot, texting you at 1 a.m., staring at your ass when you’re not looking-”

“You WHAT?” you squeaked, smacking his chest weakly, but you’re too light headed to fight back properly.

“It’s a great ass!” he defended, grinning. “Sue me! I’m in love with you, okay? Every clumsy, sexy inch of you!”

Your head spins again, and you slump back into him, whining. “Stop, I’m gonna pass out for real. You can’t just say all that and expect me to be ok!”

“Hey, no fainting!” he said, shifting to hold you tighter, one hand sliding up to cup your face. “I’ve got you, okay? Breathe. Please don’t die before I get to kiss you.”

That snapped you out of it. Just barely. You blinked up at him, and in a daze, asked, “Kiss me?”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking now. “Been dying to do it forever. You're gonna let me, or are you gonna faint again?”

You were a mess at this point - face burning, heart racing.

“Oh my God,” you whispered weakly. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and you pull this now?”

His eyes widened, then softened into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“Wait, seriously? You’ve been into me this whole time?” he asked, with a little chuckle. 

“YES, YOU IDIOT,”

“Well, fuck.”

And then he kissed you, soft at first, then deeper, and you melted into him, tangling your fingers in his hair. It’s so messy and perfect and so stupidly hot you couldn’t think straight. You were pretty sure you would never recover from this. 

When you finally pulled back, he smiled and said, “So… that’s a yes to going out with me?”

You huffed and buried your face in his neck.

“You're such a moron.”

“Fair,” he laughed, kissing your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you. Starting with more of this.” 

He pulled you back in, and yeah, you’re done. 

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250

[il-miele-che-scrive]

Go for his brother part 2

Part 1 here

Part 3 here

username1 DOUBLE BETRAYAL 😭

↳username2 wdym bro wtf Arthur is just getting his karma, he CHEATED on Y/n with her best friend

↳username2 and Y/n only got with his brother after the breakup

username3 It's so crazy to me how not long ago Y/n was with Arthur at Charles' race and we could see them all lovey dovey and now she's with Charles 💀

username4 I hope they actually like each other and it's not just something Y/n schemed to get back at Arthur

↳username5 And even if it is, so what? Both Leclercs deserve this if she's doing it for the sake of revenge

username4 What did Charles ever do to you 😭 he's a literal pookie

username6 I am BEGGING to find out Arthur's reaction

username7 I wanna see this on Drive To Survive lmao

↳username8 The most interesting thing in the whole season lol

username9 Exactly! Men driving in circles? Nah, fuck that, give me family drama

yourusername The Art & The Artist

view all comments

charles_leclerc I took way more than these 2 pictures, should post them all

↳yourusername some would get me banned🤭

username1 MY OH MY

username2 What did she say 😐

username3 I'm jealous but haven't decided if I want him or her

username4 Arthur better not read this comment section (I hope he will)

francisca.cgomes Thanks for blessing my eyes 🫶

↳yourusername You're welcome bestie🫶

username4 it's so nice to see Y/n found a friend who won't steal her bf

username5 You can't be sure, it's Charles Leclerc we're talking about. You think he wouldn't go for his best friends' girlfriend who is now his own girlfriends' best friend after pulling what he's just pulled?

username4 ngl girl I got lost in whatever you're saying

yoursister In your iconic girl era ❤️

↳yourusername I slayed didn't I 💅

username6 Honestly guys I believe it's not just a revenge scheme

↳username5 What makes you think that?

username6 Given these pictures and the pictures from the gossip page they look pretty much happy to me, too happy for it to be fake

username5 Whatever you say, we'll see. They have to get tired of pretending one day

exbestfriend Glowing ✨🩷

↳yourusername 😐

↳francisca.cgomes 😐

↳yoursister 😐

↳charles_leclerc 😐

↳pierregasly 😐

↳georgerussell63 😐

↳carmenmmundt 😐

↳alex_albon 😐

↳lilymhe 😐

username7 Y/N AND HER COMMENT SECTION ARE ICONIC 😭

↳username8 I can't stop imagining them having a gc and she sent a screenshot of her ex best friend's comment like "you know what to do, guys" 🤣

username9 I just know Arthur is screaming crying throwing up because LOOK AT WHAT HE LOST

username10 Lol who's next? Toto Wolff?

arthur_leclerc My favorite love story is ours ❤️

view all comments

exbestfriend So happy we found each other ❤️❤️

username1 💀

username2 Alright they both have the audacity

username3 your love story is cheating on Y/n lmao

username4 Imagine they have a kid one day who'll ask mom dad how did you meet lol

↳username3 I'd be EMBARRASSED

username5 They deserve each other tbh

username6 Hey but... What if this pic and Y/n's pics were taken on the same day...

↳username7 wdym

username6 Arthur wanted to keep and eye on his ex and his brother from afar 😭

username7 it's terrible but possibly true lmao

exbestfriend I'm so sick of people judging us

↳username2 That's what you deserve, the both of you

↳username4 when actions have consequences:😮

yourusername Back at the paddock ❤️

view all comments

username1 At least she didn't downgrade right?

yoursister You guys look so good together

↳yourusername Thank you 🫶 ily

↳charles_leclerc Yes we do 😊

↳username2 Y/s/n never commented anything like this when Y/n used to post with Arthur😭

lilymhe It was nice catching up with you when the boys were playing

↳yourusername maybe next time you and Alex could come over so the boys can play some video games together

username3 Pls they're just two single mothers bonding over their toddlers being besties😭

username4 I NEED TO KNOW IF ARTHUR WAS THERE

↳username5 You crazy? Ofc he wouldn't have come, he's too scared of confrontation

username4 Okay but then what if one day Y/n and Charles get married? Will Arthur just skip his brother's wedding?

username5 I think some time will pass before Charles decides to settle down. And not with Y/n, that's for sure

username6 Why not? Y/n makes a much better couple with Charles than she did with Arthur

username5 Charles would never take her seriously lol she dated his brother, Charles is just having fun with her while letting her have her moment

arthur_leclerc Are you wearing the dress you wore on our first date?

↳username2 SHE'S WHAT?????

↳username3 wtf are u doing here

↳yourusername Maybe...

username4 Mother keeps slaying 😭👏

username7 I aspire to be like Y/n fr

alex_albon Lily said we should have a double date

↳yourusername Let's do it then @/lilymhe @/charles_leclerc when and where

arthur_leclerc I just wonder when will you get bored of this

↳yourusername Bored of what exactly? Going to races? You know I've always enjoyed looking at cars go vroooom

arthur_leclerc You know what I mean

arthur_leclerc Of pretending to like Charles just to prove me some delusional point

yourusername You really think I'd waste my energy on that? It's a funny coincidence indeed, but I do like him actually

arthur_leclerc Mhm sure I give you maybe 6 months more, can't keep pretending forever

charles_leclerc A family gathering & the morning after

view all comments

username1 OH GREAT HEAVENS

pierregasly Now that's something none of us expected

↳username2 bro speaking facts

username3 They said fuck you Arthur you'll get a proof we're not pretending😭

username4 Well at least the family already knew her

↳username5 Pascale liked Y/n so much she said girl you have my blessing no matter which one u marry

username3 Guys do you think Arthur was there? You know, it's a family gathering, so he had to be there, right?

alex_albon Charles settling down wasn't on my bingo card this year

↳lilymhe Neither was it on mine but I love it

francisca.cgomes Girl you realize there's no going back now? 😂

↳yourusername I hope so😜🫶

arthur_leclerc I still can't believe how disrespectful you both are

↳charles_leclerc Look who's speaking of being disrespectful

↳yourusername stfu arthur maman literally had to kick you out of the party

username3 The way it used to be "Thurthur" and now it's "stfu arthur" 😶

username2 at least the "maman" is the same right

username5 I feel like Pascale likes Y/n more than she likes Arthur

username7 wtf guys PASCALE HAD TO KICK ARTHUR OUT OF THE PARTY 😭😭

↳username8 That's crazy, imagine how's the wedding gonna look like

carlossainz55 Getting engaged after a few weeks? Is she pregnant?😂

↳username9 Not funny

username10 Chill that's just millennial humour from back when pregnancy outside marriage was a disgrace

↳charles_leclerc We've known each other long enough to make this decision 🫢

carlossainz55 Valid point

arthur_leclerc But for majority of this time she was my girlfriend

charles_leclerc On which you cheated

arthur_leclerc @/yourusername did you use me just to get to Charles? Was it your plan from the beginning?

↳yourusername Sure because I have nothing else to do lmao

↳yourusername We've talked about it yesterday arthur, don't start again

arthur_leclerc I just still can't believe Charles would do something like that to me

yourusername And half a year ago I believed you wouldn't have ever cheated on me

charles_leclerc I said it yesterday and I'll say it again, Arthur I will always love you as a brother, but you messed up big time, you can't be mad at us

[mclager]

The rumours got it wrong! | Landoscar X reader

warnings: none

"Are you excited about your first time in the paddock, darling?" Lando asked while driving to the place.

"Too excited! I want to see you and Osc on the podium." Lando smiled and nodded.

"We will do our best, promise, pretty." I kissed his cheek and sat back.

"I feel like I will be on a lot of gossip sites today." Lando laughed.

"I'll make sure to post a photo of the two of us with the caption saying we're just friends."

"No need to lie..."

"The problem is the lie or me calling you a friend?" He teased me, making me roll my eyes.

"Stop, I'm just saying that..." He stopped at a red light and looked at me. "OK! I don't like you calling me a friend, I almost cried when Osc said to Charles we were just besties, you don't need to do it too."

"Oh baby, don't cry, you're too hot." He put his hand on my thigh and squeezed it.

"Stupid." I chuckled.

"I wished we could say to the world we're dating, I'm pretty sure Osc too."

"I know, that's why I love both of you." He parked the car, we got out, and we started to walk into the paddock.

"Don't look at me like you're in love, you know to avoid gossip pages." I punched his arm while laughing.

"Shut up!" We go to the paddock and the cameras started to click.

"Smile, you need to look happy by my side." Lando whispered.

"I'm always smiling next to you, handsome." I whispered back. Soon enough we got to the McLaren garage where Oscar already was.

"Hey, Osc!" Lan said, making him look at us.

"Finally!" He walked to us. "Welcome." Oscar said and hugged me. "You're looking good, baby." He whispered before letting me go.

"Thank you." The boys gave me a big tour of the garage, introducing me to everyone they walked by. After forcing me to do a photoshoot in the car, they finally had to go do their jobs, and I sat back to watch them race. The race was amazing, both boys got podium, and to celebrate the McLaren team dragged me to where the team and wags go after a race even though I'm not none of that to them. Lando ran to me, he gave me a big hug before jumping on the team by my side. Oscar was more contained, he hugged the team and threw me a little and quick wink, I smiled at him as he walked to go talk to Lan.

After all the celebrations and champagne sprays, we got to the hotel.

"Did you like it?" Oscar asked, giving me a lot of kisses.

"I loved it, can I go more times?"

"Anytime you want, princess." Lando said, dropping on the bed, clearly tired.

"I have to say, it was way harder than I thought it would be, not kiss you all the time." Osc said, finally letting me go, I lay on the bed next to Lan and nodded.

"Me too."

"You too? You jumped on her."

"C'mon, I was too happy, I didn't really think about it, I just did it."

"I know, but you should be more careful." Osc squeezed himself on the bed between me and Lando.

"We're just really close friends." Lan teased me, but I was too tired to get back to him.

"I hate you sometimes, Norris."

"You don't."

I woke up with Oscar laughing at something.

"What?" I asked, still half asleep.

"We just found out that you're cheating on Lando." I looked at them confused.

"With whom?"

"Me." I looked at them even more confused.

"What?" Oscar's phone made his way onto my hand. An Instagram page with photos of me and Lando, and photos of Oscar clearly flirting with me and me being all into it.

"That's... C'mon, why am I the one getting cheated on? I was the one flirting with the two of you, I'm the least likely to get cheated on." Lando said pouting like it was a real thing.

"OK, we did an awful job at trying to hide it." I looked at Lando. "If you weren't all love-dovey..." I chuckled, Lan looked at me and rolled his eyes crossing his arms over his chest. "But, I mean... what should we do about it?" The real question is will PR management be pissed at us?

"We should go get lunch together, I want to feed the rumours."

The rumours did got all wrong, but we can't blame them, nobody would think I could bag the two more handsome and talented boys on the grid.

[wendichester]

hey!! could i request a dean x reader where she's noticed a change in dean after his suffering with the mark of cain? maybe hes just really distant and not himself/very aggressive and just down right mean? she confronts him and he breaks down and she gives him the comfort hes been needing? they could be really close besties or dating its up to you, just had an idea from a tiktok and you write so well <3 love u girl

⋆˚࿔ the mark,

summary. dean's been off since he got the mark of cain. but you're always there for him.

pairing. dean winchester x best friend!reader

wordcount. 771

notes. thanks for the request love! it's always great to see you in my inbox ehe

Dean’s been different. You’ve noticed it in the way he carries himself—shoulders tense, jaw clenched, eyes dark and distant. He’s always been rough around the edges, but this is something else. This is sharp, jagged, like a blade that’s been worn down to its breaking point.

You’ve tried to ignore it, tried to tell yourself it’s just the stress of hunting, the weight of the world on his shoulders. But tonight, it’s impossible to pretend.

You’re in the bunker’s kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold. Dean’s at the table, his back to you, hunched over a bottle of whiskey. He hasn’t said a word since he walked in, and the silence is heavy, suffocating.

“Dean,” you say, your voice soft but firm.

He doesn’t respond. Just takes another swig from the bottle, his movements sharp, almost angry.

You set your mug down and walk over to him, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. When you reach the table, you place a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches like you’ve burned him.

“Don’t,” he snaps, shrugging you off.

You don’t back down. You can’t. Not when he’s like this, not when you can see the cracks in him, the way he’s falling apart and trying so hard to hide it.

“Talk to me,” you say, your voice steady even though your heart is racing.

Dean laughs, but it’s bitter, hollow. “What do you want me to say, huh? That I’m fine? That everything’s great? Would that make you feel better?”

His words sting, but you don’t let it show. You know this isn’t him. This is the Mark, the darkness that’s been eating away at him, twisting him into something he doesn’t even recognize.

“I want you to be honest,” you say, sitting down across from him. “I want you to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Dean looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, you see it—the pain, the fear, the guilt. It’s all there, raw and unfiltered, and it takes your breath away.

“You don’t want to know,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl.

“Try me.”

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the table like he’s afraid he’ll fall apart if he lets go. “You don’t get it. You can’t. This thing… it’s inside me, and I can’t—I can’t control it. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s like a dam bursting. He slams his fist down on the table, the sound echoing through the room, and then he’s standing, pacing, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to pull himself together.

“I’m a monster,” he says, and the words are so quiet, so broken, that they barely reach you.

“You’re not,” you say, standing up and stepping into his path.

He tries to push past you, but you grab his arm, your grip firm but gentle. “Dean, listen to me. You’re not a monster. You’re you. And yeah, you’ve got this thing inside you, but it doesn’t define you. It doesn’t change who you are.”

He shakes his head, his eyes wet with tears he won’t let fall. “You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’ve wanted to do. I’m dangerous, and I—”

“Stop,” you say, cutting him off. “Just stop. You’re not dangerous to me. You’re my best friend, Dean. You’re the guy who’s always had my back, no matter what. You’re the guy who makes me laugh when I feel like crying. You’re the guy who’s saved my life more times than I can count. That’s who you are. Not this… this thing you’re so afraid of.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. And then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapses into you, his head resting on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

You hold him tight, your hands rubbing soothing circles on his back, and you don’t say anything. You don’t need to. He just needs this—this moment, this comfort, this reminder that he’s not alone.

“I’m scared,” he whispers, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

“I know,” you say, your own voice thick with emotion. “But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. The way he clings to you, the way his breathing slowly evens out, tells you everything you need to know.

You’ll get through this. Together.

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[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 So Close, Quantico.

Post prison Reid x Fem!reader

part one

Summary: A strange visit to the prison ends with an unexpected confession of love and makes you run away again. You were ready to leave, but maybe this time he'll make you stay.

Words: 2,5k.

Warnings & Tags: literally none, just drama and sweet love+emily being a bestie. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I didn't expect to be asked for a second part because I'm still new here and I don't think anyone will read me (intrusive thoughts lol), but here I am giving it to you because Spencer needs a happy ending!

Just as you sat down and pulled out a travel magazine to read while you waited for your flight, you got a call from Emily. You frowned and were confused for a few seconds until you remembered that you hadn't told her that you were going back to London so soon and that the possibility of having a drink together would not be fulfilled. You hadn't even said goodbye in person, and it was only now that you realized it.

You hadn't noticed anything after working on Spencer's case for four days straight and losing your mind over it. It was the first time you hadn't seen your client or personally briefed him on the progress of the investigation, and that impersonality made everything strange, but you knew he didn't want to see you, and you weren't going to push him. At least you managed to get him released on parole after you found some evidence of third party involvement in his alleged crime. And as soon as you were informed of this decision, you assigned a trusted lawyer to the case, booked a flight, and packed your bags.

“Don't hate me, but I'm about to catch a flight and I forgot to tell you.” You said quickly as soon as the call started and you could hear a sigh of shock from the other end.

“You what? Why? You just got here and we haven't even had a chance to talk and drink wine.” She replied after a few minutes of processing the information.

“I'm really sorry, Ems. I have things to do at my office and my work here is already done.” You tried to explain as you fiddled with the hem of your skirt. You didn't like the idea of looking like you were running away again, even if you were. “I really have to go.”

“You have or you want?”

The question alone made you sigh and question being best friends with a profiler. It was impossible to hide your feelings and thoughts from her.

“It doesn't matter...anyway, you can visit me whenever you want, I have plenty of wine at home.” You spoke trying to avoid her question at all costs. “Penelope and JJ can come, girls' night out and all.”

“And Spencer...?” She asked in a cautious tone, knowing that this was a complicated subject. After all, Emily was the one who had to put up with your sighing and crying over Reid for years.

“He's not a girl.”

You could almost see her roll her eyes at your answer, and by the tone of her voice when she told you she meant it, you knew she did.

“Seeing him was as strange as I imagined, but confirming that he doesn't want to see me and that he hates me felt worse than I thought. I have to face this from a distance.” You tried to explain and put into words the feelings you were avoiding.

“He doesn't hate you, and he definitely wants to see you.” She corrected you, making you frown.

“What? Please don't try to make me feel better with emotional profiling tricks.” You said wearily, looking up at the big screen with the flight schedules and realizing that it was still more than half an hour before your plane was due to arrive.

“These are not tricks. Seriously, if he didn't want to see you, he wouldn't have asked me for your hotel address yesterday.”

Your heart stopped at that moment, and any attempt to focus your attention on something else, or even keep your cool, failed. You didn't want to get your hopes up again and sound like a fool for getting excited about something so minimal.

“I'm not even at the hotel anymore, and he never went there.” You tried to control your nervousness and conceal how this information had thrown you. “Ems, my flight arrives in 30 minutes, I have to leave you, but I promise to call you more often and visit you sometime. I love you.” You ended in a chaotic way.

“Well, me too. But don't disappear, I'll wait for that girls' night.” She replied, defeated by your insistence, and paused before speaking again. “And tell Reid we have a case in Utah, we're leaving in 30.”

“What?” You asked immediately, not understanding if you had heard wrong, but she had already hung up.

You looked up again, expecting to see the central screen with the schedules, but instead of seeing your flight number in bright letters, you saw Spencer's brown eyes searching for you a few feet away. You had to blink several times to confirm that it was him and that you weren't hallucinating, and only then did Emily's last words make sense.

Was he here to see you? Was it possible?

You remained motionless in your seat, as if bound to it, and watched as Reid walked at a brisk pace straight towards you. It was the first time you had seen him since that chaotic visit to the prison, and you still had a bittersweet taste in your mouth from that interaction. He was wearing a suit now, probably the clothes he wore to work, and he looked like he had run several miles, judging by his disheveled hair and labored breathing.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as soon as you had him in front of you, rising from your seat to be at his height even though you were several inches shorter.

“I needed to talk to you for days and you never came to see me again.” He explained, still trying to regulate his breathing after searching for you all over the airport. “About what you told me before you left.”

“I didn't come back because you made it clear that you didn't want to see me, and I respected your wish.” You explained as calmly as you could. “And as for what I said, there's no need to talk about it. It's outdated and I shouldn't have brought it up.”

You saw him sigh and fidget chaotically for a second before he spoke again. He seemed nervous, as if he had rehearsed the conversation a thousand times in his mind.

“I need to talk about this. You told me you were in love with me...I just found out and I couldn't stop thinking about it, it's stuck in my head because you never told me.” He tried to speak slowly, but it was as if the old Spencer you once knew had reappeared and started babbling. “You said you were leaving because you were offered a better position and you were bored with this job, you never mentioned that...that you liked me.”

“My flight leaves in less than 30 minutes, I can't talk now.” You tried to get out of the situation, but he gently grabbed your arm before you could escape. And with a sigh, you spoke again. “Good. I never told you how much I liked you, but that doesn't change anything.”

You pulled away from his touch and putting your hands on your bags so you could leave soon.

“It changes. It really changes everything.”

“What? How?” You dropped the suitcases and looked at him in confusion.

He remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the clock on the bright screen above you, trying to use the little time he had to talk to you and express himself. He felt the words catch in his throat, and it was a disappointment after having only you as the protagonist of all his thoughts since you had visited him, pushing away any possibility of holding a grudge against you because the only thing on his mind was doubt about what would have happened if he had known.

Spencer had spent so many years locked in hate, trying to hold a grudge against you for leaving, leaving nothing but torturous memories in an eidetic memory and a ridiculous need for a hug from you every time things went wrong. And suddenly you showed up, looking as beautiful as ever, saving him from a traumatic experience and delivering information he never expected.

He had only been free for a few days and yet everyone looked at him differently, from pity to fear, knowing that prison had changed him forever. But not you, you looked at him as if he were the same as always, even though years had passed and you had only seen his worst face again.

“If I had known...if you had told me I...” He stammered, trying to find some courage to stop feeling like the same young man you had left. “You would know that I felt the same way.”

At that moment, you almost had to sit up again because of the impression his words had made on you. You closed your eyes and opened them again to make sure that you were not hallucinating and that it was really the one you had been dreaming about for years who was telling you that he also felt something for you before.

“You don't have to lie...no, don't lie to me like that just because I got you out of jail.” You started to blurt out, completely denying the strong beating of your heart.

“I appreciate you doing this, but I won't lie to you. I could never do something like this.” He assured you, looking you straight in the eye for confirmation. “And if you don't believe me, I can tell you exactly when I first realized I liked you, it was November 8, 2005, it was 11:35 in the morning because I looked at the clock. You had completed your third month with us and you went to talk to Gideon and Hotch because you wanted to get out in the field and stop doing paperwork. You were so nervous about getting fired that you grabbed my hand before you left, but you didn't notice because you were busy listening to my comments about your performance. I thought it was nothing and that I was just nervous because you were the only one I was talking to and I was afraid of losing you, but before you left you smiled at me and I knew everything was going to be okay. Again I thought it was nothing...but every time things went wrong I thought about it, I still do because that smile is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life.”

“I...” You tried to speak and formulate even one word, but it kept getting stuck in your throat.

“Wait, I'm not done yet.” He interrupted you, saving you from a possible babble. “I never told you because I thought you didn't feel the same way and that you saw me as a younger brother to be taken care of. I'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all, so I left it in my mind as an impossibility and I thought I was completely over it until you left and I lost my mind...and it's happening again.”

“God, I need to sit down.” It was all you could say at the time as you tried to process everything he said.

You sat down with his help and watched him relax a little as he finished speaking, as if he had waited a long time to say it and had practiced it many times. You felt your heart pound after years of dreaming of hearing those words from him. You had never imagined a life where Spencer felt anything more than friendship for you, and now it was real. He had loved you as much as you wanted, and you had been too blind to see it before other people came along.

“I know it's been years since you got over me and that I was a jerk to you when you came to see me, but you need to know that ever since I saw you I couldn't stop thinking about what my life would have been like if I had told you from the beginning.” He spoke again, trying to look closely at you to decipher what was going through your mind. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry if this has upset you or...”

“Do you know how long I've waited to hear you say that?” You said, still surprised, taking the opportunity to get up from your chair.

“I'm sorry, I know it's too late and now you're going to leave again, but this time I'm here to ask you not to do it again.” He came over and took you by the hands, bending down a little to be at your level, as if he was begging you. “And I know it's selfish because you have to go and you have a life away, but I really...”

“Spencer.” You stopped him before he started babbling, and he looked at you anxiously for your answer. “It's not too late.”

“Really?” He asked, as if he could not believe he had heard you correctly.

“Really.”

You gave him a small smile of affirmation and felt your eyes glaze over with emotion as you felt him release your hands and grab your cheeks to wipe away the stray tear that had fallen. The look of tenderness he gave you along with his touch made you tremble.

“Are you planning to kiss me already or are you going to wait 13 more years?” You spoke without even thinking.

He didn't have to think once before closing the distance between you and fulfilling the longing that had been in your mind for so long. You couldn't say anything because his lips had been on yours before and the first contact had almost made you melt. His hands were still on your cheeks, but one of them went down to your waist to pull you closer and make sure you were real.

Your lips tasted like cherries and that made him smile immediately in the middle of the kiss, thinking that you were still wearing the same lipstick that you had applied in front of him so many times and that he had only dreamed of tasting. Finally, the reality was far better than any fantasy and the softness mixed with the intensity of a repressed love during the kiss because finally the stars had aligned for the two of you.

“Are you going to go out on a date with me?” He asked as soon as you both parted.

“I have a girls' night out first.” You replied, letting it be known that you were tired of running away. “But I'd love to go on a date with you.”

He came over and gave you a quick kiss before you could say anything else. You returned the kiss and then pulled away, putting your arms around his neck.

“You're kissing me like this before the first date?” You joked, still trapped in the bubble of love you felt you were in.

“I don't intend to wait any longer now that I have you here.” He responded by giving you a kiss on the head and wrapping his arms around you to hug you. “So please don't go away for 6 years again.”

“I don't plan to go anywhere now.”

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Rose Tinted — Boo Seungkwan

✧ Take off those rose colored glasses ✧

Plot: Picture this… you find out that your so-called best friend has been playing you all along.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x best friend!Boo Seungkwan 🎥 Genre: big time angst 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, asshole vernon, asshole kwannie (sorry y’all), brief mention of blood but not graphic 🎥 Notes: I am baaaack (hopefully for a while). I know I haven’t been posting for forever but I hope to see you all more often again ^^  🎥 Shout out: thanks to my lovely bestie @nothoughtsjustfic for motivating me to write again 💜 love you Chee! Never change pls hehehe

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

“How much longer are you going to keep this up, dude? She’s been glued to your side since that dumb bet. Weren’t you gonna ditch her like forever ago?”

Time froze as you heard Vernon utter those words to your best friend… or so you thought. 

“Shit, Vernon! Be quiet before she hears you!” Seungkwan hissed in return, which was followed by a dull sound and then a shriek from Vernon.

“Whatever. I just don’t get it. You don’t even like her. She could offer to buy me unlimited pizza and beers and I still wouldn’t be able to handle all that clinginess.”

“Fucking hell! Just get out and don’t come back until we leave. You’re going to fuck up everything,” Seungkwan snapped, his voice unlike anything you’d ever heard coming from his lips. 

“Fine.” Vernon sighed dramatically. “But don’t come crying to me when it all comes to bite you in the ass.” 

A second later, you heard the front door slam shut, the sound of which snapped you right back to the horrible reality you were now forced to face. 

You’d just been shown a completely different side of your supposed best friend and you didn’t quite know whether to cry or scream. What you did know was that you couldn’t stay hidden behind the wall for forever, even though that did seem awfully tempting. You’d never been very confrontational but this matter couldn’t be left unspoken, not if you wanted to keep your sanity. 

You needed to hear the truth from Seungkwan himself. 

With your heart nearly pounding out your chest and a million thoughts running through your mind, you forced your legs to move in the direction of the living room where Seungkwan was awaiting your return. 

His head immediately shot up when he noticed you approaching him, a smile that felt just a little too forced making its way on his face. It was almost as if you could see a sliver of disgust flash behind his eyes.

Had that always been there or were you just overanalyzing everything because of what Vernon said?

“There you are! Any longer and I would have gotten worried.” Seungkwan chuckled as he turned his head back towards the TV.

Right. The movie the two of you had been watching before that awful conversation. If only you could turn back time. 

“Y/N?” Seungkwan asked with a raised brow when you hadn’t moved at all. “Aren’t you going to sit down? We can finish the last thirty minutes before we have to leave.”

“No.” 

Your voice was barely audible but you knew that it had been loud enough judging by the way Seungkwan responded.

“No? You don’t want to watch any more? Well, we can put on something else if that’s what you wan-”

You were quick to interrupt him. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Okay?” He got up from the couch, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re acting kinda strange, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Without realizing it, you’d been clenching your fists so hard this entire time that your nails had pierced through parts of your skin, drawing a little bit of blood which you could feel dripping down your fingers. But you honestly couldn’t give a fuck right now. 

“Do you hate me?” you blurted out, completely catching the man in front of you off guard.

“W-what? Hate you? Why would you ask me that?” Seungkwan chuckled nervously, his hand awkwardly coming up to scratch behind his neck. 

“Be honest with me, Seungkwan.” You looked him dead in the eyes, noticing the way his eyes grew wide at the fierceness behind your words.

As if suddenly coming back to himself, he shook his head furiously. “You’re being crazy, Y/N.”

You let out a loud snort. “Me? Crazy? Then are you saying Vernon was lying just now?”

At that revelation, Seungkwan’s mouth opened and closed a few times as if he was about to say something but backed out at the last second. There was no talking himself out of this. And you were not backing down until you’d heard everything, even if it was going to crush you. 

“Yeah… I heard everything. About a supposed bet, about you pretending this entire time and wanting to ditch me. Does that ring a bell?” 

“Y/N, l-listen,” the man pleaded as he took a step forward to reach for your arm. 

“Tell me the fucking truth, Seungkwan!” you nearly screamed, surprising both yourself and him at the anger laced in your voice.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes at first, but it wasn’t long before that disgust you swore you’d seen before flashed behind his eyes once again. 

“You really wanna know what I think of you? Fine!” He threw up his hands. “I don’t like you, I never have, not then and not now. I’m not your fucking best friend and I’m sick of pretending. You’re right. It started out as a stupid bet to see if I could befriend you, but with how fucking desperate you were, that wasn’t hard. And then you just wouldn’t fucking go away so I thought, I might as well use your clingy ass to my advantage. Because who in their right mind doesn’t like free meals and free rides? All I had to do was pretend.” He chuckled bitterly. “Happy now?”

You didn’t stick around to respond, already halfway through the door with tears streaming down your face by the time he finished his cruel rant. This wasn’t the sweet and caring Seungkwan you’d been sharing all your secrets and insecurities with. This was the real Seungkwan, a mean, heartless excuse of a human being who you didn’t recognize at all. 

He’d broken your heart in a million little pieces and you didn’t know if you were ever going to recover from this. 

So much for letting someone in.

So much for not wanting to be alone. 

Boo Seungkwan, I hope it was worth it. 

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[lilmisssona]

*ੈ✩Sorry Bestie, I love you *ੈ✩

*ੈ✩Pairing - Han Jisung × Fem Reader

*ੈ✩Plot - After being stood up for the fifth time this year, you've had enough of serial date ghosting. Just when you were about to leave, your best friend Han, whom you vented to , texts back saying to wait because he's coming to meet you. But Han left for another city eight years ago and when he shows up, you're shocked to see your quirky best has turned into someone undeniably hot!

*ੈ✩Genre - Angst, comedy, fluff

*ੈ✩Warnings - Dramatic comedic duo, non idol au, best friends to lovers au, angst, hurt to comfort

*ੈ✩Word Count - 10.7 K *ੈ✩Screenshot Count - 4

*ੈ✩A/N - Episode 5 of Staymas is here! This best friends-to-lovers tale will have you laughing, crying, and dreaming. Dive into this heartwarming and classic tale, albeit a little cliché! you won’t want to miss it! ( This is just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistakes 🙂‍↕️ )

*ੈ✩ SKZ Masterlist *ੈ✩ STAYMAS Masterlist

The candle flickers, the breeze teasing its flame. You try not to look at the empty chair across from you, but it’s impossible to ignore. Five times this year. A record, really. Maybe it’s time to quit dating altogether.

You grab your bag to leave, but your phone buzzes on the table. Glancing at the screen, you see his name....

You frown at the screen. Typical Jisung...cryptic, over-the-top, dramatic. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, debating whether to humor him. But something about his insistence makes you hesitate.

After waiting 20 minutes you were about to respond when the café door swings open. The sound barely registers...it’s a busy place, after all...but then you see him.

And for a moment, your brain stalls.

There he is: Han Jisung.

But not the Jisung you remember - the nerdy kid with mismatched socks and perpetually broken earbuds. No, this version of Jisung looks… different. Sharper. His jawline catches the soft glow of the café lights, and his tailored jacket makes him look almost regal.

When his eyes meet yours, he grins, the same mischievous spark lighting his face. “Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Jisung,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here? You live miles away in Busan!”

“I moved back to Seoul months ago,” he says casually, leaning back. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No!”

“Oops,” he says unapologetically. “Anyway, I couldn’t let you sit here alone. You deserve better than some no-show loser.”

You stare at him, still trying to process. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know. That’s why you love me.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, his tone light but his gaze warm.

“Why, Ji? You didn’t teleport just to crash my pity party.”

Jisung leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips. “When my best friend texts saying their night sucks, I can’t not show up. Besides,” he adds with a mock whisper, “it’s been too long since I’ve played knight in shining armor.”

You snort, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at his words. “If you’re the knight, I’m doomed. What’s your grand plan? Order dessert and roast my date?”

“First, dessert is mandatory. Second, roasting is a given. But I was thinking bigger.”

You arch a brow. “Bigger? Like what?”

He rubs his chin in mock contemplation. “Storm their workplace and give them a lecture on human decency? Or better yet, I’ll write a diss track. Something like, ‘Ghosted Five Times, but I’m Still Fine.’”

You burst out laughing. “Please don’t. The world doesn’t need a breakup anthem about my tragic love life.”

“Too late,” he says, pretending to take notes. “Verse one: ‘Left her at the rooftop café, but she’s too hot for your games anyway.’ Instant hit.”

“Ridiculous,” you say, still laughing.

“And yet, you’re smiling,” he points out, grinning wider.

You shake your head, but the heaviness you felt earlier is fading, replaced by Jisung’s familiar warmth.

“Okay, fine,” you say, gesturing to the menu. “If you’re the hero, you’re buying dessert.”

“Done,” he says, scanning the menu. “But we’re sharing.”

“Deal. But I’m ordering the biggest slice.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d expect less.”

As the waiter approaches, you realize something...this moment, sitting here with Jisung, feels better than any date you’ve had in years.

And that thought terrifies you.

----------------------------------------------------------

The waiter sets down the slice of tiramisu, its rich layers of cream and coffee-soaked cake practically glowing under the café lights. Jisung doesn’t even wait for the plate to settle before scooping up a massive bite.

“Hey!” you protest, swatting at his hand with your fork. “We agreed to share, not for you to inhale the whole thing!”

“Sharing is caring,” he says through a mouthful, utterly unrepentant. “Besides, you said you wanted the biggest slice, not the biggest bite. Details matter.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the laugh that escapes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’ve kept me around all these years.” He winks, his cheek now smudged with a bit of whipped cream.

“You’ve got something on your face, genius,” you say, pointing vaguely at his cheek.

“Here?” He swipes at the wrong side.

“No, the other side.”

“Here?” He misses again, managing to smear the whipped cream further.

“Give me that.” You grab a napkin and lean across the table to clean his cheek.

Jisung freezes, his playful grin fading as you get closer. Your hand pauses, and for a brief moment, you’re hyper-aware of how near you are. His gaze locks with yours, the teasing light in his eyes softening. The sounds of the café blur into a quiet hum, leaving only the weight of the moment.

Then, just as suddenly, it’s gone.

“There,” you say, sitting back and tossing the napkin onto the table. “Crisis averted.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he teases, but his voice is gentler now, his smile smaller yet no less warm.

You look away, focusing on your fork as you take a bite of the tiramisu. The sweetness melts on your tongue, but the lingering heat of his gaze lingers heavier than the dessert.

“So,” you say, eager to steer the conversation back to safer ground, “are you going to tell me why you didn’t mention moving back to Seoul? Or were you planning to keep it a secret forever?”

He shrugs, casually taking another bite. “I wanted it to be a surprise. You know me...I live for dramatic entrances.”

“Mission accomplished,” you mutter. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Believe it,” he says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”

His words hang in the air, heavier than you expect. You glance at him, and for a moment, you see the boy he used to be...the one who chased you through the hallways, who promised nothing would ever come between you....

----------------------------------------------------------

It was a rainy Monday morning. The kind that begged you to stay under the covers and forget the world existed. But skipping class wasn’t an option when you were already on the brink of being dropped for "excessive tardiness." So, there you were, sprinting through the maze of your university’s sprawling campus, clutching your bag to your chest and praying you’d slip into the lecture hall unnoticed.

As you rounded a corner, moving far too quickly for the slippery tile floor, disaster struck. You slammed straight into something— or someone. The impact sent you staggering, and before you could process what had happened, books, papers, and color-coded notes exploded into the air, raining down like confetti in a very unfortunate parade.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” you blurted, dropping to your knees to gather the mess. Your heart was pounding from the sprint...and now from the mortification. So much for keeping a low profile.

“It’s fine,” came a calm, slightly irritated voice.

Looking up, you froze. Of all people, it had to be Han Jisung, the department’s golden boy. His reputation as a straight-A student was almost mythical, the kind of person who turned in assignments early and still managed to ace everything. Even now, in the chaos, he looked annoyingly put together. His navy sweater was pristine, his hair somehow immune to the rain outside, and his expression was a mix of disbelief and mild exasperation.

“Maybe,” he said, crouching down to gather his notes, “you should slow down next time.”

“Right. Slow down. Got it,” you muttered, cheeks burning as you handed him a stack of papers. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry again.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, his gaze flicking to yours. “Thanks. Wait… do I know you?”

“You should,” you said before you could stop yourself. “I’m the one who almost blew up the chemistry lab during first-year practicals.”

Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by amusement. “Oh. You’re that person.”

You grinned sheepishly. “The one and only. In my defense, the safety instructions were... vague.”

“That’s a generous interpretation,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he resumed organizing his notes with practiced precision.

“And you’re Han Jisung,” you added, as though it wasn’t obvious. “Everyone knows you. You’re basically the poster child for academic perfection.”

“And you’re the one who thought shaking the vending machine would make it dispense two drinks at once,” he countered, his tone dry but laced with humor.

“That worked,” you retorted, smiling. “It just wasn’t worth the bruises.”

To your surprise, he laughed, an unguarded, genuine laugh that softened his polished exterior. For a moment, the intimidating image of Han Jisung melted away, replaced by someone far more approachable.

“Here,” he said, standing and offering you his hand. His grip was steady as he pulled you to your feet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just my pride’s a little bruised,” you admitted, brushing off your jeans.

“Well,” he said, smirking, “maybe next time, your pride should walk a little slower.”

You laughed, the last of your embarrassment fading. “Duly noted, Han Jisung.”

He tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand, which he shook with a small, genuine smile.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you quipped, grinning as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

He shook his head, an amused glint in his eye as he collected his books and turned to leave. “See you around,” he said over his shoulder.

And as you watched him walk away - posture perfect, demeanor unshaken despite the chaos...you couldn’t help but smile. Something told you this wouldn’t be the last time your paths crossed.

You had no idea then just how much he’d come to mean to you...or how much trouble the two of you would get into together.

----------------------------------------------------------

The first time Han Jisung saved you, you were knee-deep in a mess entirely of your own making. It had started innocently enough - just another one of your “brilliant” ideas. You’d overheard someone mention that the campus auditorium boasted the best sound system in the city, and naturally, your curiosity had gotten the better of you. The only hitch? You decided to “borrow” a key from the janitor’s office to test the claim.

Your plan seemed foolproof: sneak in, connect your playlist, and revel in the sheer glory of bass that could rattle the walls. What could possibly go wrong? Well, as it turned out, everything.

Barely ten minutes into your impromptu concert, the auditorium doors swung open, revealing a very unimpressed campus security officer.

“Who gave you permission to be here?” the officer demanded, his glare sharp enough to slice through steel.

Panic flooded your chest as you fumbled for an explanation. “I, uh… I was just...”

“Just what? Trespassing and breaking into campus property?”

The scolding was bad enough, but the real horror was the thought of being reported. With your already shaky academic record, one more misstep could mean suspension, or worse. As your mind raced for an excuse, a calm, steady voice cut through the tension.

“Actually, it was my fault,” said Han Jisung, striding into the room with a confidence you didn’t know he possessed.

You blinked at him in shock. Jisung, of all people? What was he doing here?

“And who are you?” the officer asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Han Jisung,” he said smoothly, as if his name alone carried authority. “I’m a student council representative. I was supposed to meet Y/N here to help set up the sound system for a presentation.”

Your jaw practically hit the floor. Presentation? Meeting? What on earth was Jisung talking about?

The officer frowned, unconvinced. “This doesn’t look like a presentation.”

“We were testing the system before the meeting,” Jisung explained with unnerving ease. His tone was so measured, so convincing, that even you almost believed him. “I take full responsibility for not getting prior approval from the administration. It won’t happen again.”

The officer eyed him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Fine. But if I catch either of you here without permission again, there will be consequences.”

“Yes, sir. Understood,” Jisung said, bowing slightly as the officer turned and left.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you turned to him, still reeling. “What the hell was that?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jisung retorted, arms crossed. “Breaking into the auditorium? Really?”

“I wasn’t breaking in! I just… borrowed the key,” you mumbled defensively.

“And you thought no one would notice?” He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it. He wasn’t wrong. “Fine. It was stupid. But why’d you cover for me?”

Jisung let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t want you to get in trouble. Again. Do you have any idea how close you are to being put on academic probation?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait! you keep track of my academic record?”

“It’s hard not to when you’re constantly finding new ways to get into trouble,” he muttered, though his tone was more exasperated than angry. “Seriously, Y/N, you need to be more careful.”

A strange mix of gratitude and embarrassment settled in your chest. “Thanks,” you said softly, looking at him with newfound appreciation.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, his expression softening. “Just… maybe think things through next time?”

You grinned despite yourself. “What, and miss out on all the fun?”

Jisung groaned, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “But admit it...you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

He didn’t answer right away, but the faint smile tugging at his lips said more than words ever could.

Your friendship with Han Jisung was like an unpredictable storm meeting a steady anchor. Where you brought chaos, wild and unapologetic, he brought calm and quiet resilience. Yet somehow, the two of you balanced each other, your mismatched escapades weaving an unlikely but unshakable bond.

----------------------------------------------------------

Take the time you convinced Han Jisung to sneak into the art department’s studio with you. Rumor had it that the seniors had painted a massive mural on the back wall, and you just had to see it before the official unveiling.

“This is such a bad idea,” Jisung muttered, trailing behind you through the dimly lit hallway.

“You say that every time,” you whispered back, stifling a grin as you jiggled the door handle. “And yet, here you are.”

“Only because someone has to make sure you don’t get caught,” he shot back, crossing his arms.

“Relax, it’s just a mural. No one’s going to....”

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, cutting off your reassurance. Your heart leaped into your throat as you instinctively grabbed Jisung’s arm and dragged him behind a stack of easels. The two of you crouched low, pressed shoulder to shoulder, holding your breath.

“I hate this,” he hissed, his voice barely audible.

“You love this,” you whispered, unable to suppress the mischievous smile spreading across your face.

When the footsteps finally receded, leaving the hallway silent once more, you turned toward Jisung, your faces just inches apart. For a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his eyes searched yours, as if questioning what on earth he was doing here with you.

“Let’s just go,” he muttered, breaking the spell as he stood up and dusted himself off.

The mural, when you finally laid eyes on it, was breathtaking: a kaleidoscope of colors and intricate details that left you momentarily speechless. But the real highlight of the night wasn’t the art. It was Jisung’s deadpan commentary as he gestured toward the wall with exaggerated disbelief.

“You risked getting us expelled for this?” he asked, his tone dripping with mock indignation.

“It’s called appreciating art,” you replied, snapping a photo with your phone. “You should try it sometime.”

“Next time, let’s just visit a museum like normal people,” he said, shaking his head. But the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed him.

Your friendship with Han Jisung was a rollercoaster of shenanigans and shared moments that made life vibrant and unpredictable. The two of you were a duo nobody quite understood — him, the straight-laced, diligent student with his color-coded notes and perfectly maintained schedule, and you, the chaotic whirlwind who somehow managed to stumble your way through life with charm and luck.

Whether it was sneaking into the art department to see hidden murals or convincing him to ditch a study session for a midnight run to the nearest convenience store, you were always dragging Jisung into your world of playful mayhem.

And the most surprising part? He let you. He’d complain endlessly...“Y/N, this is the last time I’m letting you drag me into one of your dumb plans...,” But he’d always follow.

But your fun and games came to a crashing halt one fateful afternoon when reality smacked you in the face.

It started innocently enough. You and Jisung were sitting on the grass in the quad, eating snacks after one of your shared classes. He had a notebook balanced on his knee, going over notes while you dramatically recounted your latest “battle” with your statistics professor.

“Y/N, you can’t keep ignoring deadlines,” Jisung said, laughing as he stole one of your chips. “At some point, it’s going to catch up with you.”

“It’s fine,” you said breezily, leaning back and looking at the sky. “I always figure it out in the end.”

But you didn’t.

The next week, the results of your midterm exams came out, and the sinking feeling in your stomach as you saw your grades was undeniable. You were failing. And not just in one class;several.

You didn’t want to tell Jisung. Admitting it felt like admitting defeat, like proving to him that you were the chaotic mess everyone thought you were. But Jisung wasn’t the type to let things slide.

When he saw you sitting alone in the library, looking dejected, he plopped down across from you with his usual confident grin. “Alright, what’s up? And don’t even think about saying ‘nothing.’”

You sighed, burying your face in your hands. “I’m failing, Jisung.”

He blinked, momentarily surprised. “Failing what?”

“Exams,” you mumbled.

“Right, you're failing. I know."

"You know?" you asked, shocked.

"You bombed the last three quizzes, skipped half the study sessions, and I saw you playing games on your laptop during class last week,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If you keep this up, you’re not going to pass the finals.”

You scoffed, running a hand through your hair. “Rubbing salt in the wound, much? Okay, I get it. I'm a horrible person… I don’t know how to fix it.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, his expression softening. “We’re going to fix this. Together.”

And just like that, he took charge. Over the next few months, Jisung practically became your shadow. He made you a study schedule, sat with you during every session, and patiently explained concepts you didn’t understand.

“Focus, Y/N,” he’d say when he caught you doodling in the margins of your notes.

“You’re like an annoying older brother,” you grumbled one evening as he forced you to redo a particularly difficult essay for the fifth time.

“Older?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally younger than you.”

“Then stop acting like my dad,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“You’re lucky I don’t charge for all this,” he’d mutter, shaking his head but unable to hide his fond smile.

Despite the grueling sessions, you couldn’t deny that it was working. And as the exams approached, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

The day the results were posted, you practically sprinted to the bulletin board, your heart pounding in your chest. Jisung followed behind, a calm presence as always.

When you saw your grades, you let out a gasp. “I passed!”

Jisung grinned, clapping you on the back. “See? I told you you could do it.”

You turned to him, your eyes shining. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Jisung. Seriously, thank you.”

He shrugged, but the smile on his face was genuine. “What are best friends for?”

And that was the moment you realized, once again, just how much he meant to you. He wasn’t just your partner in crime or your study buddy. He was your anchor, your constant, your safe place in the chaos of life.

----------------------------------------------------------

Next semester arrived before you knew it, sweeping you into a whirlwind of assignments, deadlines, and late-night cramming sessions. Somewhere amid the chaos of library study marathons and the steady comfort of early-morning pep talks, it hit you...you were falling for Han Jisung. It wasn’t the kind of love that blindsided you in a single moment, the way romance novels and movies often describe. No, this was different. It was a quiet realization, like the way dawn gradually paints the sky with soft, golden hues. Subtle, unassuming, but impossible to ignore once you noticed it.

You found yourself searching for his laugh in crowded rooms, a sound so infectious it felt like sunlight breaking through the darkest clouds. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled became something you looked forward to, a little beacon of joy in your long, exhausting days. Then there was the way he pushed his hair back when he was concentrating, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were trying to solve the mysteries of the universe. It was such a small thing, but it made your heart skip every time.

And it wasn’t just the way he made you feel; it was the way he cared for you, in a way no one else ever had. He had this way of noticing things about you...things you didn’t even realize you were doing. Like how he’d remind you to eat when you got too caught up in your work or how he’d send you a text late at night, a simple “You’ve got this” that somehow made everything feel a little more manageable. His care wasn’t loud or overbearing; it was steady and unshakable, like a constant undercurrent that you could always count on.

You didn’t know exactly when it started...when his presence began to mean more than just friendship. Maybe it was during one of those late-night library sessions when he stayed up with you until dawn, helping you with a paper even though he didn’t have to. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, his gaze soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name. Or maybe it was simply everything...every moment, every laugh, every small, thoughtful gesture adding up until your heart couldn’t hold it all anymore.

But falling for him was as terrifying as it was beautiful. Because as much as you wanted to believe there was something more between you, you couldn’t ignore the fear—the fear that acknowledging your feelings would change everything, that crossing that line might mean losing him entirely. So you kept it to yourself, letting your feelings grow quietly in the corners of your heart, where they were safe but painfully unspoken.

Instead of confessing, you did what you thought would save you from heartbreak: burying your feelings and making a choice that felt like the only escape at the time. You started dating someone else.

At first, it seemed like a solution, a distraction from the ache that tightened your chest every time Jisung’s warm smile was directed at you. Your new relationship kept you busy, giving you something else to focus on. But it didn’t take long for cracks to appear, tiny fractures that grew wider with every passing day. Your partner turned out to be toxic: controlling, dismissive, and quick to belittle you for things you couldn’t control. Every disagreement became a battle, every moment together felt like walking on eggshells.

And, of course, Jisung noticed. He always noticed.

“Y/N,” he said softly one evening, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence of your apartment. He was sitting beside you on the couch after you’d had yet another argument with your partner, your eyes red and tired from holding back tears. “You don’t have to put up with this.”

You shrugged, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands. “It’s not as bad as it seems.”

His hand reached out, brushing against yours as his voice took on a firmness that was rare for him. “It is that bad. You deserve better than this. So much better.”

You looked up at him then, his expression both gentle and resolute, and something in your chest cracked open. His words felt like a lifeline, a reminder of the person you used to be....the person you wanted to be again. Still, you didn’t act immediately. Breaking up was messy, painful, and terrifying. But Jisung’s unwavering support gave you strength.

When the breakup finally happened, it unraveled everything. The aftermath was raw, leaving you emotionally drained and questioning everything. You called Jisung in the middle of the night, your voice shaking as you choked out his name. And, like always, he showed up. No questions, no hesitation. He simply came.

He didn’t try to fix you or tell you to move on. He just sat with you, his arms wrapped around you as you cried, his presence grounding you in a way no one else’s could. His quiet reassurances weren’t grand declarations, but they were exactly what you needed: I’m here. You’re not alone.

And that was when you knew. You couldn’t keep pretending anymore. You couldn’t keep denying that he wasn’t just your best friend. That every time he laughed, your heart skipped. That he wasn’t the person you wanted beside you...not just in moments of crisis, but always.

It was terrifying to think about confessing. But the thought of losing him? That was even worse. So you made up your mind. You would tell him how you felt, even if it risked everything.

But reality always has other plans....

----------------------------------------------------------

“Earth to Y/N,” Jisung’s voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. His hand waved in front of your face, his tone laced with gentle teasing. “Are you okay?”

You blinked, your surroundings coming back into focus. His face was mere inches from yours, his brows furrowed with concern. He looked at you the way he always did, as though he could see every unspoken thought you were too afraid to share.

“Yeah,” you lied, your voice coming out shaky. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” His curiosity was genuine, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup, your heart hammering in your chest. What could you say? That you were thinking about how much you missed him? About how every moment with him only made it harder to keep your feelings hidden? About how terrifying it was to sit across from him, knowing your heart was an open wound he couldn’t see?

“Just... reminiscing,” you said finally, forcing a smile that you hoped hid the turmoil inside. “About how you’ve always had my back. You’ve saved me more times than I can count.”

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that never failed to make your stomach flip. “What can I say? Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”

You laughed, but it felt hollow, the weight of your unsaid confession pressing down on you. You couldn’t help but notice the way the evening light softened his features, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say what you really wanted to.

As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, you found yourself stealing glances at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every inflection of his voice. The thought that you might never be brave enough to tell him how you felt was unbearable.

And when he walked you home that night, his presence warm and steady beside you, you almost stopped him. Almost turned to him and let the words tumble out. But fear held you back...the fear of ruining what you already had, the fear that he didn’t feel the same.

As you stood outside your apartment building, Jisung smiled softly, his hands buried in his coat pockets. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered, watching him walk away.

You stayed there long after he was gone, the city’s lights blurring in your vision as tears pricked your eyes. Because no matter how much you told yourself it was better this way, your heart knew the truth.

You closed the door behind you, the sound of it slamming shut echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. Leaning against the door, you let out a breath, one you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. Your chest still felt tight, and your heart raced uncontrollably,not from the cold night air that still clung to you, but from everything that had just transpired.

Best friends

That’s all you were to him, and that’s all you’d ever be. The bitter thought made your stomach twist as you dropped your bag carelessly onto the floor.

With each step that led you to your bedroom, the weight of it all pressed down on you. You peeled off your jacket, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, not bothering to hang it up. The soft glow from the city lights filtered through your curtains, casting delicate, fleeting patterns on the walls. You climbed into bed, the comforter enveloping you like a fragile shield. But no amount of warmth could ease the ache that gnawed at your heart.

Your mind, however, had other plans. It dragged you back, back to that cold Valentine’s Day years ago, when you’d finally decided to take the plunge, to confess, to reveal the feelings you’d kept hidden for far too long.

----------------------------------------------------------

It had been one of those early February mornings, the kind where your breath hung in the air in little clouds of mist, and the campus pathways were slick from the melting frost. You’d spent weeks wrestling with the idea, turning it over in your mind like a stone you couldn’t get rid of. Every shared laugh, every teasing nudge from Jisung, every late-night text that made your heart flutter, each small moment had added weight to the growing realization that you couldn’t ignore your feelings anymore.

Today’s the day, you told yourself. The words echoed in your mind like a mantra, but they didn’t feel as comforting as they should have. You couldn’t keep pretending to be his best friend, not when your heart longed for something more.

You had prepared for this moment, rehearsing your confession in front of the mirror over and over. It wasn’t going to be grand or dramatic, just honest, just the truth of how much he meant to you. It was going to be simple: "Jisung, I need to tell you something. I think I’m in love with you."

But just as you’d gathered the courage to leave your dorm, your phone buzzed. A call from Nari, a friend of yours since freshman year.

"Hey, can we talk? Meet me at the campus café around noon. It’s important."

Your heart skipped a beat. What could Nari possibly want to talk about? You didn’t think much of it at first. Nari was the kind of person who always seemed to know when something was off, and she had a way of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it wasn’t. Maybe she’d guessed how you felt about Jisung and wanted to give you some advice—something to help ease the burden you’d carried for so long.

You agreed to meet her, nervous energy coursing through you. You picked out a small rose for Jisung, the perfect shade of red, and made your way to the café. When you arrived, Nari was already there, absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea. She looked up when she saw you, offering a smile, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Hey," she greeted, her voice light but hesitant. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Of course," you replied, trying to sound steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "What’s up?"

Nari hesitated, her gaze flickering to the rose in your hand before meeting your eyes again. She took a deep breath, and you could tell something was weighing heavily on her.

"I wanted to talk to you about something... something important," she said, her voice quieter now, more serious.

Your stomach tightened with unease. "Okay?"

She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, taking a moment before continuing. "I know how close you and Jisung are. And... I’ve noticed how you look at him."

Your cheeks flushed with heat, a wave of panic crashing over you. "W-What do you mean?" you stammered, unsure of what she was getting at.

"You like him, don’t you?" she asked gently, her voice almost apologetic, as if she already knew the answer.

You froze. There was no point denying it. Not when she’d already seen straight through you. The truth hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You nodded slowly, the grip on the rose tightening as you spoke. "Yeah. I do."

Nari bit her lip, her expression softening with sympathy. "I figured. That’s why I thought I should tell you before you... before you do anything." She trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. "What about you and Jisung?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Nari shifted in her seat, her eyes avoiding yours for a moment. Then, slowly, she met your gaze again, her expression filled with something that looked like guilt.

"We’ve been seeing each other," she said, her voice small but resolute. "For a little while now."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of you. You blinked, trying to process what she had just said. This couldn’t be real. Jisung hadn’t said anything...nothing about her, nothing about being with anyone.

"You’re... together?" you asked, barely able to form the words.

Nari nodded, her face etched with a kind of remorse. "It’s still new," she said quietly, "but I thought it was better to tell you now. I didn’t want you to find out in a way that would hurt more."

Hurt. The irony of her words felt like salt in the wound. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The rose in your hand suddenly felt like a cruel joke, its vibrant petals mocking you. The confession you’d been building up for so long, the one you’d been so certain of, had just become meaningless.

"I’m sorry," Nari said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. But... I really care about him."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to smile, even though it felt like it would tear you apart. "It’s fine," you said, though the words felt hollow. "Really."

But it wasn’t fine. Not at all.

The rest of the conversation blurred as she went on about how happy Jisung made her, about how she never expected this to happen, but how she had to be honest with you. Every word felt like a knife twisting deeper, but you held it together, nodding at the right times, forcing yourself to listen.

When you finally left the café, you didn’t even look back. The rose you’d clutched in your hand found its way into the nearest trash can, the delicate petals crushed under your trembling fingers, a symbol of everything you could never have.

---------------------------------------------------------

A few weeks after Valentine’s Day, life had settled into an uneasy rhythm. You buried your feelings deeper than ever, convincing yourself that it was better this way. You were still Jisung’s best friend, the one he turned to when he needed to laugh, vent, or just be himself. But each moment spent with him was a bittersweet reminder of what you could never have, an ache that lingered, stubborn and relentless.

Then, one evening, your phone buzzed with a call from him, Jisung.

“Hey, can we talk? There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach flipped, unease settling over you like a heavy weight. His tone was more serious than usual, sending a chill through your body. Was he about to bring up what you had been trying so hard to bury? You hesitated, but finally replied, your heart pounding.

“Of course. What’s up?”

“Let’s meet on the rooftop of campus. I’ll be there in 20.”

A knot tightened in your stomach as you agreed.

The rooftop -yours and his safe place. It was the space where you had shared confessions, secrets, things that shouldn’t be seen by the world. You both had always come here to escape, to be yourselves away from prying eyes.

You arrived early, anxiety crawling up your spine with every step. The campus was eerily quiet at night, and you slipped through the building’s doors, heading up to the rooftop. The familiar view of the city lights was comforting, but tonight, it couldn’t settle your nerves.

When Jisung arrived, he was different. His playful grin was absent, replaced by a serious expression. His eyes, usually filled with warmth and mischief, held a weight you hadn’t seen before. Your chest tightened at the sight.

“Hey,” you greeted, forcing a smile that felt like a mask, as you turned to face him.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice unusually soft. He didn’t meet your gaze immediately, instead fiddling nervously with the hem of his hoodie sleeves...a habit you knew well.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light, even though your heart felt like it was going to explode.

He took a deep breath before lifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes were steady, but there was something burdened in them, something he hadn’t said yet.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and... I didn’t know how to tell you. But I have to.”

Your heart sank, the weight of his words sinking in before you could even process them. What was ge about to tell you ? That he and Nari were becoming serious? That he didn’t want to stay friends anymore?

“I’m leaving Seoul,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. “What?”

“I got accepted into a music program in Busan,” he explained, his hands clenching into fists. “It’s an incredible opportunity, like a dream come true. But it means... I have to leave.”

Your mind went blank, your body feeling like it was trapped in quicksand. Jisung had always talked about his passion for music, about creating something that meant something. You were proud of him, truly, but the thought of him leaving, of him being so far away, was unbearable.

“When?” you managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“In a week,” he said, his eyes searching yours, looking for understanding. “I didn’t want to tell you until everything was finalized. I just... I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Your chest tightened as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You looked away, staring blankly at the city below. “A week? That’s... so soon.”

“I know,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “But it’s something I have to do. You understand that, right?”

You nodded, forcing the lump in your throat down, even though your heart was breaking. “Yeah, of course. It’s your dream. You’d be crazy not to go.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Jisung talked about the program, his excitement and nervousness spilling over as he shared every detail. You listened, offered words of encouragement, even joked with him to lighten the mood. But as soon as you were alone, everything you had been holding back came crashing down.

----------------------------------------------------------

The week passed in a blur, each day bringing you closer to the inevitable. And then, it was the day of his departure.

You met him at the train station, your chest heavy with the weight of goodbye. He was standing there, his suitcases at his feet, hoodie pulled up against the chill of the early morning. The finality of the moment was suffocating, the space between you growing with each passing second.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as you approached.

“Hey,” you replied, forcing a smile that felt like it might shatter any second.

Neither of you spoke right away, the sound of the bustling station drowning out the silence that hung between you. Neither of you could find the words that needed to be said.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said finally, his voice resolute, though there was a tremor of uncertainty in his eyes. “I’ll text you every day. I’ll call. We’ll stay in touch, okay?”

You nodded, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally escaping. “Yeah. We will.”

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer and pulling you into a hug. His arms were warm, steady, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to forget everything else. You breathed in deeply, memorizing the way he felt, the way his heartbeat synced with yours.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, his chin resting on top of your head. “I promise.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply clung to him, unwilling to let go, as though by holding on just a little longer, you could freeze this moment in time.

When the announcement for his train came over the speakers, he pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

He gave you one last smile: a small, sincere smile, before grabbing his bags and heading toward the platform. You watched him walk away, your heart breaking with every step, every inch between you and him.

As the train began to pull away, you told yourself it wasn’t the end. That you’d see him again. That things would go back to the way they were.

But deep down, you knew better. Something had changed, something unspoken, something that couldn’t be undone. And though you didn’t know what the future held, you knew one thing for sure,it could never be the same again....

---------------------------------------------------------

The sunlight poured through your window, bright and uninvited, cutting through the darkness of the room. You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow, desperate to escape the sharp ring of the alarm that sliced through the silence. The day ahead already felt heavy, as if the weight of the world had settled on your shoulders before it even began. The memories that had resurfaced the night before, memories you had buried for years...still clung to your mind, unrelenting and vivid. Jisung was back in your life, but the gap of eight years between you was an insurmountable distance...those unanswered questions, the unspoken truths, and the silent wishes hung between you like an invisible wall that neither of you could breach.

You dragged yourself out of bed, the grogginess still clinging to you like a second skin, your body protesting against the demands of the day. The kitchen greeted you with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the scent wrapping around you like a brief respite from the chaos swirling inside your mind. You leaned against the counter, staring blankly out the window, watching the familiar morning rush of Seoul. People hurried past, weaving in and out of the crowded streets with practiced precision, their steps as frantic as your thoughts. The city felt different now, with Jisung back in it. Or maybe it was you who felt different...changed by the weight of the years that had passed and the memories that refused to stay buried.

It had been weeks since that fateful café meeting....the first time you had seen him again after so many years of silence. Since then, you and Jisung had slipped into an almost familiar rhythm, as though time had somehow softened the sharp edges of the past. Late-night texts, spontaneous meetups, shared laughter, it all seemed to flow with ease, as though no time had passed at all. But beneath the surface of every smile, every joke, every touch, there was something deeper—a shadow of the past, a lingering ache, a question that neither of you dared to ask. The years apart, the buried feelings, and the uncertainty of where you stood now,all of it hovered between you, a constant presence neither of you could escape.

You had resolved, at least for the time being, to keep things light. To avoid venturing into territory that might reopen old wounds. After all, wasn't it better to just be his friend than risk losing him altogether? The logic made sense, the choice seemed rational. But your heart, stubborn as always, refused to follow any kind of logic. It ached for him in ways you couldn’t control, pulling you in directions you weren’t ready to go. No matter how hard you tried to push the feelings down, to suppress the memories that wanted to flood back to the surface, they remained, relentless, unyielding, impossible to ignore.

And so, you stood there, staring out at the city that felt both familiar and foreign, wondering if the past was something you could ever truly outrun...

----------------------------------------------------------

That afternoon, you found yourself standing in front of the same café where everything had started—where you’d seen Jisung for the first time in eight long years. But today, it wasn’t a chance encounter. This meeting had a purpose, planned and initiated by him.

Jisung’s call from the morning had been simple and vague, yet it had thrown you off balance:

“Let’s grab lunch? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

A surprise. With Jisung, that could mean anything...something small and silly, or something that could shift the ground beneath your feet. Either way, your heart had been racing ever since.

Pushing open the door to the café, the familiar chime of the bell above welcomed you. Your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him. He was already at your usual table by the window, waving at you with that familiar boyish grin. His hair was slightly messy, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up casually, and he looked so at ease, so natural, that it was almost enough to lull you into believing nothing had changed.

“Hey, you’re early,” you said as you slid into the seat across from him, feigning nonchalance to hide the way your pulse quickened at the sight of him.

“Rare moment of responsibility,” he quipped, setting his phone down on the table. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wasn’t planning to.”

As the waitress came to take your order, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him, trying to read the mood. There was a sparkle in his eyes, an almost childlike excitement, and you couldn’t help but feel curious and maybe a little nervous.

“So,” you started once the waitress left, “are you going to tell me what this surprise is, or are you just going to keep me guessing?”

Jisung leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “Patience. Let’s eat first.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but played along. Lunch passed in a blur of conversation and laughter. He told you about his time in Busan, the struggles of chasing his dreams, the doubts that crept in on sleepless nights, and the small moments of triumph that kept him going. You shared stories of Seoul, talking about everything from the daily grind to the little changes in the city he used to know so well.

There was something comforting about it all, like slipping into a well-worn rhythm. But beneath the surface of your laughter and casual conversation was the unspoken truth, the questions, the what-ifs, the emotions that threatened to rise to the surface with every shared glance.

As the meal drew to a close, your patience finally snapped.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, leaning forward, your curiosity getting the better of you. “What’s the big surprise?”

Jisung’s grin turned sheepish as he reached into his bag, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. He held it out to you with an almost nervous energy.

“It’s nothing huge,” he said, his voice softening. “But I saw this and thought of you.”

You blinked, staring at the package in his hands. “You didn’t have to....”

“Just open it,” he interrupted, his eyes alight with anticipation.

You hesitated only for a moment before carefully peeling away the wrapping. What you revealed made your breath catch. It was a leather-bound notebook, beautifully embossed with intricate designs. But it wasn’t just the notebook that made your heart stumble.

As you opened it, the first few pages revealed doodles, small, playful sketches that were unmistakably his. Interspersed with the doodles were notes, scribbled in his familiar handwriting, filled with inside jokes and tiny fragments of your shared past. Flipping further, you found photos tucked between pages, memories you had long forgotten brought back to life in vivid detail.

“Is this…?” you murmured, your voice trailing off as your fingers skimmed over the pages, taking in every detail.

“It’s kind of like a scrapbook,” Jisung explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “I found some of our old stuff while unpacking and thought... I don’t know, you might like it. I started putting it together, and… yeah.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you traced the edge of a photo - a candid shot of the two of you from college, your younger selves caught mid-laughter.

“Jisung, this is…” You looked up at him, your voice catching in your throat. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

He smiled, the shyness in his expression softening into something warmer. “I figured it’s about time we started filling in the gaps, you know? From all those years apart.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

But as you stared down at the notebook again, a bittersweet ache filled your chest. Every page, every sketch, every photo spoke of a connection you cherished. Yet they also served as a reminder of everything you couldn’t have. For all the love and care that had gone into this gift, for all the memories it brought back, there was one truth that hung in the air, unspoken and unchangeable.

Jisung didn’t feel the same way about you.

And no amount of shared nostalgia could rewrite that fact...

Later, as he walked you home, the air between you was filled with the kind of easy conversation that came naturally with him, light-hearted jokes, shared laughter, and fleeting glances that felt like secrets. It was almost as if the years apart hadn’t happened, as if the weight of the past had somehow dissolved in the rhythm of your steps. For a fleeting moment, it felt like old times.

His presence beside you was a quiet comfort, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d missed. The sound of his sneakers scuffing lightly against the pavement, the soft hum of the city around you, it all felt familiar, like slipping into a favorite old sweater that had been tucked away for too long.

“Thanks again for the notebook,” you said as you reached your building, clutching the gift tightly against your chest. “Seriously, it’s the best thing I’ve gotten in… well, years.”

He turned to you, his grin widening as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

There was something about the way he looked at you just then, a flicker in his eyes, warm and unguarded, that made your pulse stutter. The city lights reflected faintly in his gaze, and for one impossible second, you thought you saw something there. Something deeper. Something more.

But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual boyish charm. He smiled and took a playful step backward, rocking on his heels. “Goodnight, bestie.”

Your laugh came out soft and a little strained, the word bestie stinging in a way you hadn’t expected. It was a reminder of the line he had drawn between you, one he didn’t seem to realize you were desperate to cross.

“Goodnight, Jisung,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You stood there, watching as he walked away, his figure growing smaller with each step until he was just a shadow against the glow of the streetlights. Your chest felt heavy, the ache of unspoken words pressing against your ribs.

For a moment, the urge to stop him surged within you, stronger than ever. To call out his name, to tell him everything...

But you stopped yourself. And for the first time in years, you let yourself wonder: maybe it wasn’t about what you said or didn’t say. Maybe it was about what he felt or didn’t feel in return ?

---------------------------------------------------------

The days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, Jisung’s return to your life had started to take its toll. Spending time with him felt like walking a tightrope, balanced precariously between joy and heartache. Every laugh you shared, every inside joke that came rushing back, every moment spent together,it was everything you’d ever wanted. But it was also a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t have.

The little things were the hardest to bear. The way his laughter still made your heart skip, the way he instinctively remembered your favorite snacks or noticed the smallest changes in your mood. The way his voice softened when he said your name, as if it was a word meant to be spoken with care. Every interaction felt like it was pulling you deeper into an emotional quicksand. No matter how much you told yourself to keep things casual, to not overthink, the feelings you’d buried years ago rose to the surface, stronger and more relentless than ever.

It was exhausting. The constant battle within yourself...the longing to be close to him and the fear of being hurt again. The more time you spent with Jisung, the clearer it became: your heart wasn’t built to endure this. Not again.

So, you did the only thing you thought might save you. You started to pull away.

At first, it was subtle. A missed text here, a vague excuse there.

When he asked to hang out, you’d claim you were busy with work or that you weren’t feeling well. You convinced yourself it was temporary, that a little distance would give you the time and space you needed to get your emotions under control.

He didn’t question it at first. When you started skipping out on coffee dates or responding to his texts hours late with apologetic emojis and half-hearted excuses, Jisung didn’t push. He let it slide, brushing it off as you being busy or caught up with work. “It happens,” he’d say with a grin, his tone light and understanding. That was just who he was, always patient, always willing to give you the space you needed.

But as the days stretched into weeks, the excuses piled up, and the distance between you became impossible to ignore. Every invitation was met with, “Maybe next time,” or, “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” You stopped lingering over late-night texts, stopped sharing the small details of your day that you used to send him without a second thought.

And every time you turned him down, every time you chose silence over connection, you felt the guilt clawing at you. It was suffocating, that constant push and pull between wanting to protect yourself and not wanting to hurt him. But in your mind, this was the only way. Keeping your heart intact meant keeping your distance.

Except, it wasn’t working.

Avoiding Jisung didn’t dull your feelings, it only made them sharper. Every time you ignored his text, you’d find yourself staring at your phone minutes later, wondering if he was thinking of you. Every time you saw something that reminded you of him.... a song you both loved, a stupid meme he’d laugh at, you had to fight the urge to send it to him. The more you tried to pull away, the more you missed him.

And it didn’t take long for Jisung to notice.

At first, it was subtle, small, hesitant comments when you did see him. “You’ve been really busy lately, huh?” he’d say, his tone casual but his eyes searching. You’d nod and mumble something about work, trying to avoid the way his gaze lingered on you, as if he was trying to read between the lines.

But Jisung wasn’t the type to let things go for long. One day, after you’d bailed on plans for the third time that week, he called and said something that stopped you in your tracks....

“Did I do something wrong?”

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything you’d been trying to avoid.

“If I messed up, just tell me. I don’t want things to get weird between us.”

Weird. That’s what he thought this was, a misunderstanding, a bump in the road. He didn’t know how hard you were trying to keep your feelings buried, how every moment with him felt like walking a tightrope between happiness and heartbreak.

Your fingers hovered over the mute button, a dozen responses swirling in your mind. You wanted to tell him the truth, to spill everything you’d been holding back. But the thought of losing him, of ruining what you still had, froze you in place.

Finally, you answered back “It’s not you. I’ve just been overwhelmed with work. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

He replied almost instantly.

“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’m here.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but the relief was short-lived. Because as much as you wanted to believe that he’d buy your excuse, you could feel the doubt in his words.

And you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t keep this up forever....

----------------------------------------------------------

It had been over a month since you’d last seen him when Jisung finally confronted you. The day had been long, and you were heading home, headphones on, the city noise muffled by a soothing playlist. The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft hues of gold and pink, and you were thankful for the solitude. That was until your name cut through the air, sharp and unmistakable.

“Y/N!”

You froze, your heart sinking as you recognized his voice. Turning, you saw Jisung jogging toward you, his expression a mix of determination and something you couldn’t quite place,anger, maybe? Concern?

“Jisung,” you said, pulling out your headphones, your voice tinged with guilt.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, his tone firm but not unkind.

“What do you mean?” you replied, feigning confusion as you shifted your weight nervously.

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze piercing. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been avoiding me, Y/N. For weeks. And I want to know why."

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lied weakly, looking anywhere but at him.

“Really?” he said, crossing his arms. “Because it feels like I’ve been chasing a ghost. You barely respond to my texts, you cancel plans left and right and when I try to call, it goes straight to voicemail. So, tell me....what’s really going on?”

Your chest tightened, and you could feel your carefully constructed walls cracking. “I’ve been busy,” you mumbled, knowing how hollow the excuse sounded.

“Busy?” he repeated, his frustration evident. “Too busy to even say hi? Too busy to talk to someone you called your best friend?”

The word “best friend” stung, and you flinched visibly.

Jisung noticed. “What is it?” he asked, his tone softening. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you said quickly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “It’s not you. It’s...”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t say it’s you, because we both know that’s not true.”

You sighed deeply, your shoulders slumping. “Can we not do this here?”

He hesitated, then gestured toward a nearby bench under a line of cherry blossom trees that had already begun to bloom, their petals swirling gently in the breeze. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

The walk to the bench felt like an eternity, and when you finally sat down, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said at last, your voice trembling.

“Do what?” he asked, leaning closer, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Pretend,” you whispered. “Pretend like I’m okay just being your friend when I’m not.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “I’m saying I’ve been in love with you for years, Jisung. Since college. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But then Nari...”

“Nari?” he interrupted, his confusion stark.

“Yeah, Nari,” you said, bitterness creeping into your voice. “The girl you were dating. The one who told me you weren’t interested in me, that you only saw me as a friend.”

His face shifted from confusion to disbelief. “Y/N, I don’t know who Nari is.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean you don’t know her? She told me...”

“I don’t care what she told you,” he said, his voice firm. “It wasn’t true. I never said that. And for the record, I’ve never dated anyone named Nari.”

You stared at him, the ground beneath you seeming to shift. “But she…”

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but resolute, “if you’re talking about that random girl who used to hang out at our college meetups, she wasn’t even my type. She was just… there.”

Your mind reeled, the memory of Nari’s smug smile flashing in your mind. “She lied?”

“Looks like it,” he said, his tone laced with frustration. “But that’s not what matters right now.”

“What does?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“You,” he said simply. “And the fact that I’ve been in love with you since college, too.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt your heart stop. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning closer. “I thought I was being obvious back then. I always made excuses to be around you, to make you laugh, to sit next to you in every class. But you never seemed interested, so I… I let it go.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of years of misunderstandings crashing down on you. “I thought you didn’t care,” you said, your voice breaking.

And I thought you didn’t,” he replied, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “But I’m done assuming.”

He leaned closer, his gaze searching yours. “Tell me I’m not too late.”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as a laugh bubbled out of you. “You’re not too late.”

His smile was soft, tentative, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. And then, slowly, he leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips met yours.

The world seemed to still, the noise of the city fading into nothing. His kiss was gentle but sure, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him like he might disappear if you let go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a shaky breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You laughed softly, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Maybe I do.”

A loud meow broke the moment, and both of you turned to see a stray cat sitting by Jisung’s feet, its wide eyes fixed on him as if demanding attention.

Jisung groaned, though his smile never wavered. “Even the cats can’t leave me alone.”

You laughed, wiping at your tears. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“A sign of what?” he asked, his grin turning playful.

“That you’re stuck with me now,” you teased, squeezing his hand.

“Good,” he said, his voice warm and certain. “Because I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

As the two of you walked home hand in hand, the stray cat trailing behind like a self-appointed chaperone companion, you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right....

*ੈ✩Tags - @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @yangbbokari @theo4eve   @livelovelaughmiko @silverstarburst @galaxycatdrawz @skzoologist @shua-f4lmings @iknowyouknowminho @krisstheidiot @hyunjinhoexxx @gho-ster @ezlynkisses @elmoslungcancer @b1nn1e-1s-cut3 @seungseung-minmin @cuddlylonelyperson @jeonginsleftcheek @oreoqueen @freekyfangirl

Comment your @ If you wish to be added or removed from this list ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

*ੈ✩ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

Jimmy with someone who would give his the same energy back/beats the shit out of him and then kiss his wounds

I need to do this to him sooooo bad. I need to chew him like a dog toy. I need to be inside him. I need him inside of me. I am insane.

- #3 jimmy fucker (anon bc i don’t want this associated with any of my blogs, my irl bestie has seen and heard enough of my shit)

JIMMY X ABUSIVE! READER

warnings: reverse abuse, basically.

Upon meeting you, jimmy first thought you were this timid little individual, who was so easy to trick and manipulate.

He thought you were going to be a plaything, something he could pass his time with.

But what he didn't expect was you flipping 360° into the relationship,it was almost as if he was dating an entirely different person!

you were cruel at times.

He comes to talk to you about stuff that he was passionate about, about how he was able to achieve an impressive feat while weightlifting that day, but you just stopped him mid sentence and said 'bet curly did better :)'

He couldn't understand why he couldn't just force you to act how he wanted you to.

There was something about you, something so intense that it kept him from going against you about anything, or even leaving you.

You made his life even more miserable than it already had been, you made him question his worth 24/7

And the shocking part? He didn't care, all he wanted was for you to acknowledge his achievements, acknowledge the fact that he is more than what meets you eye.

Even curly noticed changes in him, he'd never seen jimmy so... competitive before.

He cries, he never before thought that somebody would be able to make him cry, yet here we are.

He was ashamed to even admit that he begs you to never leave him.

He doesn't mind the taunts, the insensitive jokes or even the physical abuse that comes with.

Jimmy had become addicted to all of it, and now there was no going back.

[qtkoshi]

Maybe gn!Reader and Hobie adopt a kitten and the other three (Pavitr, Gwen, and Miles) come to see the kitten? Maybe a orange kitten gn!Reader wanted to name Spunk or Spike while Hobie gave them a spike collar? Would be cute lol

i luv ur brain anon

"you got....a kitten?"

- ok ok idk if this is what u meant, but u can feel free to run this with the bubblegum reader + hobie bc i think it fits alright :-) - also get a little deep with describing relationship,, but it’s necessary for the plot ! (...) - also!!! tysm for the requests; i am very excited to get into them, but will prob wait till tmrw to release bc it is my birthday today <3 much love to you all

──★ ˙ ̟ to the stars ！

general headcannons

alright first of all: hobie with a kitten? i’m in tears. 

i love the hc that hobie has a soft spot for cats and the fact that y’all got one together? bye.

NAPS WITH THE KITTEN JUST NESTLED BETWEEN BOTH OF YOU

this cat is gonna be SPOILED in attention i tell u rn

hobie isn’t as obvious ab it as u, but the amount of times u see him chilling with the cat just perched on his shoulder?? (why are u taking the baby swinging across the city hobie; wait a min now–)

how u got him

imagine this: ur walking past an alley and hear this small little meow; after further investigation you find this tuft of orange fur crying outside the dumpster and

now u gotta take it in what r u talking about!!

bringing him home immediately ; hobie's spidey senses prob picked up the cat's presence before you got in the door.

'baby what's that.' 'c'mon spiderman we got saving to do'

man can't even argue with you

hobie not naming the cat himself bc he doesn’t wanna enforce socio-constructed labels on an unsuspecting creature that can’t consent

u can tho.

and while you very much want to, you tell hobie you gotta think on it for a bit – it has to fit just right!! (tbh he rlly doesn’t mind the cat being nameless, but he’s kinda whipped and will kinda go with what u want if it helps give that pretty lil smile to him again)

spider-squad finding out ab him

the besties r wrapping up something with a fight and hobie’s all k gotta leave and check on the cat and the rest are like ????? 

pav absolutely floored bc how dare did u not mention this sooner hobie

'so you lot wanna come see him?' (inter-dimensional travel ensues) – also never gonna complain ab coming to hobie’s house they all think his place is dope

i’m sure we all know orange cats are fucking crazy and that does not exclude the little gremlin jumping off the walls of your flat rn

hobie ofc is smirking bc his son the cat is a little agent of chaos and he couldn’t be more proud 

you, on the other hand, are just a little tired trying to get the fucker to stay still for a second so u can put on the damn flea medicine

everybody loves him are u kidding (miles a little hesitant tho, he still has beef with the last spiderman-variant cat he met :/ ) 

“so whats its name?” miles was watching with wary eyes as the little ball of fur darted around. with a heavy (and definitely not dramatic) sigh, you walk over to the group “still haven’t picked. we just found him yesterday.”

luv the idea of hobie looking at u anytime ur in the room (stay with me now) — can’t help it u just grab all his attention, maybe stop being so lovely idk

speaking of your relationship: he has spent years battering against everything life throws at him that having your love in the palm of his hands? something to protect not in the way he does as a hero, but in the way to cherish as a person?? give the man a break, he deserves to admire you whenever he can.

anyways hobie’s looking at you before going ‘oh yea’, just grunts and pulls out this little collar with little spikes and their matching and oh my that is so cute

says he found it in some garbage, most def made the collar with some scraps like he did his own (gotta keep it cool yk)

you giddy and putting the collar on the little heathen and just all ‘omg wait a min’

promptly lifting the cat up and “THIS IS SPIKE.”

cue golf claps from the squad with some ooo’s and aah’s

more gen headcannons

remember when hobie and the cat were swinging around the city? yea he's taking that mf everywhere. puts him in his pocket like a little surprise

hobie loves to play fight with the cat

spike is the perfect mix; got hobie’s energy and your brightness it’s a win-win

i could write more but i'll stop here for now 🕸️

⊗

[ratsummer]

So my bestie was telling me the other day about Phantom wanting to practice kissing and I am running away with it!!

It doesn't take long after he's summoned for Phantom to want to kiss his pack mates. Unfortunately, he is a very anxious and not-yet-well-adjusted ghoul, so he agonizes over who to go to for a long, long time. They're all so beautiful, and everyone has been happy to help him, but the thought of kissing them... of being vulnerable in that way... He agonizes over everything that could go wrong for hours on end. After much sleeplessness and pacing around his room with a notebook (Cirrus taught him about decision trees) he finally decides Mountain is the safest bet.

First of all, he sees Mountain kissing literally everyone, all of the time, everywhere. Anyone can see he's good at it. Anyone can see he likes it! Also, both Swiss and Rain have independently confessed to Phantom that Mountain is the best kisser. Mountain has never laughed at him for not knowing how to do something, so he at least almost certainly won't be mean if he thinks it's weird that Phantom hasn't ever kissed anyone. Really, Phantom feels pretty safe that he can walk away from the situation unscathed, no matter which way things go.

So. It's gonna be Mountain. Phantom works up all the courage in his little heart and goes to Mountain's door. When Mountain greets him, he sees a skinny little ghoul (the littlest quint he's ever seen, that might never wear off) clutching his weighted bat stuffy close and barely able to stammer out a hello.

The one thing that Phantom had unfortunately left out of consideration was Mountain's height. Even glamored, the guy towers over him. He's also generally quiet, so he really just has a very consistenly... looming quality to him. Which is fine! So fine! But Phantom is already embarrassed and nervous and this big beautiful ghoul is just looking down at him with his big pretty soft gentle eyes and his sweet lovely smile and it's all so disarming and Phantom is just shrinking in on himself more and more and he can't even say hello to Mountain and he's such an idiot and he shouldn't have come and-

"Hey, snuggle bug, come here. Come back to me."

And, oh. Mountain is kneeling in front of him. He's shorter than Phantom now, but only just barely, and... wow, okay, Phantom can breathe again. And Mountain is just holding his hips and gently squeezing, and his big heavy tail is gently thumping on the ground, and he's still smiling that beautiful soft smile.

It's such a relief to have Mountain holding him that Phantom doesn't realize he's crying until Mountain reaches up to softly wipe his cheeks. And then Phantom is giggling, and his face is so hot, and then he starts crying for real, and he feels so stupid but also so safe. And he apologizes to Mountain over and over, sorry, he doesn't know why he's crying.

And around his gasps and half-stuttered apologies, he finally manages to confess. "I don't even know why I'm crying. I just wanted to kiss with you."

And Mountain is grinning so big and pulling him close, and even though he's on his knees he's somehow still making Phantom feel safe and small. And Mountain nuzzles up under his jaw, and presses a sweet, tiny kiss there. He cups Phantom's cheeks, and tilts his head down so he can press a lingering kiss between his horns.

"I would love to kiss with you, snuggle bug. Should we get in my nest?"

And Phantom can only whine and nod, knuckles white as he clings desperately to Mountain's shirt. He refuses to let go, even as Mountain stands and towers over him once more, stretching Phantom's arms out over his head. Mountain just laughs softly, not mean at all, and grabs Phantom's thighs to pick him up and wrap them around his waist.

Phantom squishes himself as close to Mountain as he can, snuggled up against his chest like a baby bat. He tucks his face into Mountain's neck to breathe in his warm, familiar smell, and wraps his tail tight around Mountain's hips. Mountain is rubbing his back, a deep, rumbling purr rolling through his chest as he closes the bedroom door and turns to his nest.

"Alright, snuggle bug. You're alright. Mounty's got you."

And maybe Phantom's entire body is finally relaxing from being so tense for hours, stressing over whether he should or shouldn't approach Mountain. Maybe his eyes are heavy from crying. Maybe he's finally warm and calm and maybe a big, cozy ghoul is kissing his hair and wrapping a big, cozy blanket around him.

Maybe he can get kisses tomorrow.

[angelcakegirl]

ʚ she's not me ! ɞ

re2!leon kennedy x fem!reader

wc; 1.3k

cw; smut (mdni!), p in v, unprotected, no use of y/n, mentions of cheating, bestie!leon!!!

note; hiii!!! this is my first tumblr post so im kinda new to this hehee, so sorry if my english isnt the greatest but hope u enjoyy<3 (ps, let me know if i missed any cw!!)

the night was all too relaxing. just the typing at your keyboard and sipping at your coffee, while raindrops painted the glass windows. accompanied by that sweet tapping sound, this was the life.

what you weren't expecting was a wild leon knocking at your window, hair all soaked and dark from the rain. "leon, what the fuck?" you ran over to the window and opened it up. he's lucky you live on the first floor of your apartment.

once you're actually close to him is when you realize he's in tears. "she cheated on me!" he exclaimed, followed by a few sad cries.

honestly, you warned him this would happen. everyone did! his ex girlfriend was a whore, to put it nicely. yet you decided to hold back all your i told you so's, and let him in kindly.

so here he was. on your couch, with your towel slung around his shoulders, and even finishing your coffee. unsolicited. seriously, who does that?

but he's your best friend. he's sweetheart, really. you love him... as a friend. so of course you'll console him.

"she didn't deserve you, lee. you're too good for her." in all honesty, you wanted to just say that she's notorious for cheating on all her men, but that's not what he needed to hear right now.

he stopped his crying a while ago, yet you could still hear the strain in his voice. like he was ready to get the waterworks running any second now. "i just don't understand– you say i'm a good guy yet she still cheated. am i not worthy of love or something?"

oh, now you wanted this bitch dead. cheat on leon? that's one thing but he'll get over it. however, she had to ruin his self worth too? now you've got a problem.

you gently placed your hand on top his which was resting on his knee. looking into those sweet blue eyes, as the damp tips of his hair kissed his eyelashes. "you're worthy, leon. i think you're worthy of love."

leon was ashamed to admit it, but your hand on his, paired with your sweet words and probably even sweeter lips? yeah, you had him shivering under his skin. seriously, he just got cheated on not even thirty minutes ago and here he was blushing from his best friend. even worse; his blood ran south.

he gulped in response, that pretty adams apple bobbing in his throat. "uh– if you say so. thanks." your hand lingered for a moment, yet you quickly let go of him and cleared your throat. getting up off the couch. "want more coffee? i'll go make some." you offered. "yeah, sure." what he really wanted now was you.

you returned with the coffees, letting him sip at it for a moment before placing them both down on the coffee table. of course you had to bend over in those little things you called shorts. right in his face. he had to bite back a groan, even shift a bit in his seat pathetically.

poor guy, the smallest things turned him on. "you look pretty today." he complimented, more so thinking with his dick than anything. which earned a small chuckle from you. "oh, really?" you were just wearing whatever shorts and tee you found that day. so what on earth was that about?

you took your seat back down next to him, looking at him for a good awkward thirty seconds before he lunged forwards into a hug. "thank you so much... seriously, i wouldn't know what i'd do without you." he mumbled into your shoulder.

you smiled, wrapping your arms around him and letting your fingers run through the back of his hair in a soothing motion. "it's all good, lee, don't worry about it."

suddenly, you felt it. his erection pressed against you. "um?" and he immediately pulled back a bit panicked. beginning to ramble an apology on. "shit– i'm sorry! i didn't mean to or anything just, fuck, i'm sorry–"

someone had to shut him up! you just did it the more convenient way. lips pressed against his, and it didn't help that they were so soft too. like little pillows. you pulled back, and his jaw was to the floor. "holy shit."

in an instant, he laid his head on your shoulder. face buried into the crook of your neck. "i need this." he whined a little. "i need you." okay, no one warned you this man was so whiny. whiny, and convincing.

and that's how you got here. sitting pretty on his lap, in a full make-out sesh with your best friend. to be fair, best friends kissed all the time.. you think! so yeah, you were wrong before. this was really the life!

your lips moved in sequence, until he pulled back panting for air. "may i?" as he tugged at your t-shirt. "you may." met with the plush of your tits, immediately kneading them in his hands with a soft groan.

after that, the rest of your clothes were quick to go. his too. you pressed your lips to his with a few more quick kisses, taking his length in hand. to say your best friends cock was pretty was an understatement. with a slight curve upward, and a flushed tip, you knew this thing was gonna feel pretty damn good.

"haah–" he immediately gasped as your hand up and down his width. you were nearly in shock to see your friend mindlessly bucking into your hand. holy, he was effortlessly sexy.

to be honest, he could finish like this alone. but where's the fun in that? "i'mma need more, baby, please." and just like that he had you kissing his swollen lips as you aligned your entrance with him.

once you sunk your hips onto him, he immediately took hold of them. being met with your velvety walls all tight around him had put him in a trance. not that he didn't have a similar affect on you. the initial burn and stretch was a lot but after a few small minutes it all subsided for pleasure.

"holy fuck!" leon threw his head back for a split second, before picking it back up to look at you. eyes half-lidded and dewy with pleasure. "you like that, baby?" you had to tease with a smirk. "fuckin' love it."

lewd squelching and skin slapping filled the room. that, paired with you and leon's moans and whimpers in sync was a godsend. he tried to hold himself back, he really did. but not even seconds later he found himself bucking into your cunt, balls deep. his pretty tip kissing your cervix with each hit.

you gasped out as your nails dug into his muscular shoulders. which painted some red scratches along his skin for him to admire later. both of your hips moving in sync. you immediately began to sing out your pleasure, all just for him to hear. "fuck– lee, just like that!"

of course leon took that as his cue to mess with you back. "oh yeah? you like that, baby?" typical. you could tell he was close by the way he began to grit his teeth. luckily for you, the sight alone was enough to cause that knot to form in your stomach.

one of his hands let go of your hip. bringing the rough pad of his thumb down to your puffy clit to rub in a few figure eight's. earner even louder sounds from you. "you gonna cum, hm?" he spoke through grunts, feeling your walls inclose on him. "fuck, cum for me, baby." cause' a true gentleman never finishes first!

your release quickly washed over you after those five magic words, going momentarily dumb on his cock. the second you came, he followed right behind. shutting himself up by pushing his lips onto yours. entangling his tongue with yours as his hot seed began to fill you. all while he just continued to thrust it up into you.

as you both came down from your highs, you slipped off leon. before crashing down to lay against his shoulder as you caught your breath. leon watched his remnants spill out you, biting his bottom lip in a smirk. he had a split reminder of his ex, but not one that did her any justice at all. "should've known she had nothing on you."

[therogueflame]

Hellooo!! I love your writing, and ask for thou to spare a mere lowborn a moment (this is somewhat long Cregan x reader ask, so I apologize in advance 😭)

So you know the Jon Snow story? Lyanna dies and Ned pretends Jon’s his bastard but he’s actually a Targaryen? That whole thing? Yeah, that, but instead it’s reader! You can play this out however you want, but like I’m thinking that the backstory goes like this (ish)

The Crewyn family’s vibing, maybe the sister of Lord Crewyn runs off with a Targaryen Prince. A war breaks out for some reason, maybe because of the scandalous Targ/Cerw-marrige. It puts the Crewyn sister in danger, Lord Crewyn travels to save her but she’s already injured. She tells Crewyn to take care of baby-reader and he does

Now! Maybe everyone knows reader’s a Targaryen, or maybe Lord Cerwyn goes the Ned Stark-path. Either way, reader kinda gets the reverse Strong-boys-problem. Reader gets the Targaryen features and hates them. The northern houses don’t accept her because of her appearance, so maybe she develops a medieval body-dysmorphia

She’s raised alongside Cregan’s bestie (bro lost his name privileges in the book, but imma call him Clay 💀). Clay and reader are raised in the Cerwyn castle, hunting, fighting, vibing. Cregan and Clay become bff’s, time goes on and reader becomes a formidable fighter to make up for her appearance, she catches Cregan’s attention, he tries to win her hand, though she doesn’t believe him and thinks Clay and him are playing a trick on her

(If this too complicated or confusing, then you can just ignore it, luv u and ur mind 😚❤️)

hi precious anon!

thank you so much for this request, i did follow most of it, but i changed a couple of things - no war, and no second person. i did try second person, but third person just made it so much more dramatic imo. thank you again!

The Ghost of the North

Very little dialogue, I am so sorry

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Summary: Born in the shadow of legacy and power, only to be shaped by the land of ice and wolves.

Warnings: angst, parental death, emotional neglect (kinda?), ostracization, idk this is my first one in a while that i didnt prewrite pls be nice ilysm

WC: 9.3k

Cregan Stark x Bastard!Targaryen

MDNI!!!

The Wolfswood swallowed the light, the skeletal branches of the trees clawing at the sky. The wind whistled through the pines, biting against Edwyn Cerwyn’s face as he rode, the breath of his horse curling in the freezing air. The ground was hard beneath the hooves, the leaves brittle with frost, crunching under the weight of his men’s approach. It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that turned a man’s stomach, that pressed against the back of his neck like the cold edge of a blade.

A wolf howled. A long, drawn-out cry that sent something sharp running down Edwyn’s spine. Then another. Then another. The sound echoed through the trees, coming from somewhere ahead, too close, too many. A pack had gathered, but for what? A fresh kill? A wounded stag? His hand went to the hilt of his sword, but the unease crawling through him was not the kind a blade could quell. The air itself felt wrong.

His sister had always been drawn to danger. She was born in a storm, her first cry swallowed by the howling winds that rattled the stones of Cerwyn Keep. Their mother had died in the birthing bed before dawn, leaving behind a bloodied babe with pale blue eyes and soft brown curls, a girl who never should have been born but fought to live all the same. Their father had never looked at her without a shadow passing behind his eyes, as if he resented her for surviving where his wife had not. Edwyn had been eight at the time, old enough to remember how their father barely touched the girl, how he had all but given her over to the wet nurse and the maids, how he had remarried before the year was out, siring two more sons on his new wife.

But she had been his sister. His first charge. She had followed him like a shadow, chasing after his heels, refusing to be left behind even when he told her she was too small, too slow, too weak. She had climbed the ramparts when she was five, slipping through the cracks in the stone like a wisp of wind. She had stolen his sword at eight, dragging it behind her like a child with a doll. She had bested her septa in an argument before she could read, lied through her teeth with a smile sweet enough to fool even their father, laughed louder than anyone in the hall, bold and brash and reckless.

And then she had fallen in love. It had not been love at first, not truly, just curiosity. A girl too young to understand the weight of a name, drawn in by something strange and new and forbidden. She had not spoken of him for a long time, had kept the letters pressed between the pages of the book beneath her pillow, had pretended the stolen glances were nothing at all. But Edwyn had known. Had seen the way she had changed, the way she had become restless, the way she had waited for something she would not speak of.

Then one day, she had vanished. She had left only a note, ink smudged in her haste, a mess of words that said everything and nothing at once. She was sorry. She had to go. She loved them. She would write. Their father had burned the letter in the hearth without a word.

For a year, there had been nothing. No news. No word. Only rumors that whispered through the halls, speculation that festered in the minds of their kin. She had taken up with a man. She had given herself to him. She had thrown away her name and her home and her honor for love, and for what? A fool’s dream. A man who would never truly be hers.

Then, months later, a raven came. She was with child. Edwyn had taken the letter to his father, had seen the way his face darkened, how he had clenched his fists and stood so still, so silent, the flames of the hearth casting deep shadows across his face. That was when Edwyn had realized—his father had known. He had always known. He had suspected from the moment she left, but now, with her words in ink before him, with proof, with shame, with certainty, he could not ignore it.

Another child born into this world without a name.

Edwyn had been the one to send the next raven.

Come home.

She never responded.

And now, he had found her at last, beneath the weirwood, drenched in blood, her body torn and broken, her breaths shallow.

His stomach twisted. He did not think. Did not breathe. He was already off his horse before he realized he had moved, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. The earth was wet beneath him, thick with fresh blood, seeping into the fallen leaves. He barely noticed the others dismounting behind him, barely heard them as they called after him. He was already kneeling, already reaching, pressing his hands against the torn and bloodied flesh of the woman in the dirt.

She was so small. So still. Her dark riding cloak was ripped open, her hands slack at her sides, her dress clinging to her like a second skin where the blood had soaked through. Her chest barely moved. Her breath came in weak, stuttering gasps, lips parted as though she wanted to speak but could not find the strength.

He knew that face. He had known it since she was born. Since she had clung to his hand as a child. Since she had laughed at the dinner table, since she had run through the halls of their father’s keep, since she had looked at him with wide, frightened eyes the day she had fled. His sister. Seventeen years old. Dying.

She exhaled, a shuddering breath that barely reached the air. Her lips trembled, eyes glassy, unfocused, staring past him, past the trees, past the sky.

“Protect her.”

His breath caught in his throat. Then her body went still. The wind whistled through the trees.

And then, a cry. High. Thin. Fragile.

His head snapped up. The sound came from beyond the tree line, from the underbrush just beyond the weirwood’s twisted roots. His men shifted behind him, uncertain. He barely heard them. His body moved on instinct, staggering to his feet, boots slipping against the bloodied leaves. The crying grew louder as he walked toward the sound.

The hollow of a fallen tree lay just beyond the clearing, hidden beneath frost-covered branches. A bundle of wool lay nestled inside, shifting, writhing, a small, desperate hand reaching up toward the cold air. The child was crying, face red with the effort, mouth open in a furious wail. Her limbs flailed, fists curling, voice breaking the silence that had settled over the clearing.

His stomach clenched. She was untouched. No scratches. No bite marks. No signs that the wolves had so much as looked at her. She was clean, warm, safe. As if something had kept them away.

“Gods,” someone breathed behind him.

Slowly, he reached down, lifting the bundle into his arms. She was so small. Lighter than he expected. Her tiny hands clutched at the fabric of his cloak, her face still scrunched in distress. He exhaled, his own breath shaking. Then her eyes opened.

Pale. Lighter than lilac. Almost silver.

Something twisted in his chest, something deep and nameless. He turned, glancing back at the weirwood, at the body slumped against its roots, at the blood staining the snow-covered ground. The words echoed in his head, the last thing his sister had spoken.

Protect her.

His throat tightened. He knew what people would say. He knew what they would whisper when he rode home with a silver-haired babe in his arms. The Targaryen blood runs hot. She was doomed from the start.

His men were still staring, waiting, uneasy. He forced his voice to steady.

“Take my sister.”

No one argued.

He turned toward his horse, toward home, toward the life that would come next. The babe still cried in his arms, breath fogging in the cold air, louder than the wolves, louder than the wind.

The walls of Cerwyn Keep rose like a shadow against the dim morning light, its grey stone touched with frost, the banners above the gate unmoving in the still air. The ride had been long, cold, and silent. His men were tired, the weight of their journey pressing down on them, but none spoke as they passed through the gates. The body of his sister was wrapped tightly, tied to the back of a horse, the fabric dark with frozen blood. The child in his arms barely stirred, though every so often, she let out a small breath, the sound barely audible beneath the creak of saddles and the heavy tread of hooves.

The keep was stirring. The stable boys rushed forward, their hands fumbling with the reins, eyes darting between the bundle in his arms and the body draped over the horse. A hush followed them as they passed, whispers trailing in their wake. They did not ask. They did not need to. They would know soon enough.

Inside the courtyard, the servants had gathered, drawn from their morning duties by the sight of their lord’s unexpected return. The kitchen girls lingered near the door, their hands still dusted with flour. The steward stood stiff-backed near the steps, mouth pressed in a tight line. The wet nurse, holding Cley in her arms, clutched the child a little tighter as she caught sight of them. His son blinked at him, sleepy, his small fingers curling in the fabric of the woman’s dress.

He should have gone to his wife first. He should have gone to her chambers, woken her gently, told her what had happened before the keep had time to start whispering. But it was too late for that now.

A few of the servants stepped forward hesitantly. One of the older maids reached out her arms, clearly expecting to take the babe, but Edwyn did not relinquish her. "Find the wet nurse," he said instead. "She needs to be fed."

The girl hesitated, looking between him and the child, but after a quick glance toward the steward, she gave a stiff nod and hurried off.

Cley wriggled in the nurse’s grip, reaching out a hand toward him. "Father?"

Edwyn let out a slow breath, shifting the babe against his chest before reaching out to ruffle his son’s dark curls. "I am home, little one."

The boy’s gaze flickered to the bundle in his arms, his face scrunching up in confusion. "Baby?"

"Yes," Edwyn murmured.

Cley frowned, then turned his face into the wet nurse’s shoulder, looking thoughtful in the way that only children could. He did not ask more, did not cry or protest. He simply accepted it as fact, as children often did.

The steward finally spoke, his voice careful. "And… the lady?"

Edwyn looked at him, expression unreadable. "See to it that my sister is given a proper burial. She will be laid in the crypts."

The steward’s brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Edwyn to catch it before the man bowed his head in understanding. His sister had abandoned her home, had thrown herself into a life that was not meant for her, had borne a child in secret and died alone beneath the weirwood. She should not have been granted the honor of a place in the family crypt. But Edwyn was Lord Cerwyn. His word was final.

The man gave a short bow and turned away, barking orders to the men near the gate.

The babe stirred against his chest, shifting slightly, but did not wake.

"Take her to the west wing," Edwyn said. "Keep her warm."

The wet nurse hesitated, but after another quick glance toward the steward, she nodded. "Aye, my lord." She turned and walked swiftly toward the keep, her steps purposeful. The babe disappeared with her, swallowed into the halls of Cerwyn.

The air was still heavy, the weight of the morning pressing down on the gathering. The servants lingered, shifting uneasily, waiting for him to say something more, to give another order, another command. But he was tired.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way toward his chambers, knowing his wife would be waiting.

The halls of Cerwyn Keep were still, the hush of early morning settling heavy over the stone. His men had gone to their chambers, the servants had scattered, and the babe had been taken to be fed. Cley had barely stirred when placed in his bed, exhausted from the excitement of seeing his father return, his small hands still gripping the blanket as he slept.

Edwyn moved through the corridors without a word, the exhaustion of the day dragging at his limbs. He had not yet taken off his cloak, the scent of pine and blood still clinging to the fabric. His boots were damp with half-melted snow, his fingers numb from gripping the reins for hours, but none of it mattered now. The weight in his chest was heavier than all of it.

His wife was waiting for him.

She stood near the hearth, the fire casting long shadows across her face, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her dark hair was pulled back, her shoulders drawn, but her eyes, sharp and knowing, had already seen too much. She had not spoken when he entered. She had only waited.

She did not have to ask what had happened.

She had known from the moment she saw him ride through the gates, the shrouded form strapped to the back of a horse, the bundle in his arms held too carefully to be anything but a child.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound final in the quiet.

"You should have told me," she said.

Edwyn let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against the back of the chair nearest to him. "I did what I had to do."

She let out a soft breath, something close to a scoff, shaking her head. "And what did you have to do, exactly? Ride home with a babe in your arms and expect me to act as though nothing had changed?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, fixing his gaze on her. "My sister is dead."

The words hung in the air, settling between them like dust. She did not move, did not blink, but the firelight flickered across her face, illuminating the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

"And the child?" she asked.

"The babe is hers." He did not hesitate. "She was alone. She would not have survived."

His wife inhaled slowly, carefully. She turned slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of the mantel, as if grounding herself. "So you brought her here. To our home."

"She had no one else," Edwyn said.

Her hands curled into fists, her nails pressing into her palms. "You claimed her as your own."

"It was the only way," he said, voice steady.

Her eyes flickered, the fire casting a faint sheen over them, something dark and unreadable lurking behind them.

"They will think she is yours," she said, quieter this time. "They will think you have shamed me, that I have been cast aside. That I was not enough."

Edwyn pushed himself away from the chair, stepping closer. "I do not care what they think."

"You might not, but I will be the one they whisper about." Her voice did not rise, but there was something sharp beneath it, something that cut deeper than any raised tone could have. "I will be the one they pity. The one they speak of in hushed voices. The one who could not keep her husband’s attention." She turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto his. "And what of Cley? What will they say of him, when you have brought a ghost into this house?"

Edwyn swallowed. He had known this would come. Had known it would not be as simple as carrying the babe through the gates and expecting his wife to understand. He had thought of every consequence, every rumor, every burden he had placed upon her shoulders without her consent. And yet, even with all of it, he had made his choice.

"I do not ask you to love her," he said, his voice quieter now. "I do not ask you to take her as your own. But I ask you to understand. My sister died alone in the snow, bleeding beneath a weirwood tree. The babe survived. I do not know why. I do not know if it was the gods or mere chance, but I swore I would protect her, and I will not break that oath."

His wife turned her head slightly, eyes flicking toward him, but she did not speak.

He let out a slow breath. "I know what I have done. I know the burden I have placed upon you, the whispers you will have to endure. If there were another way, I would have taken it. But there was not."

The silence between them stretched. He could hear the faint crackle of the fire, the distant murmur of the keep beyond the thick stone walls.

Then, finally, she straightened, tilting her chin up slightly as she looked at him fully.

"The child will have a wet nurse and be given what she needs," she said, voice measured, controlled. "But she will not call me mother. I will not raise her as mine."

He nodded. "I do not ask you to."

She studied him for another moment, something unreadable flickering across her face before she turned toward the door. Without another word, she left the room, her steps steady, her back straight.

Edwyn did not move.

He stared at the empty space where she had stood, the fire casting flickering light across the chamber. The weight of the night pressed against his shoulders, settling deep in his bones.

He had told himself that time would ease things. That the whispers would die down, that the tension in his wife’s voice would fade, that one day, the child would simply be another part of their household, no more questioned than any other.

But even as he stood there, watching the flames, he could not quite bring himself to believe it.

The first memories she had were of winter, of frost clinging to the stone walls of Cerwyn Keep, turning the grey stone white in the early morning light. Snowdrifts rose high enough to swallow the courtyard, untouched and perfect until she and Cley ran through them, kicking up flurries with each step. The air was always sharp with cold, biting at her cheeks, slipping beneath the heavy wool of her cloak. It burned her lungs when she ran, but she never stopped. Cley’s laughter trailed behind her, loud and bright, as he tried and failed to catch her.

Winter was the only thing she had ever known. It was in the way the trees groaned under the weight of ice, their branches stretched thin and fragile against the sky, snapping when the wind blew too hard. It was in the way the river froze over so thick that even the horses could cross it without fear, the ice so smooth it looked like glass. It was in the way her breath curled before her lips, vanishing into the air, dissolving as though it had never been there at all.

There were days when the snow fell in thick sheets, piling high against the walls, blanketing the world in white. Those were the days she loved most, when the whole keep felt muffled, swallowed by the storm. She and Cley would press their faces to the windowpanes, watching as the flakes drifted down, catching in the torches by the gate. Sometimes they would sneak outside when no one was watching, their boots sinking deep into the drifts as they tried to outrun each other through the storm.

Other times, when the wind howled and the snow fell so fast it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead, they were kept inside, left to entertain themselves within the stone halls. Cley always found ways to make the time pass—stealing pastries from the kitchens, challenging her to races up the winding stairwells, pestering the guards until they reluctantly agreed to let him hold a sword. She would follow after him, always close behind, always listening, always watching. She was quieter than him, more patient. She watched the way the men moved in the yard, memorized the way their hands fit around their weapons, the way their feet shifted in the snow. She watched the way the stable hands calmed the horses when the storms rattled the doors of the stables, the way the kitchen girls kept their voices low as they worked, their hands moving fast and sure.

She watched the way people looked at her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention.

The keep had always been home, but even as a child, she had known that something about her did not quite belong. The servants would pause when she passed, their eyes flicking toward her before darting away, their voices falling to quiet murmurs. The kitchen girls hushed each other when she entered, their hands still dusted with flour, their gazes lingering for a beat too long before returning to their work. The stable hands spoke with careful voices when they saddled her horse, looking anywhere but at her, their hands working fast, as if eager to be rid of the task.

The other children were different, too. They played in the mud, their hands grubby, their braids loose, their clothes torn at the knees from climbing trees they were not supposed to. They ran through the halls, leaving footprints behind on the stone, careless and laughing and full of life. They looked like the North, like the land itself had shaped them, like the mountains had made them strong, like the cold had toughened their bones. She was not like them.

Her hair was pale as fresh snowfall, fine and weightless, never holding a braid for long no matter how tightly it was woven. It fell loose against her shoulders, stark against the grey walls of the keep. Her skin, pale as morning light, never browned in the sun the way Cley’s did in the summers, never grew ruddy from the cold the way the other children’s did in winter. Her eyes, pale and strange, caught the torchlight in ways she did not understand. She looked nothing like Lord Cerwyn’s son. Nothing like his wife. Nothing like anyone in the North.

But Lord Cerwyn was her father.

She had always known it, because he had always made it so. When she was small, he lifted her onto his horse and let her hold the reins, his voice steady as he guided her hands, never letting her fall. He carried her in his arms when she was too tired to walk, his furs warm against her cheek, his steady breath rising and falling beneath her small hands. He placed her before him at the high table, sitting her beside Cley, making sure her cup was filled when no one else thought to. When she woke from dreams she could not remember, trembling in the dark, his voice was the first thing she reached for.

She called him father before she even knew what the word meant. His wife was different.

She was never cruel, never raised a hand against her, never looked at her with the same quiet disdain as the others. But she was not warm. She never called her daughter. Never reached for her hand. Never smoothed her hair the way she did with Cley. She was not unkind, but she was not kind either.

The first time she called her mother, it was an accident. She had fallen in the yard, her knees scraped raw against the cold stone, her hands trembling as she pushed herself up. The wind had knocked the breath from her lungs, left her blinking against the sharp sting of cold. Lord Cerwyn’s wife had been standing nearby, her skirts trailing against the dirt, her lips pressed into a thin line as she waited for the child to rise on her own.

She had looked up at her, small hands curled into fists, her breath still hitching in her throat.

"Mother."

The woman’s face did not change.

She did not scold her, did not frown, did not step forward to take her by the hand. She only watched her for a long moment, her expression unreadable, the firelight flickering in her dark eyes.

"Get up," was all she said.

So she did.

She never called her mother again after that. Not intentionally, at least. But sometimes it slipped.

It slipped when she was tired, when sleep pulled heavy at her limbs, her mind too sluggish to remember that she was supposed to keep the word behind her teeth. It slipped when she was sick, when fever blurred the edges of her vision, when the only voice she recognized was hers. It slipped when she was small, when she forgot herself.

And Lord Cerwyn’s wife never corrected her. Never turned her away. Never looked at her with anger the way she had feared. But she never answered either.

So she learned to stop saying it.

It was Lord Cerwyn who made it so that she never felt the weight of it pressing too heavily on her shoulders. He never wavered in his treatment of her, never let her think she was anything but his child. He spoke her name without hesitation, stood her beside him at feasts, placed a hand on her shoulder when she stood too stiffly in a hall full of people who barely hid their unease. He taught her how to ride, setting her atop a pony before she could walk on her own, guiding her hands as she clutched the reins, steadying her when she threatened to slip. He let her sit in the crook of his arm in the evenings, letting her drowse against his furs, speaking to her in a voice that rumbled low and steady like distant thunder. When she fell, he picked her up. When she failed, he told her to try again. When she asked him if she truly belonged, he did not answer with words, only with the unwavering presence of a father who had already decided long ago that she did.

But the North did not love her as he did. They called her the Ghost in the North.

The name was first spoken in the whispers of servants, in the murmurs of men who gathered too close to the fire, in the wary tones of visiting bannermen who looked at her and did not know what to make of her. The words spread from the mouths of cooks and stable hands, slipped past the lips of knights and guards, reached the ears of the highborn sons and daughters who had never known anything beyond the lands of their fathers. The name took root before she was old enough to truly understand it, but she felt it all the same.

She was too pale, too quiet, too unnatural in the way she moved. Her hair was white as untouched snow, fine as silk, loose and weightless in the cold northern air. Her skin never flushed in the cold, never took on the healthy red of the other children’s faces, never tanned under the summer sun. Her eyes were a color that did not belong here, something too light, too strange, something that caught the torchlight in ways that made men glance away. She moved like she was not meant to be seen, slipping between the trees like mist, running through the snow without leaving footprints, vanishing into the woods only to reappear hours later without a word. She never meant to move like a shadow, but she did.

She was faster than the others. She could climb higher, run farther, disappear into the hills before anyone knew she was gone. The first time she took a bow into her hands, it felt as though it had always been there. Her arrows flew true even before she understood how to aim, her hands steady, her breath never wavering even when her target moved. She was quick on a horse, learned to read its movements, to let it carry her as though they were one. She rode harder than the others, pushed herself faster, made sure no one could say she was unworthy. If she was not like them, she would be better than them. If they would not accept her, they would respect her.

Cley never cared for the whispers. He never heard them the way she did, never let them worm their way beneath his skin. He had never known a world without her in it. To him, she was his sister, no more, no less. He dragged her along behind him without question, called for her when the halls felt too empty, looped an arm around her shoulders as if daring the world to tell him she was not his blood. He did not fight her battles for her, did not step in when the whispers grew too sharp, because he knew she did not need him to. But he was always beside her. Always steady. Always there. It was through Cley that she met Cregan Stark.

Winterfell’s heir was little more than a boy when his father died, just thirteen years old when he took the seat of his ancestors. He was young, but not soft. He was quiet, but not weak. He carried his grief and his duty in equal measure, his shoulders squared beneath a weight that would have broken lesser men. He was steady like the roots of the Weirwood, sharp like the edge of an axe, cold like the winds that rolled over the frozen rivers at night. He was the North in a way that few men were.He and Cley were close. Best friends, as close as brothers. They spoke in ways that did not need words, understood each other without pretense.

She was not close with Cregan in the beginning. She had no claim to his attention, no reason to think he would look at her as anything but an oddity, something strange and unnatural lurking at the edges of his home. But he never treated her as the others did. He did not whisper, did not glance away when she caught his eye, did not speak her name like it was something fragile. He let her be. He did not push her to speak, did not challenge her silence, did not pretend not to notice when she slipped away from the halls to disappear into the woods. It was the first time she had met someone who did not look at her and expect her to be something other than what she was.

Cregan Stark had always known marriage was a part of his duty, an obligation that loomed steadily closer with every passing winter, but it had never been something that held his interest. He had watched other lords wed for alliances, for land, for bloodlines and politics, but none of that held meaning for him beyond the stark, simple truth that it was necessary. He had endured his council's gentle insistence that the North needed a Lady Stark, that Winterfell required heirs, that stability came through marriage and children, but he had never considered any woman with true intention. That was, until the day he truly saw her for the first time, until the day the Ghost in the North stepped fully into his path and altered everything he thought he knew about what he wanted.

He had known her nearly all his life, known her as Cley Cerwyn’s quiet, shadowy sister who rode like a storm and moved through the woods like a wolf. She had always been there at the edges of his vision, present but distant, a pale figure who seemed to haunt the periphery of every gathering without ever quite being part of it. She was different from the women who paraded themselves before him at every feast, their eyes hopeful, their smiles carefully arranged. They laughed softly, whispered promises and veiled flattery, but he had never felt compelled to listen. She was different because she did none of those things. She did not care to flatter or impress him, did not soften herself to gain his attention. Instead, she challenged him. She argued with him openly, meeting his eyes without hesitation, asking questions that left him searching for answers he’d never considered. She made him uncertain, made him pause, made him think.

And then he began watching her. He noticed how she rode, fluid and effortless, leaning low against her horse’s neck, her hair flying behind her like white fire as she cut through the fields faster than any man. He noticed how she held a bow, how she loosed her arrows with practiced ease, her aim sharp and deadly accurate, each shaft finding its target without fail. He noticed how she stood straight-backed and proud despite the whispers, despite the veiled glances, despite the way others spoke her name in quiet voices as if she were something forbidden. He saw her clearly for perhaps the first time, and he realized then how unlike anyone else she truly was.

At first, he told himself he was merely curious. He found himself lingering longer in the Cerwyn courtyard, inventing reasons to speak with her after training or during hunts. He made subtle gestures, offers to ride alongside her, to shoot together at targets in the yard. She treated each offer with wary suspicion, her eyes narrowed slightly as if expecting some hidden cruelty behind his invitation. Yet still, he persisted, driven by a need he couldn't quite name.

It was not until one day, when he caught her alone at the archery range, that he finally spoke openly. He had been watching from the edge of the courtyard as she loosed arrows in rapid succession, each one hitting the center with unerring precision. She paid him no mind, continuing until the quiver was empty, then moved to retrieve the arrows from the target. He crossed the yard and stopped just short of her, watching as she pulled the arrows free.

“You shoot truer than most of my men,” Cregan remarked, forcing ease into his voice, though his pulse quickened at the sight of her.

She glanced over her shoulder, pale eyes guarded, fingers tightening briefly around the arrows she held. “Only most?”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Perhaps all.”

She turned fully to face him then, standing straight-backed and wary, gaze unflinching beneath the pale sweep of her hair. “Why have you come, Lord Stark?”

He hesitated only briefly before stepping closer. “To speak with you.”

She raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully, suspicion flickering beneath her steady gaze. “You’ve never lacked words before. Why is today any different?”

Cregan met her eyes steadily, drawing a breath to steel himself. “Because I am considering marriage.”

She laughed once, the sound short and sharp, edged with bitterness. Turning her back to him, she placed the arrows carefully into the quiver. “Then you ought to seek out my brother. Cley knows half a dozen Northern ladies who would gladly bear your heirs.”

“That isn’t my meaning,” he said quietly, his voice calm yet firm.

She stilled instantly, her hand freezing over the quiver before she slowly turned back, eyes narrowed sharply in wary disbelief. “Then speak plainly, my lord. What do you mean?”

He moved a step closer, his voice measured and steady. “I mean that I am considering you.”

She stared at him, expression unreadable as silence stretched long between them. Finally, she shook her head slightly, her voice low and cautious, tinged with suspicion. “Is this my brother’s notion, or your own?”

“It is mine,” he said firmly, holding her gaze. “Mine alone.”

She shook her head again, stepping back as though his words might sting her. “Why do you torment me with this? Is it some game, a jest for your amusement? I thought better of you, Cregan Stark.”

Frustration tightened his jaw as he stepped toward her, unwilling to let her withdraw further. “There is no jest here. Why would you doubt my honesty?”

Her gaze sharpened, her voice rising, edged now with hurt and anger. “Because no lord in his right mind would wed the Ghost. Do you think me blind or deaf? I hear every whisper, every lie spoken behind my back. They say I am no Northerner, that I will betray these lands one day and flee south to claim some birthright that is not mine. Even if you do not think it, your bannermen do. They would never accept this.”

Cregan shook his head slowly, voice steady, unwavering despite the anger that burned quietly in her eyes. “I care nothing for what they say.”

She let out a bitter breath, eyes glinting sharply. “You should. They will never let you forget it.”

He stepped closer still, carefully grasping her wrist, gentle yet insistent. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, waiting until she met his gaze. “Do you truly think I care what they whisper? I have watched you for years. I have seen you stand stronger than men twice your age. I have watched you hunt and ride with skill unmatched by any knight sworn to me. You bow to no one, you fear no whispers. You challenge me in ways no one else ever could. Why would I seek another to stand by my side when you are here before me?”

She stared at him, her breathing shallow, lips parted slightly, uncertain and hesitant. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible, fragile and tentative as never before. “I do not believe you. I cannot.”

His grip on her wrist loosened slightly, though he did not let go. “Then let me prove my words,” he murmured, holding her gaze steadily, stepping closer so that his voice was little more than a breath. “Allow me the chance to show you the truth of them.”

She hesitated, eyes desperately searching his face for any hint of deceit, for cruelty or mockery, yet finding none. Her voice broke softly on a single word. “Why?”

Cregan leaned closer, voice quiet, certain and unwavering. “Because now that I have seen you clearly, I can see no one else.”

She pulled back then, breaking the contact as though burned, still uncertain, still afraid, yet the doubt in her eyes had softened into something else, something hopeful but guarded. She said nothing more, merely turned and walked quickly away, leaving Cregan standing alone in the yard, watching her retreating figure and knowing, deep in his bones, that he had chosen rightly. He would prove himself to her, no matter how long it took.

Cregan did not court her in the way of noblemen. He did not send her songs or write poetry, did not lay delicate gifts of silk or jewels before her. Instead, he rode with her through the deep woods beyond Winterfell, keeping pace beside her in silence, the thunder of hooves their only conversation. He hunted with her, watching as she tracked deer through snow so thick it muffled every sound, her pale figure a blur between the trees. He learned from her, watched how she moved like a shadow, mimicking her steps, imitating the way she lowered herself into a crouch, bow drawn and ready, silent and still as stone. He did not try to impress her, did not boast of his own skill, but watched her closely, quietly impressed by the certainty with which she moved, the ease with which she read the land and the sky. They spoke rarely on these journeys, exchanging few words beyond what was needed, but he learned more about her in those quiet moments than he ever had before.

When they sparred, he did not hold back, did not treat her as if she were made of glass. He faced her in the yard with a blunt sword in hand, pushing her harder than any other opponent would have dared. He struck with measured blows, testing her defenses, forcing her to move swiftly, to think ahead. He never made it easy for her, never allowed her to win merely to please her, because he knew she would resent it. Instead, he challenged her, drove her to become sharper, faster, stronger. And each time he knocked her down, he extended a hand and pulled her back to her feet, never saying more than a simple command to try again. He was patient, relentless, persistent, a quiet force always at her side, never demanding her attention, but never wavering from her either. She did not understand why he kept returning, why he chose to spend his days trailing after her through the woods or sparring beneath the grey sky until the sun sank low. She could not comprehend why he, a lord who could choose any noble lady in the North, would choose her. She suspected cruelty behind his quiet words, expected betrayal in his lingering gaze, waited for the moment when he would laugh and tell her that it had all been a cruel jest after all. Each time he appeared at her side, she was cautious, wary, questioning every motive, every gesture, every quiet offer of companionship.

“Why do you insist on wasting your time?” she asked finally, breathing hard from the sparring, hair tangled and damp from exertion as she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “Surely there is some lady waiting patiently at Winterfell, someone more suitable to be Lady Stark than a ghost who can barely stand your presence.”

Cregan considered her carefully, a quiet gentleness flickering in his grey eyes, the edge of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Perhaps I do not wish for someone who merely tolerates me,” he replied evenly. “Perhaps what I seek is someone who meets my gaze without fear, who refuses to yield simply because I command it. Someone who challenges me rather than obeys me without question. A woman who walks at my side, not behind me. There is none more fitting than you.”

She let out a short, bitter breath, eyes narrowing sharply with suspicion. “Pretty words come easily, Cregan Stark. I have heard whispers all my life—I know what your bannermen say about me. How can I trust that you are different? How can I believe you do not share their opinion, that you do not see me as something strange and unnatural?”

He stepped closer to her, unyielding, voice low and firm. “Because I have never hidden behind whispers. Every word I speak, I say openly, plainly. You know this as well as anyone.”

She hesitated, something unreadable flickering in her eyes, her fingers tightening briefly around the grip of her sword before she turned abruptly, walking toward her horse without another word. He watched her go, unwilling to follow, unwilling to push further, knowing it would only make her retreat further. He would let her consider what he had said. He knew he had not yet convinced her, but he had patience enough to wait. He would not give up so easily.

He would ride with her again tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that until she understood that he was not playing a game. Until she saw clearly that he meant to have her by his side, no matter what it took or how long he had to wait.

It was in the heart of winter when she finally saw the truth clearly. The snows had come early, blanketing the North beneath thick layers of ice and frost, turning the Wolfswood into a place of shadow and silence, the air frozen into something sharp enough to cut flesh. She and Cley had been out hunting in the deeper woods, riding hard as they always did, pushing further than was wise or safe in pursuit of the stag they had glimpsed between the trees. Cregan had ridden with them as always, quiet and steady at her side, his grey eyes watchful beneath the dark fur of his hood. They had followed the tracks further than they had intended, deeper into the Wolfswood than even she knew well, where the trees pressed close and the daylight grew thin and grey.

 It was then that the storm came, sudden and fierce, rolling in from nowhere to wrap the woods in blinding snow. Visibility vanished in moments, the trees swallowed whole by swirling white flakes, the ground beneath their horses’ hooves becoming treacherous and uncertain. Cley shouted something lost beneath the howl of the wind, the horses shifting nervously as they struggled to see beyond the wall of snow. She urged her mount forward, trying to find their path back, but the snow fell so thickly it felt impossible to tell one direction from another. Her horse stumbled suddenly, sliding sharply sideways, pitching her from the saddle and sending her tumbling into the drifts. She hit the ground hard, the air knocked from her chest, snow stinging her face and hands as she struggled back to her feet. She called for Cley, for Cregan, but the wind stole the words from her mouth, leaving her alone in a storm that felt like it could tear her apart. She moved blindly, stumbling through snowdrifts that rose above her knees, her cloak heavy and wet with ice, her breath ragged and harsh against the cold. She could not see anything, could barely breathe, her throat burning as panic rose sharply in her chest, tightening around her heart. 

Then she heard him call her name, clear and strong, breaking through the storm with a voice that carried like steel, steady and unwavering, guiding her toward him. She moved toward the sound, desperate and half-blind, following the faint shape of him through the storm until she finally reached his side. His hand found hers immediately, fingers tightening securely, reassuringly warm even through the thick leather of their gloves. He pulled her close, his body shielding hers from the worst of the wind, guiding her toward shelter. They found the hollow beneath an ancient tree, deep enough to keep out the worst of the storm. Inside, the wind was quieter, though still fierce enough to shake the branches overhead. Cley was not with them. Her heart twisted sharply at the realization, panic flickering briefly across her face as she tried to pull free, intent on returning into the storm. But Cregan did not let go. 

"Stay," he shouted above the howl of the wind, his voice fierce with command, his grip unyielding. "Cley knows these woods better than anyone. He'll have found shelter. I won't lose you trying to find him." 

She wanted to argue, wanted to fight him, to tear herself away and rush back into the storm, but something in his face stopped her, something deep and powerful and desperate. She had never seen him afraid before, had never seen him so openly worried. The realization struck her with a force greater than the storm itself, shaking something loose in her chest, something she had been holding tight for far too long. He was afraid of losing her. Not because of duty or honor or pride, but because he could not bear it, because the thought of her lost in the storm frightened him more than anything he had faced before. She stared up at him, breathing heavily, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. 

"Why are you doing this?" she asked finally, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. "Why do you care so much?" He moved closer, tilting her chin up gently, forcing her to meet his eyes fully. 

"Because I love you," he said, his voice steady, quiet but carrying clearly through the storm. "Because the thought of losing you scares me in ways I never knew possible."

She blinked snow from her lashes, searching his face desperately for the lie she had always expected to find there, for some hidden cruelty or jest, but there was nothing but honesty, stark and clear in his eyes, unmasked by the storm. She had always thought the truth would break her, yet now it only left her standing strangely whole. Her throat tightened, words impossible, so she nodded slowly instead, fingers curling tighter around his. He squeezed her hand once, pulling her closer, holding her firmly against him until the worst of the wind passed, until the snow finally began to ease, until they could hear Cley's distant voice calling their names, guiding them home through the slowly fading storm.

After that night, the world around her shifted quietly, subtly, like snow settling after a storm. The whispers did not cease entirely, but they softened, became less frequent, less sharp at the edges. Cregan’s presence at her side became constant, certain, a quiet, steady force that she no longer questioned. He did not ask for more than she could give, did not rush her toward decisions she was not ready to make, but he was there, a silent reminder that he would not falter, would not turn away, would not abandon her as she had always feared someone might. Over the weeks that followed, he rode with her, hunted with her, matched his steps to hers without hesitation, proving time and again that his promise was true. Gradually, she began to trust him, began to believe the quiet sincerity that shone steadily in his eyes each time he looked at her. Her heart still beat faster when he drew close, uncertainty still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, but now she found herself willing to face it, willing to believe he meant what he said.

When the day finally came, it was quiet, without fanfare, without elaborate ceremony or flourish. They wed beneath the pale branches of the weirwood, deep within the godswood of Winterfell, surrounded by nothing but snow and silence, and the quiet circle of those they trusted most. There were no great banners, no trumpets or feasts to mark their union. There was only the whisper of winter wind through the branches, the gentle creak of ice-laden limbs shifting overhead, and the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet. She stood before Cregan, her cloak pale and heavy around her shoulders, her silver hair cascading loose and unbound like moonlit frost, her breath rising steadily into the cold air. Her pale eyes were steady as she gazed into his, unafraid and unwavering, knowing with a quiet certainty that he meant every vow he spoke.

He had chosen her despite everything the world whispered. Yet here she stood, heart steady despite the chill in the air, pulse calm even though everything had changed around her. She did not tremble, she did not flinch, even as the wind bit at her skin, even as snow settled gently in her hair. She had never felt so certain, so unshakably calm. Beside her, Cregan stood strong and unwavering, shoulders squared, his cloak dark and thick against the snow, his grey eyes fixed entirely on her. She saw nothing but warmth in his gaze, steady as the mountains, gentle as the wind through the pines, his voice quiet yet sure as he spoke the vows. He did not falter when he named her his wife, did not hesitate to join his life with hers, though he knew as well as she did that the choice was not an easy one. His voice echoed softly in the godswood, clear and steady, never wavering, never uncertain. He chose her fully, knowing what it meant, knowing how fiercely the North might resist it, but never looking away.

When the vows had been said and the ceremony ended, there was no applause, no celebration, no cheering or shouting or laughter ringing through the halls. There was only the silence of snow falling softly, steadily, blanketing the ground around them, covering their tracks as though nothing else existed but that moment beneath the watchful gaze of the old gods. Lord Cerwyn stood quietly to the side, watching her with pride and quiet relief, something like sorrow and acceptance mingled in his eyes. Beside him stood Cley, his expression a mix of fierce loyalty and joy, unmasked and open in ways that spoke louder than any words he might have said. But it was Cregan she held onto, his hands clasped tightly around hers, his warmth seeping into her skin, the weight of his promise anchoring her to the earth. He looked at her openly, unafraid, accepting her as she was, claiming her not as the ghost, not as an outsider, but as his wife, the one woman he had freely chosen above all others.

 When they turned to face the few who had gathered, she felt the shift immediately. The eyes watching her were not those of curiosity or wariness but of quiet acceptance. They did not whisper, did not glance aside, did not hide their faces behind raised hands. They saw her clearly now, perhaps for the first time, not as something unnatural, not as something other, but as Lady Stark, the woman who would stand beside their lord and hold Winterfell with him. No one spoke as the ceremony ended, no cheers rang out through the godswood, no songs were sung, but the silence felt different now. It was peaceful rather than uncertain, accepting rather than hesitant. 

The North would never again see her as simply the Ghost who haunted Cerwyn’s halls, as something strange and foreign. They would see her as the woman who stood beside Cregan Stark, who bore his cloak, who had pledged herself beneath the weirwood, who was now bound to Winterfell in ways no whispers could undo. As the small gathering dispersed, leaving her standing beside her husband beneath the watchful eyes of the gods, she realized fully for the first time what it meant. She had not only chosen him; he had chosen her in return. She belonged now, not because she had finally changed, not because she had proven herself worthy through skill with a bow or strength in the saddle, but simply because he had decided she was his equal, his match. She had spent her entire life running from whispers, struggling against suspicion and doubt, fighting to prove she was enough. Now she felt nothing but a quiet, deep-rooted certainty that none of that mattered anymore. 

The North had no choice but to accept her because the Wolf of Winterfell had taken her as his own. She was not merely tolerated or begrudgingly permitted; she was the Lady of Winterfell, the woman who would stand beside the Wolf when winter storms battered their gates. The weight of that understanding settled deep inside her, lifting burdens she had carried silently all her life. As they stood alone beneath the pale branches of the weirwood after the others had drifted quietly away, she felt a strange, deep-rooted peace for the first time. Cregan reached out, taking her hand in his, their fingers intertwining tightly, silently sealing the promise between them. 

"Do you regret it?" he asked softly, his voice barely louder than the whisper of snow against branches. 

She met his gaze, felt warmth blossom deep within her chest as she shook her head slowly. "Never," she whispered, her voice steady, certain in a way she had never known possible before this moment. "I never will."

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay Chapter 8: Force Majeure

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader; Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Non-Con; Dub-Con; Workplace Sexual Harassment; Blackmail; Mentions of Murder; Dark!Steve Rogers; Soft!Dark!Andy Barber; Mafia/Political AU combination; Angst; Crying; (offscreen, minor) Character Death; Descriptions of someone with PTSD and Depression; Funerals; Gun Violence; Domestic(ish) Violence; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; I Killed Those Doves, Lemon.

Chapter Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Pregnancy; Allusions to Antenatal Depression and PTSD; Discussion of a Medical Nature; Alcohol Mention; Isolation; Semi-Forced Marriage; None of this is how the law actually works.

Chapter Summary: Andy Barber keeps his promise, for better or for worse. In sickness, and in health.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Masterlist

Notes: So… it’s been a minute. Hiatus-ing on and off, appearing, apologizing, disappearing again. I know I’m a mess. I’ve officially left legal — for now, pray higher education holds — and I’m finally getting my horrible menty health under control. Turns out, if you take your meds properly, you can manage to recover your lost muse and update a fic you’ve barely touched since [checks calendar] 2021.

I’m so sorry.

I hope I can keep up and this resurrected-from-the-dead update doesn’t, you know, disappoint.

Thank you for sticking with me even though I’m terrible! I really have missed talking to all of you and am… trying to get over that guilt and be around again. Your faith in me means the world and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Beta-read by my roommate, who is kinder to and more patient with me than I deserve. (love you, bestie. sending you this note via screenshot because you hate 2POV with a passion but it’s fine, we can still be friends.) There’s probably still typos, I’m useless.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Senator Andy Barber’s Chief of Staff keeps a loaded gun in the glove compartment of every car he drives, a force of habit the Senator is probably grateful for right about now, even in absentia. While he pays for the final tank of gas he’ll need to get you both to where you need to go, you open it up and empty the clip, leave the bullets in the cup-holder save for the two you put back. He doesn’t bother questioning the sight of them when he returns, just glances at you briefly and proceeds to hand you a cup of watery, burnt coffee you almost immediately regret taking a sip of.

You drain the cup before the car’s back on the highway.

The road ahead is a lonely one, just the car’s headlights to cut through the snowy gloom. William “Billy” Russo barely speaks, the only driver half-insane enough to be driving through this particular stretch of the Appalachian Trail this late at night with a snowstorm raging all around the both of you.

You never picked up smoking as a habit, really — too devout then, too late now — but as  the suffocating silence settles in alongside the cold in your bones, you can’t help but crave one. Just one. Just something to quiet the churning anxiety and growing dread in your belly.

You risk a glance over to Billy, take in the pale white of his knuckles deepening as his grip on the wheel shifts, his eyes catching yours when he feels the weight of your gaze on him, You getting tired?

Are you?

Exhaustion feels too far away, adrenaline still holding your eyes open, anxious twitches keeping your muscles uncomfortable in the passenger seat, unable to settle down. Even the shake of your head is too cautious to be definitive, too busy watching. Waiting. Say nothing.

Not long now, he tells you by way of an attempt at comfort, eyes back on the road, Safe house is just a few hours away.

Alaska.

Not the state — though you wouldn’t mind, all things considered. The house Billy pulls up to is… nice, if made gloomy in its snowy isolation. You almost wonder how a Senator’s newly-hired Chief of Staff even manages to have an isolated “safe house” just on the edge of the US-Canada border, with access to what seemed like a completely unmanned and unlicensed border crossing — and then you decide that question isn’t even top fifty on your list of questions you’ve had about your day.

Days, even. Days full of memories of caskets, graveside services, and Senator Andy Barber — bloody and battered — practically tackling you to the ground to remind you why you’re here, pulling up to a wood-and-brick prison rather than your palace of glass and steel.

Domain. Dungeon.

The snow outside is starting to turn into a full-bore blizzard, but the house itself is warm enough to boil your blood, fire crackling in the hearth and Billy handing you a mug of something warm and medically cleared for your consumption, I’ve got good news — he’s awake, he tells you, taking a seat in the armchair across from you with a glass of whiskey in hand, He’ll want to hear from you, make sure you’re safe.

Safe. The word feels all wrong, especially here. Especially now.

You are not safe, you will never be safe, he will find you he will always find you—

A pillar of the community has fallen.

It was a heart attack, the papers said.

This is a massacre, the television blares, traumatized reporter center stage. Here you sit, in the fallout of having been too close, far from escaping unscathed. Billy reads aloud the names of those mourners and sycophants too preoccupied with the performance of grief to notice the cracks in the foundation — tragic, tragic, couldn’t have happened soon enough.

Funerals are for the living, and amidst all this death, you might almost come alive.

Heart attacks, you know, are no more than convenient half-truths for the public to pretend, but this — this lays it all bare, exposes the rotten empire of Judge Alexander Pierce as it all comes crashing down around those who profited the most as his enemies decide to draw blood from his headstone.

And all it almost cost you was Senator Andy Barber

And all you had was Senator Andy Barber

Something rises in you at the thought, a bold of lightning through your chest as you feel yourself surge forward on that unraveling tightrope beneath your feet, teeth grinding together and muscles pulsing with the force of will it takes to keep you steady, tamp down the illness and anguish aching to pour from you the moment you open your mouth you are going to start screaming and you will never stop you will never stop you will never—the sight of Billy Russo’s concerned face blurs into practically nothing as you press down the growing pulse of both panic and pain, your stomach considering the merits of emptying itself entirely.

Are you alright?

He knows the answer to that. He knows what you’re about to say — if you could say anything at all — while you press your lips into a thin line and try not to glare too cruelly at him for daring to ask you something when opening your mouth is an impossible task.

The pulse of your jaw will have  to serve as answer enough.

Still. You manage. Abdomen sore and sour and a line of tears staining your cheeks, half-crumpled back into the couch while hands that are not Andy Barber’s try to hold you up.

You’ll try not to resent Billy for the sin.

Any being mired in politics eventually understands the value of things left unsaid, a fact you have never been more grateful for until now, as the pressure on the couch beside you lifts and you catch sight of Billy Russo’s blurry figure leaving your presence — and returning shortly, not long after you manage to clear your vision, met immediately with a glass of water and a metal straw.

And then the phone rings, leaving you alone again.

Barely secretly, you’re almost glad for the interruption.

How are you feeling?

Like I just woke up from having two bullets fished out of my ribs. Andy Barber’s voice is rough, smoke and gravel tinged with pain and whatever that medical team of his pumped into him to numb it while they sewed him shut. You almost wish you had coils on this damn phone, to wind around your fingers in absentminded anxiety while you press down the waves of stomach-churning guilt you’ve been contending with since you got here — and well before then, too.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse. You know these steps too well.

I shouldn’t have asked, you manage by way of apology, listening to the strained chuckle on the other side of the line.

Better you asking than anyone else, Sunshine. How are you feeling?

Like Hell, like I can never stop, never escape, like you’ve trapped me in a cage, like the poison inside of me is going to choke me and then I’ll finally be free, free, free—

Comparatively, or just in general?

It’s a game, always. A dance. A ruse. Andy Barber shouldn’t laugh with chunks of his left side gouged out by two bullets you can’t even remember the caliber of — but the tenor of it washing over your ears is enough to set you right.

You will never be okay again.

Give me both, Sunshine. I could use the hope.

Hope. Funny thing to have when you’re laid up in a hospital bed with stitches keeping you together, but you personally — well you’re starting to get it. Just a bit.

Worried about you, mostly. Do you know when they’ll let you out? It could almost sound sweet, the way you make yourself worry — the way Andy believes you when you do — if you felt there was any sweetness left in you at all. You ought to be grateful.

You did this, you did this, you you you you you.

Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward.

You almost miss it, Andy’s response, recalling just snippets as they break through your thoughts—check for sepsis… high security… not being very accommodating… stay in touch.

To be fair, I don’t think calling outside the hospital is within their protocol, you have it in you to sound like you might be teasing him, enough to feel a ghost of a smile tug at your lips when you hear another — stronger — laugh.

I’ll give them that. If they can give me the option of recovering at home, I might give them more.

You have to laugh at that, just a little.

It can’t last.

Sunshine… There it is, your laughter cut short by the shift in his voice, the smile you’d just begun feeling okay with tugging at the corners of your lips fading into nothing.

Andy, don’t—

No. Listen to me, this doesn’t change anything. I promised you I’d take care of you this time and I still mean it.

You can’t hear yourself for the blood-tide in your ears, waves of warning screaming at you to stop, to shut up, to run run run. You should not have come here. You should not believe him. You can’t trust him. You won’t. You cannot trade one cage for another, not this time.

It’s too late for that.

We’ll talk more when I see you again.

Turns out, that’s not for a while.

Still— Andy Barber keeps his promise.

You don’t mind at first, do you? It makes sense at first, doesn’t it? Billy Russo destroys your old phone before you and he have even left the hospital, erasing all its photos and memories and contact information of law school classmates you stopped reaching out to six months after you graduated, and it makes sense. Can’t be tracked this way. Be found. Be drawn back to that cage of glass and steel high above that city you’d moved to in some vain hope your past would leave you alone in that mess of people, politics, and pain.

Can’t let Steve Rogers know you’re still alive.

Can’t let him know what you’ve stolen from him.

So you don’t mind. You don’t mind the stillness — not even when the snow melts one uncharacteristically warm weekend and the woods around you feel almost devoid of life. You don’t mind the loneliness either, more than resigned to accepting your solitude as sanctions for your sins. You don’t even mind the way Billy dictates your days with careful ease — wait, no, you do mind that.

Don’t you have a Senator to look after? You question him one day, not long after your first silent and uncomfortable drive to a private clinic where you check in under the name Mrs. Barber and meet doctors and nurses whose pseudonyms you won’t bother to remember as they test your vitals and ultrasound your belly and act proud when you lie about how little nausea you’re feeling.

This is how he wants me to do that. He barely looks at you as he responds, practically rehearsed while typing away at his phone and gesturing vaguely to the stone-faced bodyguard who’s become more of a shadow to you than your actual one.

One cage for another.

This is the price.

This is your prison. Your dungeon. The life sentence you’ve won for your work. This cell of wood and brick, of double-paned and bullet-proof windows with roll-down metal shutters and bars pretending to be wrought-iron, of eyes always watching and waiting and reporting.

Andy Barber keeps his promises.

And all it costs you is everything you are.

I should do this right. He’d told you as much. I want to do this right.

You don’t ask him if this is what he defines as right when the ring shows up on your pillow after you return from yet one more heavily guarded visit to the clinic, terrified of the day you can’t hide — and deny — this reminder of Steve Rogers, all his lies and that scratched-out marble plinth in your heart upon which you’d once laid wreaths of surrender. You don’t ask him if this is what he defines as right when Billy hands you a pen and a marriage license backdated to the night you visited Andy Barber in his hotel room and almost told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but  the truth so help you God, your witnesses Andy’s Chiefs of Staff and officiant a name you don’t bother to question.

An old law school lecture about marriages conducted in absentia and the lack of validity thereof comes back to haunt you.

Billy Russo waits.

You sign the papers.

Andy Barber shows up six weeks later.

You’ve almost lost track of time.

It is… not a very spirited homecoming. Hardly the sort of thing a Senator who’s just survived a shooting and recovered — especially when so few were privileged enough to do the same — would earn on Capitol Hill. No fanfare, no excited extended family waiting in the wings with cake and confetti to welcome him back. Just a sleek black car winding its lonely way along an isolated drive and — as it rolls to a stop in front of the house — another member of staff rushing to help him out of the back seat.

You should be down there.

You should be waiting for him the way a good wife ought, all smiles and happy kisses and gleeful adoration. Odysseus has returned home, to banish the wolves at your door, free you from this beautiful prison and give you something like hope.

After all, Sunshine — you should be grateful.

You signed a vow, sealed with a ring — in sickness and in health.

You should be down there.

Instead, you remain at your seat by the window, knees drawn up as close to your chest as your slowly swelling belly might allow, watching. Haunting the upstairs bedroom you know you are about to share with the man you are about to call your husband — out loud, at least. In person.

Instead, you watch as Billy Russo steps into the spotlight, greets his employer with enthusiasm you haven’t seen once in the almost two months since your confinement began, haven’t seen once in the almost two months you have been silently glaring at him and his staff — all outstretched hands and a too-broad smile you don’t need to see to know is on his face.

Instead, you watch as Andy Barber looks up towards your window, as if he sees you half-hidden behind the curtain, the ghost of all that you once were a year-and-a-half ago when you managed to stand up against New York’s most dangerous and — briefly, gloriously — won.

You watch the way he frowns with his whole body, familiar with the set of his shoulders and the terrifying purpose in his stride as he steps inside. Ready for battle.

Hello, Sunshine. He looks the same. Kept the same beard. The same perfect hair. The same crease in his brow as he leans against the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his tongue pressed against his teeth and jaw flexing with either disappointment or displeasure as he watches you. No different than the man who asked you to stay in his hotel room the night you tore Steve Rogers from your heart and made your choice.

The warmth of him is a sanctuary you have begun to resent as he forces the confrontation you have imagined having a thousand times in the last week alone, the honey of his voice too much of an invitation for you to tolerate as he waits. Watches. Far enough away to let you decide if you want to close the distance, a consideration you mull over as you turn away from the window and the nothing and the hate of you, reluctantly meeting his gaze, Andy. Welcome home.

There’s hurt to him. Voice warm and wounded, fresh blood spilling into the air between you, reaching for the familiarity of before. How are you feeling? A question he knows the answer to, one he also knows you will not give voice to.

You prove him right, daring to shake your head at it, I’m fine.

Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward

I’m not sure you mean that, Sunshine.

Andy… It’s a warning, a plea, a confession. Ask nothing, you want to insist, want  to scream and keep screaming and scream and scream and scream—

Andy Barber closes the distance.

You’ll never be used to this. To the thunder rumble of his voice rolling over you, to warm hands at your waist, to the way your name sounds so sweet on his lips while he lets one hand lift to your cheek and convinces you to look at him with the softest nudge of his fingers, Talk to me.

Let me out let me out let me out.

You shake your head, try to wrench yourself away but suddenly you are weak in more than body — unable, unwilling to pull yourself from the embrace you practically dreamt of sinking into — all your hate and resentment melting under the heat of his gaze. No, it’s—I’m—I’m just going a little stir-crazy, is all.

An apology. A concession. A plea. You are beating your wings against the bars of your cage and Andy Barber just… tightens his hold, tucks you against him, wraps you in the trapper’s net of his embrace and hides you. Tight enough you could almost drown in it, in the cedar and woodsmoke of his cologne, in the drumbeat of his steady heart as he near curls himself around you — sharp contrast to the hummingbird panic in your own chest, sternum cracking from the pressure, I know, I know, and you could almost believe in his apology too, if you could believe in anything at all.

I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t be so—so what, you ask yourself before you can continue, dare stop yourself from apologizing for all that you shouldn’t have been in the first place.

You are more than this, more than her, she who languishes in this beautiful cell of a half-life she thinks she has earned. You are more than your cage and your broken promises and your guilt. You are—

Tired.

It sinks into your bones as easily as Andy does, so sure of himself and the choice and the life you had no say in him building for you, Don’t be, Sunshine. I can’t imagine this is easy for you.

I wasn’t the one who got shot.

That disarms him, at least, and you have an opportunity to smile as he lets out a laugh, lets you pull back enough to look at him, lets you stand on your own two feet with his hands at your waist again, watching you.

You can see the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, enough to steel you against the constant collapse of all you thought you once were. You never called me, after that, an accusation. A question.

I know. Fucked up of me, he admits it so readily it almost hurts to hear, until you see the flex of his jaw and the way his eyes slide from yours — guilt. You’ve been a lawyer long enough to know what that looks like — no matter how long it’s been since the last time you searched for it.

You wait.

I should have. Figured out some way of reaching you — but the Syndicate has more eyes looking for you than we anticipated. Rogers… Billy didn’t even want me coming out here, said it was too early, but I told him to make it work and so… here we are.

Billy. Your Chief of Staff. He orchestrated this? You fall into it so easily. The viper, the soldier, that arm of justice demanding answer and understanding and suddenly the light of  your interrogation is shining on him.

He can feel it too, the sharpness of your fangs as you consider sinking them into his throat, consider tearing into him and pouring out the venom you’ve built up in your veins. The look on his face is evidence of guilt, and so you wait. Wait for him to beg and plead and justify.

Chief of Staff is his official title. Think of him more as Chief of Security. I hired him after I got the news about Alex— if he notices the way you flinch at the name, he doesn’t comment —he’s been trying to make up for the funeral since.

And this is how. Not a question. But you’ll have your answers nonetheless.

Yes. Not quite. I didn’t—I should have told you, Sunshine. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry more, not with…

Not with the baby. Might as well say it. The baby. The last reminder of Steve Rogers, the proof of all that he’d done to you, all that you’d paid to rid yourself of your pain, the newest shackle of your suffering. The baby.

Andy just ducks his head in the barest of nods, Not good for your health. You’ve got Rogers on the warpath, Sunshine—had to make myself look like the gentleman from Vermont just to get here, and Billy’s still convinced there might be a drone tracking me.

So why now? Why not wait, why not hide you forever, why not seal you away and pretend you never were?

Why do you think? I need you, Sunshine.

That stops you in your tracks, your circuit around the courtroom you’d made of this argument ceasing as you fix your gaze on him properly, Andy…

The ring. The license. Those are real, Sunshine. I’d rather have done it right but it’s not like Rogers gave me much choice — we were running out of time. If he finds out, at any point, he’d…

He trails off. You don’t need him to finish the sentence. Steve Rogers’s hands wrap themselves around your throat again, the heel of his palm at your chin, forcing you to look up, up into the cold steel of his eyes, into the hate of him, the way he made it look like love—no.

Never again.

You want to believe him, more than anything. Want to believe Andy Barber left you alone in silence for nearly two months against his will, want to believe you weren’t trapped in a prison on purpose, want to believe you can still fight back.

You don’t always get what you want — no matter how much you try.

He sees it too, the way you tense, the way your hands fall to his at your waist, the way you wonder at pulling him off you and pulling away and suddenly his fingers are pressing in a little too much, suddenly he’s dragging you in a little too fast and your hummingbird heart is racing again and the blood-tide is in your ears and, Sunshine! Hey, hey, look at me, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe, you’re safe— Andy Barber is afraid.

It is the fear you forgive him for.

You don’t remember how you got here, sitting on your bed with Andy Barber holding your hands in his, a man with his heart out of his chest. Listen to me. I’ll do anything to keep you safe. I will. But if you hate this, if you can’t forgive me for this, I’ll—I’ll make something work. Just give me long enough to… He trails off. Watches you. There’s a sheen of hurt in his eyes and it makes your own well up and you could hate him for that too, the same way you could hate him for this, the shackles he’s sentenced you to, for the jury that watches you.

But you don’t, really.

You stand at the cliffside between the devil and the deep blue sea and as you look into the stormcloud eyes so earnestly fixed on you and feel Andy Barber’s fingers squeezing your own with something like hope wrapped in the curl of them, you feel the blood-tide roar past your ears as you take one step into the nothingness and fall.

I signed the papers, Andy, you tell him, choking through sentiment with the simplicity of fact, interrupting the apologies he wants to make, watching his brow first furrow with confusion and then smooth with dawning realization, barreling forward before you can lose your nerve, If I wanted to go back to him — if I wanted there to be a chance he could find his way back to me — I wouldn’t have. I would have just managed alone, would have refused to go with Billy, would have left this house, would—

—would have gotten caught back up in it. Andy finishes speaking for you, his shoulders seeming to fall from the height he didn’t know he’d been holding them at, relief calming the tide of tears that might have drowned you both as he breathes a sigh and just…

Holds you, again. A question. An answer. A relief.

I need you to trust me, Sunshine.

And you do.