#but wait how am i supposed to get through Wednesday???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-thing-withfeathers · 2 months ago

Text

the archer’s arrow part 2 (w.a.)

are you hiding something?

part one | next part

a/n: teehee i am so sorry for the wait but i hope y’all enjoy this one <3

pairing: wednesday addams x female reader

warnings: mentions of blood & death

➶ ➶ ➶

thwip!

it was your arrow, definitely your arrow.

“go! wednesday! go!”

and your voice, definitely your voice.

wednesday gasped awake, sitting up instantaneously. she gripped her chest, bunching the fabric of her shirt up into a fist. her head turned to look at her alarm clock.

she was awake ahead of schedule but she was grateful she woke up when she did. she immediately got dressed, the stomping of her boots lining the walls of ophelia hall.

she reached your room, knocking thrice before stepping back.

you were already dressed, today was an early practice day.

“wednesday, you’re early.” you tilted your head, stepping aside to let her in anyways.

“i value punctuality.” she lied. she was getting better at coming up with them in her efforts to try and hide her true intentions from you.

a bit of her looked disheveled, like she had rushed to get there. you noticed her braid a little out of place and her socks mismatched— both black but definitely not from the same pair.

“right. well, let me finish this and i’ll be ready to go.” you took to your chair at your desk, settling back down.

wednesday noticed that there were a couple of envelopes littered across your desk. you were in the process of writing letters.

“you’re writing.” she pointed out.

“yes, wednesday. thats something i can do too.” you joked back, she remained stoic.

“what are the letters for?” she inquired.

“mainly family but also for some of my friends at the academy.”

“i understand your family lives remote but surely your friends have phones?” she furrowed her brows.

“they do, but we think letters hold more sentiment.” you clarified, scribbling more words onto the piece of parchment paper you had aquired. “and it’s always nice to receive things in the mail.” you shrugged.

“i suppose you might be right.” she agreed. you were surprised to hear her validation.

her eyes followed the ink that your pen left behind. it caught her attention particularly when you drew a heart next to someone’s name on the envelope.

you sealed the letter and then proceeded to stand, grabbing your gear from your closet. you opened the door for wednesday, allowing her to exit first.

you two walked side-by-side down to the practice range.

“did you have many friends at the academy?” she asked as you exited ophelia hall.

“many? not many. but a good handful. they were all very kind. i would love to know them forever.” you smiled, reminiscing at the memories you shared with them.

“any more than friends?” she asked, not looking at you. you looked at her with your lip curled. at the back of your mind, you questioned her curiosity about your romantic life.

“who’s asking?” you retaliated, a smirk plastered on your face. you glanced at her only to be met with a glare. you knew you would certainly meet your end if you left the question unanswered.

“yes, wednesday. i had a girlfriend.” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. it was a bit of a sore spot, this topic.

but wednesday cared not for sore spots.

“what happened?” she pryed further. why was she pushing those buttons so much?

the memories of her rejection flooded through your brain. she had no right to ask these things. you remember how the look on your face was probably the single most heartbreaking thing most of your fellow students have ever seen.

“why are you asking about this, wednesday?” you practically hissed at her.

“i’m not going to take advantage of your practice times and not get to know you.” she spat back.

“you… hm.” you paused. “i never thought i’d be answering questions from wednesday addams. you’ve changed too.”

“so answer them if my question intrigue you so much.” she continued walking at your pace.

“fine. we split up because i wanted to come back and we couldn’t do the long distance.” you answered openly. “but we’re still friends. she and i were very close, she helped me through a lot.”

you continued to stride towards the forest as wednesday simply watched you. you had someone, but were fine giving it all up to come back. the feeling opened a pit in her stomach, if only you had known what she was hiding.

—

she had taken a liking to your routines in the wilderness.

“i purposefully try to miss.”

you had told her that was the closest thing you could get to immersing yourself into your environment. murder of fauna in the nevermore woods was frowned upon, so you had to learn control.

“isn’t that counter productive?”

she asked back, but you proved her wrong. your control was incredible. nicking a squirrel by the hair of its tail, she watched the focus on your face as you tried to ensure it’s life.

“it’s harder to hunt down animals and make sure they live rather than die.”

today, she sat with a notebook. she said she just wanted to focus on writing up ideas for her novel while you practiced.

it was like she was your body double, just a shadow that lingered around while you did your thing. somehow, it worked. you felt more productive and so did she…

if she was working on her novel.

her pen glazed across the yellowed paper on her notebook. the ink morphed into the image of your bow. on paper, your body was facing the trees, arm reaching for an arrow from your quiver. wednesday captured your physique, how your body flexed with every move you made.

thwip!

wednesday did not flinch.

but she nearly did.

an arrow lodged into the tree trunk, directly above her head.

“i can literally feel your stare, wednesday. you’re making me nervous.” you teased. her eyes grew dark at you.

“try that again and you won’t have fingers to shoot an arrow with.”

you couldn’t help but smile at her empty threat. you knew wednesday more than either of you thought. you knew that she wouldn’t take your fingers, they would stay with you.

you drew your bow again, pointing an arrow straight at her jokingly.

“try me, addams!”

the statement made wednesday’s head shoot backwards, her eyes clouding over.

“try me addams!” you yelled at her. you were younger. your cheeks were fuller, you hadn’t quite grown into your face yet.

but there you were, back then, the object of wednesday addams’ affection. but she could never admit that then.

you were on your back, pinned against the ground with wednesday on top of you. she remembers this fondly, she was trying to steal back her hairties that you had stolen as a joke.

you were laughing. it was the most joyous she’d ever seen you. she didn’t know how she was getting that reaction from you.

she was reaching as you held the ties above your head, swinging your arm around to make sure she didn’t get it. she was growing frustrated.

she groaned and drove two of her fists down into your chest, robbing your body of air. you coughed as a response and caved in, handing her the hairties.

“okay addams!” you choked out, sitting up to be closer to the girl. you laughed softly, coming face to face with her. “i just wanted to play a prank on you.”

“pranks are a waste of your time. you have better things to do.” she said, standing up. “you’re going to be late for practice.” she looked down at you. you remained seated.

“they’re not a waste of my time if it means i get to spend time with you.” you said, honestly. sure, you were mildly flirting but you were geniune. wednesday didn’t know how to process the admitted desire for companionship. she returned the sentiment, but it wouldn’t come out of her.

“i’ll come to your practice then.” wednesday said, putting the hairties in her bag. “i’ll sit there and wait for you.” she held her hand out for you to take so she could help you up.

you grinned up at her from where you were.

that grin, she would have killed for it.

“deal!” you jumped up excitedly, a proud smile on your face. you took her hand to stabilise yourself.

and it was then she got her first vision of you.

you were older now. definitely older.

you were still in the forest, holding wednesday’s hand just like how you were in the real world.

your bow was in your left hand, like you had just come from battle. blood was dripping down from your ears.

you had blood staining your shirt. and it looked bad. something most people wouldn’t be able to recover from.

and it flickered between the image of your eyes crickling from how huge your smile was and the sight of you donning crimson in front of wednesday.

“wednesday!” you cried out to her, catching her in your arms.

and then she was back to reality.

“wednesday!”

a vision of a future in a vision of the past? that was new for her. her powers might have been trying to tell her something— something more urgent.

she remembers leaving you alone at practice that day, taking back her deal to you. she had to sit alone and process.

three days later, she broke your heart.

“you still get those often?” you asked, sitting her down against the tree trunk.

“of course i do.” she snapped, her conscience pounding from the double vision she just had.

“sorry, stupid question.” you said, regretfully. you sat in front of her, still holding her back to steady her. “do you want to talk about it?”

she hated how you cared.

“no.” she shook her head. “it was just… nothing. nothing important.”

“you and i both know your visions have saved countless lives, wednesday.” the way you said her name had her head reeling. “is there something we should be worrying about?”

“no… no.” she waved you off, pushing you away. you sat there nonetheless.

“okay well… are you feeling okay?” you worriedly questioned her.

“i would feel better if you stopped asking questions.”

you recoiled, knowing it was best not to provoke her like this. her heart twisted at your concern, they made her feel almost guilty for pushing you so far away.

she had broken you down slowly, she knew that now. you poured your heart into your affectionate manner, it was something that scared her.

you sat in silence, taking in your surroundings and letting her recover from the vision. you were around when she first started getting them, you knew how badly they affected her.

she almost wanted to apologise, tell you that she was sorry for snapping. but she couldn’t let you get close again.

“we should go soon, lunch is in 30 minutes.” you spoke up first, breaking the peace. she simply nodded at you, helping herself up. you followed suit, yanking the arrow you had previously stabbed into the tree out and putting it back into your quiver.

➶ ➶ ➶

you sat across from wednesday. she recalled a time you would fight for the seat beside her, but instead, you filled the space next to yoko.

“you’re already thinking about the rave’n?” you asked enid, munching away at your food in between sentences.

“of course i am!” enid jumped up. “it’s our last year here! we need to think about these things!” she turned to you and grabbed your hands.

“and it’ll be your first & last rave’n back! we have to make it good!” she squeezed your hands. you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile.

“okay well, you’ll help me shop then.” you held your pinky up, which the blonde gladly took in her own.

“good! and you, wednesday?” enid turned to the shorter girl, tilting her head.

“my rave’n experiences haven’t exactly been pleasant, enid.” wednesday brushed her off. “maybe this is the year i skip out.”

“you shouldn’t. i would like you there if it’s my first one back and last one i’ll ever have.” you said, forgetting that such desires were usually turned down by wednesday.

but that was somehow enough to convince her.

“fine.” she grumbled, a contrast to the smile that was now stuck to your face.

“never thought that would be so easy. you must be the sentimental type, addams.” yoko commented. the mental image in wednesday’s head was her brutally bashing the vampire for saying that.

“do you know the theme?” you asked enid. the werewolf was finally asked to head the planning of the rave’n, she was perfect for the job.

“yup! since it’s halloween— we’re doing guts & gore!”

you swear you saw wednesday nearly crack a smile, this was right up her alley.

“and glitter!” enid added in, you were unsure if she was joking.

the joy on wednesday’s face faded slowly, you softly laughed at the change of expression.

“don’t worry, addams. i’m sure you’ll look fine bedazzled.” you joked, snickering. yoko laughed beside you.

she glowered at you, your smile persisted. did she no longer have an affect on you in these situations?

you really had grown.

“i would rather choke and die before covering myself in sparkles.” she took an angry bite of her food.

“don’t worry, wends, i’ll forgive you this once.” enid giggled. “gore is still your element, i’m sure it will be reminiscent of your first rave’n.“

“i heard about that.” you chimed in. “pig’s blood, right? maybe you can work with real blood this time, nobody seems to know the difference. and you’d probably enjoy that better.” you had said that almost too casually, it bothered her.

she was like an old book you hadn’t picked up yet still knew the insides and outs of.

“yes. maybe i will.” she answered briefly. you returned to your meal, finishing up and picking your bookbag up.

“gotta go, i have some botany homework to catch up on.” you said, turning to wednesday quickly. “did you want to join me for archery club later?” you asked.

she paused for a second, debating her answer.

“no, i can’t. i have homework i need to do in my room.” christ! why did she say that? she meant to say yes!

perhaps it was her defense mechanism, she wanted to keep you at arm’s length after what happened in the forest today. she needed some time to process.

“no worries. i’ll see you guys later!” you jogged off and waved as you left.

“is it weird hanging around her again?” yoko asked, she realised she hadn’t talked to wednesday about your return much.

“i suppose.” wednesday nodded. she had grown closer to yoko overtime, finding herself being honest towards her. “she’s changed a lot.”

“i mean, yeah. her entire environment changed in a whim. that makes you grow up.” yoko agreed. “you two seem to be getting along just fine.”

“indeed. but we can never go back to how we used to be.” wednesday tried to put up a front. “i’m sure she wouldn’t want that either.”

“given how you tore her heart in half last time you saw her? i wouldn’t put it past her.” yoko sighed, “but you can’t hold it against her forever.”

“i can and i will.” wednesday scoffed. yoko squinted at her.

“are you hiding something?” the vampire asked. yoko had an excellent talent for reading people, it infuriated the addams girl.

“no.” wednesday responded firmly, standing up abruptly and gathering her things. “i have to go. i’ll talk to you both later.”

enid and yoko shot each other worried looks.

wednesday stomped off to her room, a scowl evident on her face.

she hated this. all of it.

she hated that her visions were getting stronger, they were so loud that they were making her entire body hurt.

she hated that she would once again become responsible for saving someone, she was always thrust into the world of the weird. was it such a crime that she wanted some normalcy?

she hated you. she hated that she was forced to reject you in order to prevent your impending doom.

she hated you. she hated you for returning and making her feel things again.

she hated you. she hated that she was terrified of your death.

she hated you. she hated you. she hated you.

but she had to save you.

➶ ➶ ➶

author’s journal

okay i’m soooo sorry this took ages! and that this is relatively short! but i was in the middle of quitting my job and planning my christmas trip to see my family!

i’ll let y’all in on the reader’s powers more in the upcoming chapters but she is definitely a psychic!

i also am sooo excited for halloween!!! i’m going as wednesday this year and i also bought from the doc martens x wednesday collaboration so i’m so so keen on getting it in.

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter & hopefully chapter 3 will be out before you all know it!

kisses xx

#the archer’s arrow #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x f!reader #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams fic #wednesday addams one shot #wednesday addams fluff #wednesday addams angst #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x female reader #jenna ortega x f!reader #jenna ortega angst

437 notes · View notes

ylangelegy · 2 months ago

Text

haven't we met? ♾️ minghao x reader.

“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.” # day one of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology, light angst. this is inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's film kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. word count: 9,000+

It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows.

But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green.

Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige.

Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale.

A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming.

Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails.

I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend.

Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby.

Except—

He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this?

The door to the room swings open.

A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?”

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother.

He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.”

“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel.

What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this.

As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part.

He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.

Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.

“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”

Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes.

He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.

“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent.

His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead.

He lets out a small sound of protest.

“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”

Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.

“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.”

His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—”

“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.”

The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?”

It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles.

He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look.

“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?”

Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.

He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before.

Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair.

It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that.

Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.

He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone.

He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table.

It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call.

BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least.

When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. “WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—”

Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone.

Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?”

“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”

At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning.

He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream.

Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.

He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream.

On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm.

When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule—

Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday.

Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours.

He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts.

🍒: myungho 🍒: are you feeling better? 🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok.

Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up.

🍒: are you sure??? 🍒: you had us worried 🐸: Did I really sleep that long? 🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept 🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ

Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyoung, then went home.

The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts.

🍒: seriously 🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something 🍒: but you say you’re ok now?

Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while.

Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?”

Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?”

“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”

Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.

“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.”

“I can come over.”

“No, no. I think I just need some rest.”

Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.”

“Text Mingyu,” Minghao repeats absentmindedly. “Yeah, got it.”

The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log.

Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him.

Something was definitely not right.

Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.

🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time 🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf) 🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!

If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed.

He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan.

He had no memory of any of that.

But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man�� in his ear.

For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed.

He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”

At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name.

The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream—

Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore.

He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea.

None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter.

I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am.

I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.)

For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry.

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know.

I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense.

The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom.

Your name.

His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening.

Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can.

After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter.

It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his.

None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left.

And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation.

For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead?

There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence.

In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter.

Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao.

I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him.

My family is in a different country.

As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you.

I met your mother. She’s nice.

I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all.

I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want.

And you’re right. This is crazy.

If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter.

Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.

The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue.

There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows.

Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half.

This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident.

The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words.

First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me.

That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him.

Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case.

Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording.

Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed.

Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance.

He skims over the rest of your letter.

I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself.

Wish me luck.

A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream.

Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.

He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues.

For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.

The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door.

Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace.

Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there.

“Take care,” he says.

He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation.

Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression.

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet.

A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do?

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.”

Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.

His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing.

Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen.

Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough?

The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones.

Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?

He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss.

Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee.

He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax.

Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter.

I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written.

He might as well do the same.

Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”

Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills.

Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you.

He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets.

Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything.

As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library.

When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often?

It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks.

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all.

And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor.

The librarian gives him a vicious side eye.

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees.

His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over.

While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for.

He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters.

月老. Yue Lao.

Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.

The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible.

How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure?

His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest.

I hope I find love.

It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how.

Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please.

“Are you going to check that out or what?”

Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—”

The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”

It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly.

He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly.

“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.

“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile.

The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station.

Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice.

Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth.

Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time.

The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way.

“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?”

It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert.

The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless.

Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase?

He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation.

Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu.

For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by.

Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.

Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid.

It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo.

I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG?

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him.

Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie.

I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city.

I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste.

The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.

I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then.

As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.

He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified.

Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong.

While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes.

The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils.

He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.

Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in.

The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store.

Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him?

Would he even want you to?

Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand.

A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.

But it’s also— not.

Something is off.

Something he can’t quite place.

It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”

Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”

A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack.

When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time.

“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.”

There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it.

Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds?

No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind.

An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to.

He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday.

As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?”

The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”

This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.”

“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?”

“Them?”

The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine.

The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?—

No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew.

The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.

“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?”

Nine years.

Since what? Since you?

A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday.

When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor.

The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes.

If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before.

The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently.

Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—”

He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?”

Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it.

He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.”

Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.”

“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.”

“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks.

Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.

After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?”

The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned.

The librarian isn’t the same one.

This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015.

It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the newspaper clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence.

Minghao feels like he’s drowning in news, but it’s still not what he’s looking for.

He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too—

He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though.

Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut.

Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.

Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death.

Except—

It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow.

In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do.

When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance.

He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon.

A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm.

He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window.

Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.”

Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate.

In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.”

A beat. Your mother looks unfazed.

“You’re always so dramatic.”

The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now.

It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen.

Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.”

Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?”

“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.”

“We’re safe here—”

“We’re not—”

It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.

“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

And how is Minghao supposed to answer that?

I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out.

When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly.

Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—

“Please.”

Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling through the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain.

Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious.

But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger.

Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment.

The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”

He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—”

Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped.

These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.

He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life.

“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.

There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging.

That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”

That’s only half the battle, though.

Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder.

“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles.

It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.

By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door.

They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care.

He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge.

The entire apartment complex is bewildered.

But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen.

The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building.

He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music.

This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then—

Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once.

Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.

Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh.

Because he made sure that no one was left in the building.

Because he’s alive.

You’re alive.

Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him.

He drifts off and dreams.

Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one.

It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes—

It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.

His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.

“It’s you.”

He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone.

When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft.

“It’s me,” he confirms.

You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms.

The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?”

A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right.

“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back.

He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up.

“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two.

“I’m not sure.”

“Why—?”

“— Did this happen in the first place?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve wondered the same thing.”

The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea.

Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please.

“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.”

“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again.

He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.”

Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?”

He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—”

It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though.

Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too.

The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky.

Every day, back when I was a kid.

“I prayed for this,” he repeats.

And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right.

He had prayed for you.

The chime of bells.

The beige ceiling.

Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.

He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too.

There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms.

Minghao never wakes up as you again.

The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought.

Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.

He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him.

Still—

Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing.

It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there.

Nothing.

He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.

It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him.

“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”

Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?”

“Sounds good.”

Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music.

Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings.

Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy.

Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok.

Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls.

Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—

He backs up a bit.

“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?”

The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock.

What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind.

A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.

“Got my date-plum persimmon, ajumma?”

It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—

Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar?

As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.

You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.

There’s a ringing in his ears.

“Excuse me,” he manages.

You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition.

The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words.

He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market.

“Haven’t we met?” he breathes.

For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you.

All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.

Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet.

“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums.

It feels a lot like an answered prayer.

#minghao x reader #xu minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #minghao fic #the8 fic #minghao imagines #the8 imagines #ylangelegy the8 days of minghao #minghao fanfiction #the8 fanfiction #minghao x you #the8 x you #( publishing this at 4am on my end of the world. good lord please just take this off my hands )#( i have Some gripes for what it's worth <3 haaapppy start of the series )#୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy

262 notes · View notes

thedemoninme141 · 18 days ago

Text

Not a bad Christmas (set in the "Not a bad day" universe)

Summary: Wednesday ended up as your "Secret Santa".

Theme: FLUFF!

Parings: Wednesday Addams & Female Reader Wordcount: 5.8k. Set in the "before dating" period

Warnings: JealousWednesday!!! Cringe Fluff?

(A/n: I know the next chapter was supposed to be in "after dating" period but I felt like it would be better in "before dating" period.)

“I am SO excited!” Enid declared, her voice loud enough to draw glances from neighboring tables. She didn’t care. "You guys, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment."

"For breakfast?" Yoko asked dryly, sipping her coffee.

"No, for this!"Enid gestured dramatically, nearly knocking over her juice. "The Christmas party! You all know Principal Weems put me in charge this year, right?"

"You’ve mentioned it," Bianca said with sarcasm. "Maybe only a hundred times."

Eugene adjusted his glasses, looking genuinely intrigued. "What’s the big deal about this year's Christmas party?"

"Eugene, it’s not just a big deal. It’s the biggest deal!" Enid leaned in, her voice dropping as she whispered "I pitched an idea to Principal Weems that is going to make this the most amazing, unforgettable Christmas party ever!"

"What’s the idea?" Eugene asked,

"I’m not telling!" Enid sing-songed. "It’s a surprise! Weems might even announce it today."

“If it’s not as groundbreaking as you’re hyping it up to be, we’re going to riot.” Bianca said dryly.

“I can handle the pressure!” Enid declared, “I was born for this. And besides, Christmas is my favorite holiday. It’s sparkly and cheerful, and everyone gets to come together! It’s the one time of year people have no excuse to be grumpy.”

Wednesday’s dark gaze flicked to Enid, a sarcastic remark brewing on her tongue. However, she bit it back, opting instead for a slow sip of coffee. Grumpy? She could name a dozen reasons why grumpiness was not only justified but necessary—especially during a holiday that encouraged excessive sentimentality. She glanced sideways at you, seated just beside Enid, you looked intrigued. Great.

She didn’t need her visions to predict that whatever Enid had in store would be an exercise in torture for her, and likely for everyone else. She hoped she would be able to ignore it, maybe stay locked in her room during Christmas but then, there was you... who just glanced back at her, giving a warm smile.

Wednesday quickly looked away, back at her food... oh wait she was done eating.

Why did you smile at her like that? Why did her heart just skip a beat? Why did her stomach twist into knots at your smile?

“Wednesday!” Enid’s voice cutting through her reverie.

“What?”

“I said, aren’t you so excited for the announcement?” Enid beamed at her, completely oblivious to Wednesday’s growing annoyance.

“Thrilled,” Wednesday deadpanned, “Nothing brings me more joy than waiting for yet another banal attempt at forced merriment.”

Enid pouted. “Come on, don’t be such a Grinch. This is going to be so fun! Right?” She nudged you with her elbow, seeking validation.

You chuckled softly, nodding. “It’ll be fun, Enid. I’m sure whatever you’ve planned is going to blow everyone away.”

“See? At least someone believes in- Oh, Weems is here!"

The din of student conversation gradually quieted as Weems stepped into the center of the quad, her presence commanding attention.

"Good morning, everyone," Weems began, her voice clear and authoritative. "As you all know, the holiday season is upon us. This year, we aim to celebrate with a bit more… normalcy, after last year’s unfortunate events." Her eyes flicked briefly toward Wednesday, who met her gaze with a defiant smirk. Unfortunate? Maybe. Enjoyable? Yes.

Weems cleared her throat. "To that end, I’m pleased to announce a new tradition for our Nevermore Christmas celebration: a Secret Santa gift exchange!"

The announcement was met with a collective groan from the students.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Yoko muttered. "Ugh, I hate shopping for other people," Bianca complained

"What if we just… don’t do it?" someone called out from another table.

Weems’ smile tightened, her patience visibly waning. "Participation is mandatory. Each student will draw a name at random later today and will be expected to provide a thoughtful, appropriate gift."

"This is absurd," Wednesday declared, her tone icy. "Forcing us to partake in such a vacuous activity only reinforces the notion that conformity is more valued than individuality."

"Oh, come on, Wednesday," Enid said, her excitement undiminished. "It’ll be fun! You might get something you like."

"Doubtful," Wednesday retorted. "Unless my Secret Santa has access to poison or medieval torture devices or a collection of preserved organs or..."

Your giggle interrupted her, earning a sharp glance from Wednesday. "You know, it’s not that bad," you said, leaning slightly toward her. "Maybe you’ll get something one of those things."

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. "Hightly unlikely"

Enid, meanwhile, was practically bouncing in her seat. "I can’t wait to see who I get! This is going to be amazing!"

"Amazing for you," Bianca said dryly. "For the rest of us? Not so much."

Weems raised her hand for silence. "That will be all for now. The details of the exchange will be posted later today. I trust you all will approach this with the spirit of the season in mind." Wednesday wants to summon a sprit to haunt that excuse of a principal.

With that, Weems turned and strode away, leaving the quad to devolve once more into hushed complaints and reluctant acceptance. Enid turned to you, her eyes sparkling.

"This is going to be SO GREAT!" she said, grabbing your arm. "I already have, like, a million gift ideas. What about you? Are you excited?"

You smiled, glancing briefly at Wednesday, whose scowl had deepened even more as if that was even possible. "I think it’ll be… interesting."

"Interesting?" Enid repeated. "It’ll be fantastic! Secret Santa could be a good bonding activity.” Enid said, her chipper tone grating against Wednesday’s mood.

“I’d rather bond with a guillotine,” Wednesday muttered as the group started gathering their things for class. Enid, still beaming with unrelenting excitement about the Secret Santa announcement, latched onto Wednesday’s arm, chattering nonstop about potential gift ideas and how this year’s Christmas party would outshine any before it. Wednesday, for her part, thought about finding whoever this Santa Claus is and putting an end to him.

Entering the classroom, Wednesday took her usual seat and Enid plopped into the chair beside her. You were just a few seats ahead, settling into your spot. The seat next to you, tantalizingly empty…

Nate? Nick? or whatever his forgettable name was appeared in the doorway. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the empty seat beside you. He brightened instantly, taking a step forward as though he were about to claim it.

Then his gaze shifted to Wednesday.

Wednesday’s expression remained perfectly neutral, except for the sharp, unmistakable intensity in her dark eyes. She didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. She simply stared at him.

The boy froze mid-step, his face paling. His eyes flicked to the faint burns on his hand, still healing from the “accidental” cocoa incident at the ugly sweater party.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, spinning on his heel and fast-walking to a corner seat as far away from Wednesday as possible.

The scene would’ve pleased Wednesday had it not been for the way you glanced back at her, curious and faintly confused. She quickly diverted her gaze, feigning interest in the carved graffiti on her desk.

Moments later, Bianca came in. Her eyes immediately landed on the empty seat beside you. She started walking toward it, only to pause midway. Instead of sitting there, she veered toward Enid and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Enid,” Bianca said smoothly “mind switching seats with me?”

Enid’s face lit up. “Of course! You can sit here! I can sit next to Y/N!” She began gathering her things without hesitation, practically skipping to the seat beside you.

Bianca slid into Enid’s vacated spot,

“You are not wanted here,” Wednesday said icily, her tone as sharp as a blade.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Relax, Addams. I’m not here for your sparkling personality. I just figured sitting here was safer.”

“Safer? Why would sitting beside "me" would be safer?” Wednesday’s tone turned even colder.

Bianca smirked. “Please, as if we haven’t noticed how you practically plot murders in your head for anyone who gets too close to Y/N.”

Wednesday’s spine straightened, her glare intensifying. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, spare me the denial,” Bianca said dismissively. “Enid is safe from your wrath because, well… she’s Enid. But me? Let’s just say I care too much about my life to be a victim of your jealousy.”

“I am not jealous,” Wednesday hissed, her voice low but venomous.

“Uh-huh.” Bianca gave her a knowing look before turning her attention to the front of the room, clearly enjoying herself.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists beneath the desk, her dark eyes flitting back to you. You were laughing softly at something Enid had said, your smile so warm it could melt snow. Wednesday felt a strange mix of frustration and longing twist in her chest. How could someone like you affect her so profoundly without even trying?

“Alright, class,” the teacher finally announced, setting down her book with a flourish, “we’re ending a little early today because it’s time to find out who your Secret Santa recipient will be!”

“Yes! Finally!” Enid exclaimed, bouncing in her seat like a hyperactive puppy.

Wednesday’s gaze shifted to the front of the room, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. A new wave of dread crept into her mind. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading since Weems’s announcement.

“Each of you will receive a small box. Inside that box is the name of the person you’ll be playing Secret Santa for." The teacher said, "Miss Sinclair, I believe you have the materials?”

“Oh! Yes, one sec!” Enid practically bolted from her chair, nearly toppling it in her haste. She sped out of the room in a blur of rainbows🌈🌈🌈, leaving everyone staring after her.

Wednesday felt like it hadn't even been 5 secs before Enid burst back into the classroom with a large, overly festive box clutched in her arms.

“Ta-da!” she declared, dropping the box onto the teacher’s desk with an audible thud.

Several students groaned at the display.

“Why is it so… glittery?” The teacher asked.

“It’s Christmas!” Enid replied, as if that explained everything. She opened the larger box to reveal an assortment of tiny boxes, each neatly wrapped and tied with red ribbons. “Pretty, right?”

Wednesday arched an eyebrow. “If you mean ‘pretty excessive,’ then yes.”

Enid ignored her, already grabbing a smaller box. “Okay, so I’ll start handing these out! Bianca, wanna help?”

Bianca sighed but stood anyway, muttering, “Might as well get this over with.”

The two of them began pulling out the tiny boxes, reading the names written on them, and distributing them around the room. Students grumbled their thanks, some reluctantly and others with mild curiosity as they turned the boxes over in their hands.

When Enid finally reached Wednesday, her excitement was still at an all-time high. “Here you go, Wends!” She thrust the small box toward her.

Though Enid had wrapped the box with black paper, Wednesday stared at the box as though it might explode. She took it with her usual reluctance, her fingers brushing against the ribbon’s texture.

With deliberate slowness, Wednesday pulled the ribbon loose, lifted the lid, and peered inside.

Hopefully, it would be someone she loathed. The possibilities were endless: a smug siren, an irritating vampire, or perhaps even that one werewolf who insisted on howling every full moon at midnight since she wolfed out. Yes, she could relish the challenge of giving them the worst, most spiteful gift imaginable.

But luck had a way of avoiding her at the worst times.

The name on the slip of paper felt like a slap in the face.

Curse you, Enid Sinclair.

Y/N L/N.

Her stomach dropped. Of all the names. Of all the cursed possibilities.

Wednesday’s chest tightened. This was a disaster.

Being your Secret Santa meant she’d have to think about you even more than she already did. She’d have to choose a gift, something meaningful, something that wouldn’t betray the tangled mess of emotions she felt whenever you were near. She couldn’t risk exposing herself, couldn’t let you know how much you affected her.

And yet, a small, treacherous part of her was… excited. The thought of giving you something, of seeing your reaction, was almost enough to outweigh her dread. Almost.

Her jaw clenched. No. She couldn’t let this ridiculous tradition get to her. She’d find the most generic, impersonal gift possible and be done with it. That was the only way to survive this.

But as she watched you lean back in your chair, your gaze flickering toward her with a curious smile, Wednesday felt her resolve waver.

This was going to be the longest Christmas of her life.

Enid practically hop-skipped down the hall as she clutched a small notebook filled with ideas for Eugene’s Secret Santa gift to her chest. She was going to be the best Secret Santa ever.

"Maybe I can knit him a bee-themed scarf! Or get him a limited edition honey collection—do they even make those? I’ll make it happen!"

She pushed the door open to their shared dorm room, fully expecting to see Wednesday brooding on her typewriter or reading some obscure book about medieval torture methods. Instead, she froze mid-step.

"Wednesday… what the hell is this?"

Wednesday had her cursed investigation board back out, its surface covered in a chaotic mess of photos, red strings, and notes. At first glance, it looked like Wednesday was solving another gruesome murder in the woods.

Enid’s pulse quickened. "Oh no, no, no. What happened now? Did some monster claw its way out of the woods again?"

Wednesday didn’t immediately respond. She was too engrossed in pinning another photo to the board, her expression dark with concentration. Enid’s eyes scanned the board, her heart pounding as she prepared for the worst. But then her gaze landed on the pictures.

Your pictures...

Not once, not twice, but in multiple photos. Some candid shots of you laughing in the quad, others from a class project presentation, even one blurry photo of you reading in the library. There were sticky notes around them, though the handwriting was too small for Enid to make out. She blinked, her mouth falling open.

“Wednesday,” she began cautiously “what is this? What did Y/N do?”

Finally, Wednesday turned her head to look at Enid, her expression unreadable, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “Y/N did nothing.”

“Then why... why is she all over your investigation board?! Are you trying to prove she’s some kind of secret villain or something? Because I’m telling you, Wednesday, Y/N is, like, the nicest person I know.”

Without a word, Wednesday plucked a folded slip of paper from her desk and shoved it into Enid’s hands. Enid unfolded it and read the name written in sharp, neat letters.

Y/N L/N.

The realization dawned on Enid almost instantly. Her lips parted, forming an "O" of understanding. "Ohhhhh," she said, drawing the sound out like a squeaky balloon. "You’re her Secret Santa!"

"Astute observation," Wednesday deadpanned, crossing her arms.

Enid’s eyes darted back to the board, her previous panic replaced with intrigue. "So, is this—?"

"Yes," Wednesday interrupted with a sigh, "This is… research."

"Research?" Enid echoed, "Wednesday, this is borderline stalking. You don’t need an entire murder board to pick out a gift!"

Wednesday’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. Her gaze flicked back to the board.

Enid’s eyes scanned the chaotic collage again, only to land on a picture of another student, a girl... Darcy? Enid remembers. Unlike the others, this photo had a bright red circle drawn around it.

"Uh, Wednesday?" Enid said cautiously, pointing at the circled picture. "Why is Darcy on here?"

Wednesday’s response was immediate and emotionless. "That girl is Y/N’s nemesis. I thought perhaps eliminating her would be an appropriate gift."

Enid gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Nemesis? What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Darcy spilled coffee on Y/n." Wednesday said flatly.

“Spilled Coffee??!!” Enid repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “Darcy spilled coffee on Y/N six months ago. By accident! And she apologized, like, a hundred times.”

“Same thing,” Wednesday said, her tone indifferent.

"Alright alright. Lets take it down a bit. Have you tried thinking about something normal? Maybe a book." Enid asked shrugging.

Wednesday glared at Enid. “A book? How unimaginative. I refuse to insult her intelligence with something so pedestrian.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help,” Enid shot back. "How about you tell me the list of what you have considered."

“A taxidermy specimen,” Wednesday offered.

“Dial it back.”

“An antique dagger that captures the souls of its victim.”

“No, that's... wait... does that actually exist?”

“A preserved tarantula.”

“Wednesday!” Enid groaned, throwing her head back. “You can’t give her something creepy! You’ll scare her off!”

Wednesday’s expression darkened, and she muttered under her breath, “It’s better than being dull.”

“Look,” Enid said, stepping closer and placing a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder. “I get it, okay? You like her. Like, really like her. And that’s scary and new to you, I get it. But you’re making this way harder than it needs to be. Just think about what would make her smile. That’s all that matters.”

Wednesday’s gaze softened, her usual sharp retort dying on her lips. She glanced at the board one more time, her mind swirling with uncertainty. “What if… I choose wrong?”

Enid smiled gently. “You won’t. You know her better than you think.”

Wednesday didn’t argue. But as she looked back at the pictures of you... and that smile. Maybe the answer really was simple.

And so, she found herself standing at the edge of the quad. her dark eyes surveying the chaos.

She held the small box in her hand, its contents weighing far more heavily on her mind than its actual physical mass. The box was simple plain black, tied with a thin crimson ribbon.

This was idiotic. Completely, utterly idiotic.

Ridiculous, she thought, glancing down at the gift. Why should this be any different from any other calculated gesture?

But it was different. You made it different.

She inhaled deeply, the cold air filling her lungs before she began her measured descent into the quad. Her steps were deliberate, slow.

Around her, students chatted and mingled and she felt their eyes occasionally drift toward her, as they always did, but tonight, she barely noticed. Her focus was elsewhere.

You.

Wednesday spotted you almost instantly. You were seated at one of the circular tables near the center of the quad, surrounded by her circle of idiots. Each of them had their gifts piled near their chairs, wrapped in colorful paper that made Wednesday inwardly puke. There was something almost unsettling about seeing you like this.

Enid whispered something to you and you smiled but, that smile didn't quite reach your eyes. Your usual brightness was dimmed tonight, replaced with an air of... nervousness? Contemplation? Whatever it was, it made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t entirely understand.

As she neared the table, Enid was the first to notice her. The werewolf’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Wednesday! You made it!” Enid’s voice rang out, drawing the attention of the entire table.

Your eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, the noise around her faded. The nervousness in your expression softened slightly, replaced by something gentler. You offered a small, shy smile that sent an unfamiliar warmth spreading through Wednesday’s chest. She quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat as she reached the table.

"Of course, she made it," Bianca drawled, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "Our personal Christmas Grinch wouldn’t miss the chance to haunt us while we are trying to have some fun."

Wednesday’s gaze snapped to Bianca, her dark eyes narrowing. "If I wanted to haunt you, Bianca, I’d do it with far more creativity than attending this… overdecorated spectacle."

"Overdecorated spectacle? Some of us put effort into this, you know." Enid pouted "Well at least you came, so come on, have a seat!" Enid said brightening up again as she patted the empty seat beside her.

Reluctantly, Wednesday slid into the offered seat, her posture as stiff as ever. She placed the box on her lap, keeping it hidden from view, her fingers resting on the ribbon as if to reassure herself it was still there.

"Hot cocoa?" Eugene offered, holding out a steaming mug.

"No," Wednesday replied flatly, her eyes darting briefly to you. She doesn't need to burn anyone. For now.

You glanced up then, your gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before you quickly looked away, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. Wednesday’s stomach twisted at the sight, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

You reached for your drink and for a moment, you seemed lost in thought again. Your brow furrowed ever so slightly, and your gaze drifted to the flickering lights above. Wednesday's eyes narrowed as she observed you, her mind racing to decode the emotions playing across your face.

Were you nervous? Sad? Or perhaps simply tired of the holiday cheer? Was it the Secret Santa event? Did you draw someone you weren’t fond of?

Who had you drawn? And what had you chosen for them? The thought unsettled her more than it should have. A fleeting image of you selecting a thoughtful gift for someone else sent a sharp pang of irritation through her. You, holding a gift, your face bright with anticipation as you presented it to some undeserving fool.

Perhaps that girl you’d partnered with in herbology last week or the one who lingered too long near your station, or the one who asked you on a dance in the ugly sweater party... maybe she would need to burn someone after all.

Before she could spiral further into her thoughts she felt the chatter quiet almost instantly and Wednesday didn't bother looking at the stage.

“Good evening, everyone,” Weems began, her voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd. “I’m delighted to see so many of you here tonight, embracing the spirit of the season”

Wednesday suppressed a groan, straightening in her chair but not bothering to feign interest.

Weems continued, her smile widening as she surveyed the gathering. “This year has been relatively… uneventful.” She hesitated just a fraction of a second, her gaze lingering momentarily on Wednesday before moving on. “For which I am profoundly grateful.”

That earned a few chuckles from the crowd, and Wednesday’s lips twitched in faint irritation. Uneventful? That was certainly one way to describe it. From monsters lurking in the woods and unraveling a centuries-old conspiracy to.... brooding. Yeah.. that's what Wednesday found herself doing last year... Was Bianca right about her brooding all the time?

She should’ve hated this year, every day of it. It was, by all accounts, actually uneventful. The monotony alone should’ve driven her mad.

But it hadn’t.

And she knew exactly why.

Her gaze flicked back to you, almost involuntarily. You were still seated, your hands now wrapped around your cup as you leaned closer to Enid, nodding along to whatever trivial nonsense she was whispering in your ear. You didn’t look extraordinary, not in the conventional sense. Your sweater was unassuming. And yet, to Wednesday, you radiated something inexplicably magnetic.

It was because of you.

Wednesday’s fingers tightened around the ribbon of the box in her lap, her thoughts momentarily scattered. She should have hated this year, loathed it for its lack of intellectual stimulation and excitement. But no matter how much she tried, that hatred never came.

Because of you.

She sighed, a sound barely audible even to herself, and returned her attention to Weems, who was still mid-speech. “This year has proved what Nevermore can be,” Weems declared, her tone resolute. “A place of growth and of potential. As we stand on the brink of a new year, let us carry forward the bonds we’ve strengthened here tonight.” Weems’ gaze swept over the gathered students, lingering briefly on Wednesday, as if daring her to contradict the sentiment. Wednesday met her gaze with a neutral expression, unwilling to give the principal the satisfaction of any visible reaction.

“And so,” Weems concluded, her voice warm yet authoritative, “let us feast, celebrate, and look forward to the possibilities that lie ahead. Happy holidays, my dear students.” A polite smattering of applause followed, and Weems stepped back, gesturing toward the long tables laden with food at the edge of the quad. The students began to stir, rising from their seats and drifting toward the table.

From her seat, Wednesday found herself observing Enid tearing into her food, a sight both grotesque and vaguely amusing.

“Enid, you’re one drumstick away from wolfing out right here.” Bianca quipped from across the table.

Enid shot Bianca a pointed look, her cheeks already puffed out like a chipmunk’s from the food she was furiously chewing. Swallowing with a dramatic gulp, she said, “Hey! It’s not my fault everything tastes so good! And for your information, I was busy all day! You think this whole event planned itself?”

Wednesday barely registered the conversation, her dark eyes fixed on her untouched plate. The food, no matter how well-prepared or fragrant, was irrelevant to her. Her mind churned with far more pressing matters.

The gift.

The prospect of giving you the gift in front of everyone at the table was a particular source of dread. She was not one for public displays, especially when it came to something as vulnerable as this. What if they mocked her choice? Worse, what if you did?

Wednesday’s fingers tightened around the box, her knuckles whitening. She refused to entertain that thought any longer. No. You wouldn’t mock her. You weren’t like the others.

You were kind... loving and you weren't... at the table?

Her heart skipped a beat as she scanned the immediate area. You were nowhere in sight. The seat you had occupied moments ago was empty, your plate still half-full. Wednesday’s brow furrowed, a sliver of unease creeping in.

Where had you gone? She hadn’t seen you leave. Had she been so lost in her own head that she missed it?

And then she saw it—a small piece of paper resting just beside her plate. Her brows furrowed as she reached for it, unfolding it with deliberate care. The handwriting was unmistakable.

Meet me near the fountain.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wednesday’s lips, unbidden but not unwelcome. Of course, it was you. Who else would have the audacity to summon her like this?

She folded the note carefully and tucked it into her pocket before rising to her feet.

Enid paused mid-bite “Where are you going? You barely touched your food!”

Wednesday didn't bother answering as she made her way through the crowd. Each step felt deliberate, measured. Her grip tightened around the small box in her hand as she approached the pathway leading to the fountain, her mind already racing.

What would she say when she saw you? Would she hand over the gift without a word, letting the gesture speak for itself? Or would she attempt something more... personal? Words weren’t her forte, especially not when it came to feelings. And yet, with you, words seemed both inadequate and entirely necessary.

And there you were.

Sitting on the bench, your back straight but your posture relaxed, you stared ahead at the frozen fountain.

For the briefest moment, Wednesday froze. Her mind, usually a whirl of calculated plans and sharp observations, was disturbingly blank. You looked so...you.

Finally, she took a breath, steady and controlled, and stepped forward.

You must have heard her approach because you turned your head just as she reached the bench.

Your eyes found hers.

That smile, the same smile. that had marked its place in... her unnecessary blood-pumping machine they called "heart". There was something different about it this time, though. It wasn’t the shy or nervous smile from earlier. It was warm, inviting, and... knowing. As if you had been waiting for her all along.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Sit.”

Wednesday hesitated for only a second before lowering herself onto the bench. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, noting the way you rested your hands in your lap, your fingers brushing against one another absentmindedly. You were close, closer than she realized, and the proximity was enough to make her hyperaware of her every movement.

How does one start something like this? She had rehearsed no fewer than twenty scenarios in her mind, yet now, sitting here beside you, they all felt insufficient.

“Do you believe in fate, Wednesday?”

The question caught her off guard. She turned her head to look at you fully, her brow furrowing as she considered your words.

“Fate?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “The idea that our lives are predetermined by some cosmic force?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering.

“Fate,” she repeated, her tone contemplative. “A concept often romanticized but rarely substantiated. It implies predestination, a lack of autonomy, which I find… unsatisfactory.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and modest, yet it sent a ripple through her. “That’s a very Wednesday answer,”.

“And what would your answer be?” she countered, her gaze steady on you.

“I think,” you began, your eyes returning to the fountain, “that fate isn’t about things being preordained. It’s about moments, little choices that lead us to places we never expected to be. Like… sitting here, tonight, with you.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of your words pressing against her usual walls of detachment. You had a way of saying things that left no room for deflection, no safe harbor for her to retreat to.

“Perhaps,” she said after a pause, her voice quieter, “fate is less about inevitability and more about… alignment. An intersection of paths.”

You tilted your head, considering her words, and then smiled. “I like that.”

The silence returned, but this time, it felt warmer, less daunting. You shifted slightly, your shoulder brushing against hers, a small, fleeting touch that sent a spark of something unfamiliar coursing through her.

“There’s something I need to give you,” she said finally, her voice steady but softer than usual.

You turned to her, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Oh?”

She held the box out toward you, her movements precise but tinged with an underlying hesitation.

"You are my secret santa?" Your lips quirked into a teasing smile as you accepted the box. “I hope it’s not a tarantula,” you joked.

“It’s not,” she replied flatly.

You untied the ribbon carefully, your fingers deliberate as you removed the lid. Inside was a glass globe, delicate and intricately crafted. In the center stood two shadowy figures, featureless yet unmistakably human, lost in their own world, but at peace.

Your fingers hovered over the small button at the base of the globe. With a curious glance at Wednesday, you pressed it.

The soft melody of the piano that played was instantly recognizable. Your eyes widened, and you turned to her.

Your breath hitched as you glanced at her. “Wednesday, is this...?”

“The ugly sweater party night,” she finished for you, her eyes flicked back to the globe, unable to meet yours. “A memory. One I thought you should have, too.”

Your smile was radiant, and for the first time, she felt as though she had done something right, truly right.

And then you snapped your fingers.

A small, glowing purple portal materialized in the air, swirling and pulsating with quiet energy. You reached into it, your movements unhurried, and pulled out a rectangular box wrapped in deep blood-red paper. The portal vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving no trace behind.

So, you could conjure portals. That explained how you’d managed to place the note near her earlier without her noticing, a feat she had, until this moment, deemed improbable. You possessed a skill that defied logic and simplicity, and though she hated to admit it, she was impressed.

You held the box out toward her, “I am your Secret Santa too, Wednesday,” you said, your voice light, a trace of mischief dancing on your lips. “Talk about fate, huh?”

Wednesday tilted her head ever so slightly, her dark eyes flicking between you and the box now resting in your lap. "I am skeptical of calling it fate. A calculated scheme seems more acceptable.” ENID.

Slowly, she reached out and took the box, its weight heavier than she anticipated. You watched her with quiet anticipation, she tore away the paper, revealing a wooden case beneath. Her brow furrowed slightly as she opened the case, her breath catching the moment her eyes fell upon the contents.

Inside was a dagger, encased in glass, its blade gleaming even in the dim light of the fountain. But this wasn’t just any dagger.

The hilt was ornate, at its base, a ruby-red gemstone sat nestled within the design, pulsing faintly as though alive. The blade itself was thin, wickedly sharp, and etched with complicated patterns A faint inscription ran along its length in a language she recognized as Hungarian.

Her eyes widened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine, real smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. She recognized this blade instantly.

“Elizabeth Báthory’s dagger,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The infamous serial killer of the 1600s, known for her brutal methods and rumored vampiric tendencies, had wielded this blade. Legends spoke of its dark history, of how it was used to drain the blood of her victims.

“How did you get this?” she asked, her voice low, almost adoring.

You shrugged lightly. “I have my ways.”

Wednesday’s gaze returned to the dagger, her fingers brushing against the glass casing as if to confirm its reality. Her mind raced with the implications of the gift, not just its historical significance, but what it meant coming from you.

You had given her something she cherished, not for its material value, but for what it represented.

You saw her. Not the façade she presented to the world, but the depths of her being, the parts most people recoiled from or misunderstood.

You didn’t shy away from the darkness that fascinated her; instead, you embraced it, honored it even, cared for it... cared for her...

The weight of that realization settled over her, mingling with an unfamiliar warmth that she didn’t know how to name.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice you leaning closer until your head rested gently on her shoulder.

She froze.

Her gaze flicked to you briefly. You were gazing down at the globe in your lap, the soft melody still playing. Her eyes returned to the dagger. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible sigh, her gaze fixed on the ruby gemstone embedded in the dagger’s hilt.

Not a bad Christmas. Not bad at all.

Wanted to post this in Christmas night... but finished early. Comment how you guys liked it!

Also comment what you would've given Wednesday as her secret santa.

->WORKLIST<-

97 notes · View notes

llxferim · 1 month ago

Text

Choose Part 2

a/n: FINALLY a part 2 for yall anddd sorry I wasn't in the mood for smuttt. Also, Should I write a Natasha endgame version?

edit: Hello, Aziz really needs help reuniting with Family, if you can help by either donating or sharing this link, please do!

https://gofund.me/fc144e48

here's part 1 if you haven't read it!

Pairings: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Summary: After that night, all you could think about was Wanda and Natasha. You took a few days off and holed up in your room to think but then, you got a call.

Warnings: Bad language, fem!reader, no y/n used, fluff, drunk reader, alcohol (tell me if i missed anything)

Word count: 2k

After last night, you stayed holed up in your room, the weight of everything pressing heavily on your chest. You had taken a few days off, hoping the time would help you sort through your tangled thoughts. Going on a date with both Wanda and Natasha was supposed to help you choose between them, Instead, it had only deepened the confusion, leaving you trapped,

You didn’t want to hurt either of them—But avoiding the situation wasn’t helping. Silence would only make things worse, and you knew it.

Lying on your bed, the soft hum of a TV show filled the background, though you weren’t paying attention. Your phone buzzed, the vibrations traveling through the mattress before finally reaching you. You picked it up, heart pounding, hoping—no, expecting—it to be Wanda or Natasha. But the screen read, Kate.

Disappointment flickered for a moment, but you answered anyway.

“We’re going out,” Kate declared, her voice brisk and unapologetic. “Get dressed. I can’t stand you moping around like this anymore.”

You blinked, startled by her abruptness. Before you could get a word in, she added, “You have an hour. Bye,” and hung up without waiting for a response.

For a moment, you just stared at your phone, the call already disconnected. Kate’s words rang in your ears, and you couldn’t ignore the sting of truth in them. Had this whole Wanda-Natasha situation really gotten to you that much?

You sighed, letting the phone drop onto the bed beside you. Maybe Kate was right. Maybe you did need to get out, even if just to clear your head.

***

You were in a bar, one of the more popular spots in town, but on a Wednesday night, it was surprisingly quiet. Most of the regulars seemed to be staying in, leaving you to wallow in your own chaos. You were on your fourth shot of whiskey, the fiery liquid blurring the edges of your thoughts. You were pretty sure the entire bar now knew about your messy situation, thanks to your drunken rambling.

Kate wasn’t much help—she’d long since ditched you to dance with some girl she’d just met. You were left at the counter, propping your head on your hand as you unloaded your woes on the bartender—who seemed so uninterested in anything you had to say, but you were too drunk to care.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you slurred, the whiskey loosening your tongue, “Natasha, she’s… she’s amazing. So strong, so beautiful—” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “But Wanda, god…” You trailed off, covering your face entirely with your palms and sighing deeply. “Ugh. Never mind.”

A familiar voice cut through the fog of your thoughts. "No, please, continue," Wanda’s voice was soft, but it had that unmistakable edge that made your pulse spike.

Your heart stuttered as you turned to face her, blinking in disbelief. Wanda. Sitting right next to you, a smirk playing on her lips.

"What—" hic "What are you doing here?" You stammered, your breath catching in your chest.

Her eyes softened, though there was still a playfulness in her gaze. "How much have you had to drink, darling?" she asked, her voice low and teasing as she casually slid your glass from your hand and set it aside, taking money out of her pocket.

“You don’t have to- i have money” You protest, not wanting her to waste hers, but of-course she refuses.

She raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment. "You good to stand up?"

You blinked, disoriented. "Yeah, sure. Where are we going?"

You tried to stand, but the room swayed beneath you. Just as your knees threatened to buckle, Wanda’s arms slid around your waist, steadying you, her touch firm and warm.

You look up at her as a red blush creeps onto your face. you clear your throat, “thank you”

“You’re really cute when you’re shy, did you know that?” She helps you to your feet, before using her arms around your waist to guide you outside.

“wait- Kate-“ You start to turn around right at the door but Wanda stops you, “i already Called Yelena, she’ll be here any minute, it’s okay” she reassures you.

“oh- okay” You mumble as you follow her lead, outside the door. The cold reaches you immediately, your first instinct being to lean into her warmth, resting your head on her shoulder.

You finally reach Wanda’s car, your head still spinning, but a but better than before.

She helped you into the passenger seat, her hands brushing yours as she fastened your seatbelt. For a moment, the world felt like it was slowing down—the soft scent of her perfume, the way she seemed to be in perfect control, her gaze flicking over you with something unreadable. The closeness of her body, the soft brush of her fingers against your skin...

As she straightened, your eyes locked for just a second, and in that moment, the rest of the world fell away. You couldn't help it. You leaned in, your lips almost brushing hers.

But then she pulled away, her breath warm against your cheek. You blinked, frustrated, and mumbled something incoherent.

"You’re not sober, love," Wanda’s voice was gentle.

She sits down next to you. “C’mon, drink up” she says, giving you a cold bottle of water, which you down in seconds. You lean back into the seat as she starts driving.

You leaned your head back against the seat, trying to will the drunken fog away, but your thoughts kept circling back to her—her touch, the look in her eyes, the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the room. you let your eyes rest for a second, savoring the feeling of being with her.

Next thing you knew, Wanda was helping you out of the car, “Do you feel better, Love?” She asks softly. “Yeah, thank you” You mumble out, embarrassed, The embarrassment of your earlier behavior clawed at you. “I’m sorry i ruined your night,” You apologized, opening the door, and called the Elevator. “What do you mean?” She asks with a confused tone, leaning against the elevator Frame.

“You probably went there to unwind or- have fun-” you start rumbling, the drunken feeling still slightly there. before you could continue you were interrupted with a chuckle coming from Wanda, “What- What’s so funny!” You ask with a pout, frustrated. “You don’t remember texting me?” She asks as your face warms up, “i- what?” you felt dumbfounded, did you text her something weird? Something embarrassi— “You texted me to come and get you because you missed me” She snaps you out of your thoughts with a soft giggle, before heading into the Elevator, dragging you with her, her hand still protectively around your waist, just in case.

“Fuck” You sigh, covering your face with your hands, leaning back on the elevator door. you feel her footsteps getting closer to you, her rough hands grabbing on to yours, pulling them away, revealing your flushed face.

“I’m sorry” You apologize, finally looking her in the eyes. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Darling.”

After a moment of silence, the elevator dinged, announcing your arrival at your floor. Wanda's hand slid down to intertwine with yours, her touch both grounding and electrifying. "Come on," she murmured, leading you toward your apartment.

You followed her, the world around you fading into the background. All that mattered was the warmth of her hand in yours and the way her presence seemed to anchor you in ways you didn’t fully understand yet.

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, swaying slightly. Wanda’s hands were immediately on your shoulders, steadying you again. "Alright, sit," she instructed, guiding you to the couch. Her tone left no room for argument, but there was a tenderness in her voice that made you comply without hesitation.

She comes back with a cup of water and aspirin “Take these” she said softly, crouching in front of you and placing the items on the coffee table. Her green eyes met yours. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

“Of course i do” she says.

You hadn't even realized how much you craved this—her attention, her care, the way she made everything feel right. You could feel the tension in your chest loosening with each breath.

Wanda sat beside you, her eyes focused on you as you slowly took the water and aspirin she had handed you. The cool liquid slid down your throat, soothing the remnants of the whiskey’s burn. You felt her gaze on you, not judgmental, but understanding. She wasn't in a rush. She wasn't going anywhere.

You shifted on the couch, your hands feeling oddly restless, unsure whether you wanted to speak or just keep your thoughts to yourself. But the silence hung between you like an unspoken question, a question you knew you couldn't avoid forever.

“Wanda...” You started, your voice quieter than you intended. “I’ve been… I’ve been thinking a lot. About all of this.

Her eyes softened, and she shifted closer, the warmth of her body radiating against yours. She didn’t interrupt you, didn’t push you to speak faster.

“I—” You stopped, unsure how to voice the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. You knew what you were about to say, what you needed to say, but the words didn’t come easily. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “You make me feel... alive, Wanda. In a way that I never expected. And I—I don’t know how to say it, but…”

You trailed off, letting the silence hang between you as you gathered your courage. The weight of the decision was pressing down on you, and at that moment, it felt like your heart was demanding you make a choice.

Her hand found yours again, her thumb gently brushing across your knuckles, grounding you. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, love,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “But I’m here, no matter what.”

The words felt like a lifeline, and it was like the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. You didn’t need to explain everything, to find the perfect words. What mattered now was the quiet truth that had been sitting in your heart all along.

Wanda was the one you wanted. She was the one who made you feel safe, and seen, in ways that Natasha couldn’t. It wasn’t that Natasha wasn’t incredible—she was—but it was Wanda’s presence that soothed you, that made everything else feel right.

You squeezed her hand, your heart racing now, the decision clearer than it had been before. “I think... I think I’ve known for a while now,” you said softly, looking directly into her eyes. “I just needed to admit it.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, studying you with those knowing green eyes. You could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but she said nothing, waiting.

“I choose you, Wanda. I’ve been scared to admit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling a little. “But I choose you.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just watched you with an intensity that felt like she could see every thought and feeling you were hiding. Then, her lips parted in a soft smile, the kind of smile that felt like home.

“I’m glad,” she said quietly, her voice full of warmth. And just like that, the tension that had been gnawing at you for days melted away. Wanda leaned in then, her forehead gently resting against yours, her breath warm and comforting. “You don’t need to be afraid with me,” she murmured.

You closed your eyes for a moment, basking in the simplicity of the moment—the clarity, the relief, the way it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips before her hands were cupping your face, drawing you closer, her lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t thank me,” she whispered back. “Just... trust me, love.”

And in that moment, you realized you didn’t need to say anything else. You trusted her. You trusted her with everything.

And that was enough.

#fanfic #no y/n #fanfiction #x reader #ao3 #mcu x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel x reader #marvel #fluff

59 notes · View notes

rachelsfav-queer · 3 months ago

Text

Missing Scene

Enid: Oh my gosh, she is just SO INFURIATING! Like does she seriously just not realize that her actions affect other people? Or does she just not care? I mean seriously! How could someone be so… soo… RAGH SO OBLIVIOUS?!

Yoko: *flipping through her alchemy textbook* Yeah, seriously. Some people.

Enid: And why does she have to be so… fricking heartless about it?! I mean, my feelings matter too! Surely more than some stupid “investigation” or whatever the flip! Right?

Yoko: *yawning* Totally, girl. You deserve respect too.

Enid: Why doesn’t she realize that I’m just trying to help her? I’m on her side! I want her to be able to figure this all out, cause she’s like, really really smart even though she’s so stupid sometimes but in like, a sorta endearing way where she’s trying to help but doesn’t realize the full consequences of her actions or that she’s hurting people. I mean, maybe if she thought some of these things through a little more, she’d try to find better ways cause she doesn’t actually like hurting people, at least people she cares about, cause again, she’s kinda sweet like that.

Yoko: *looks up from her textbook, raises eyebrow* Wait, huh? Are we still talking about the same thing?

Enid: *ignores Yoko* And like, she does have a soft side underneath all the spiky death traps she puts around herself. She totally felt guilty about Eugene, even though it wasn’t her fault. And she really does try to make sure I’m comfortable, even if it’s a little inconvenient for her. And she absolutely does have a protective side to her, like when she put herself in front of me whenever the monster tried to attack us. It was really kinda cute and nice when she made sure I got out safe first.

Yoko: *squints her eyes suspiciously* Huh… yeah…

Enid: Ugh, but she doesn’t really take good care of herself. Hmph, knowing her, she totally forgot to eat a proper meal today. Mmm and I bet you like ten bucks she hasn’t drank enough water today either. Oh jeez, if I’m not there to make sure she eats something, then she’s just gonna work herself into the ground on this investigation and is probably gonna pass out. Oh no, and what if she passes out and hits her head on something?! WHAT IF THING ISN’T THERE TO GET HELP? HOW WOULD HE EVEN CARRY HER? HE’S JUST A HAND!

Yoko: Am I missing something, or aren’t you supposed to still be upset with her about the whole emotional manipulation thing?

Enid: I am mad at her, Yoko! But she still needs sustenance! After all, she’s all alone up there now! Oh, she’s probably just curled up all sad and lonely and oh my gosh that’s so sad. *tearing up*

Yoko: Girl, we’re literally in the room right below her. I’m sure she’ll be fine. You? I’m starting to question that. *under her breath* Talk about whipped, holy shit.

Enid: I need to find some way to check up on her. Maybe I can ask Thing? No no, that’s mean to use her own family against her. Oh, I got it! I’ll just say I forgot my nail polish! That way I can check to see if she’s eaten! And I technically won’t be going back on my word, right? Cause I’m technically only going back to get something! Aha, it’s a perfect plan!

Yoko: *under her breath, turning back to her textbook* So fucking whipped.

(Day 10, Prompt 10 of Wenclair-Tober! Sorry this was so long lol. Also yeah, everyone talks about how affected Wednesday was by the argument, but nobody talks about how Enid was affected lol. Girlie was in the same building and still couldn’t stay away from her hot goth “roomie” and came back THREE times lmaoooo. Even though she was supposedly so upset with Wends lol. Gomez behavior.)

#wenclairtober #wenclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #enid x wednesday #wenclair prompts #writing prompts #october writing challenge #wednesday netflix #wednesday series #my writing

141 notes · View notes

daengtokki · 1 year ago

Text

𝒮𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒

Kim Seungmin/Female Reader

wc: 7.1k

rating: Mature, NON-explicit (part 2)

→ PART ONE

Part 2 of 4

The sun is coming through the trees and leaving freckles of light over Seungmin’s face and chest. His eyes are closed, hands propping him up as he leans back and stares up at the sky.

You’ve been meaning to ask the question bouncing around in your head for several minutes, but you can’t stop staring at him like this. You reach out and gently shake his foot until he looks at you.

“Hey, sorry…I didn’t mean to get quiet.”

- Seungmin is tired.

Car rides are his worst enemy if he’s trying to stay awake, especially if he ends up in the backseat. His head keeps swaying side to side. The ride is far too smooth, and he feels like a baby being lulled to sleep.

The car turns left, then right, then right again. He doesn’t need to feel it come to a stop to know he’s home.

As happy as he is to finally be done with traveling—for now, he doesn’t think he has the energy to get himself back on two feet.

He hits his neatly made bed immediately. No unpacking, no snack, no checking text messages. There is zero time between thinking about sleep and passing out; there is only a deep dreamless sleep.

____

It’s dark and warm in his room when he wakes up. His eyes stay closed tight, but he can feel how late it is. He knows he’s been sleeping far too long. Nobody bothered waking him for dinner or checking up on him, because that would have been useless. He doesn’t even mind that he missed the Giants game.

He feels much better now, until he looks down at his phone to check the time. The first problem is it’s already past midnight. The second problem is he has 43 notifications to open.

Seungmin scans over them to see if he missed anything important. Most of them look deletable, but a few he duly notes, and definitely needs to answer in the morning.

He opens the text from Choonhee, though.

Are you here for the long weekend?

He doesn’t mind texting her this late. He sends back a quick response without much thought: “I’m here until Wednesday!

Time to shower and eat.

Seungmin stands in the shower for a good fifteen minutes—clearing his mind, easing the tension he always holds in his shoulders— before finally, somewhere in the back of his memory, the part where he puts things and never ever remembers them…he remembers something.

“Oh…” he cups his face in his hands and scrubs at his cheeks, “shit.”

He takes his time getting out. An extra half an hour accidentally ignoring you isn’t going to make much of a difference now. Hair gets dried; fresh clothes thrown on. He clicks the fan in his bedroom so it pushes the warm air around. The cool night air is at least trying to find it’s way in.

Now he notices how hungry he is. Might as well find something in the kitchen before getting into a conversation. One that goes well, hopefully.

A bowl of oi-muchim, a beer, and his phone in hand, Seungmin makes himself comfortable on the couch. He pulls up Choonhee’s text messages again and hopes she still awake…

“Is it too late to text her? Do you think she’s up?”

He sends it off and tries not to watch his phone for her reply. He clicks the tv on and eats, but before his second bite, his phone goes off.

She won’t mind if it’s you

Seungmin hopes Choonhee’s right. And hopes you’ll still actually want to speak after two months of accidental silence.

Now he puts his food down, drinks some of his beer, and thinks…”what am I supposed to say at one in the morning?” He mumbles it to himself. But he starts typing anyway, letting his thumbs and his heart do the work. If he thinks too much, nothing will ever come out.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m texting you so late. And also sorry for not getting back to you sooner. I hope you can forgive me. I’m in town for a few days if you’re interested in seeing each other.”

He reads it and rereads it. Then sends it away. It’s the best he can do.

The rest of the night is nothing but a long wait. The nap he took served perfectly as a good nights sleep, so the next few hours are spent catching up on baseball highlights, finishing a drama, and then silently obsessing over whether or not he’ll get a text back while a new show plays out in front of him .

At 7:30, Seungmin’s phone buzzes in his hand. He’s sound asleep, but still holding onto it. It wakes him right away, but it takes a moment before he can remember where he is, and what he’s doing there. Too much sleep makes his head fuzzy, and yesterday and this morning must have been a combined eleven hours.

He looks at the notification and remembers. Only the name on the screen registers in his mind before he unlocks his phone and sits up. He shakes the sleep from his head and rubs his eyes before reading…

I would love to see you

A sigh of relief. You’re not mad. Seungmin’s heartbeat picks up in his chest as he types.

“Tonight? Or today. Any time is good.”

This reply takes a little longer. He gets up to change just in case he has to run out the door to meet you. Your reply comes a few minutes later. Seungmin reads it as he’s jumping into his shorts.

I’m free all day. Do you want to come over for breakfast?

“Come over for breakfast? Are you going to make me breakfast?” he thinks out loud. He’s hoping that’s what you mean.

“I’ll be there in an hour”

____

Your internal alarm hates you. At precisely 7:25, you’re awake. Even on the weekends, you can’t sleep in. It takes a couple of minutes before you can even think about moving, but the warmth in the room and the sun peeking in eventually forces you up. You can only take so much.

Your phone, charging on the nightstand, buzzes softly. Probably an email. It buzzes again. You thought you put it on sleep mode last night, but maybe not. It’s a miracle nothing woke you up. You grab it and unplug it…

Email Spam email Work email you never opened or cleared Instagram

Text from Seungmin

“Seungmin,” you say his name out loud in case you’re still a little bit asleep. Seungmin, who you haven’t had a text from in months; who has probably been very busy and very tired when he isn’t busy, sent you a text at one in the morning.

You open it quickly, butterflies in your stomach, and read. You read it a few times. His texts are always a little longer, never one or two words. And you always read him in his voice. You’ve listened to him singing and speaking enough now that you hear it in your sleep. You don’t have to think much about your reply.

“I would love to see you”

____

There’s little time to pick up the apartment and figure out what you’re going to make for him. You do your best with what little time you have. Shower, hair, makeup…outfit. You probably should have given yourself a little more time. Too late now, he’ll be on his way soon.

It’s been nearly seven months since your blind date, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. The time between his last text and today somehow felt longer. You feel like it’s going to be a first impression all over again, so you really want to give him your best. Maybe even better than last time, now that you know what you’re getting into.

In the kitchen, you start pulling things out to make, and you’re relieved to find you have something to cook for him.

You hope he likes American breakfast. You do know he likes coffee. Just a few days ago a care package came from your parents; coffee, snacks…things you miss from home. You pull out the bag of beans and start grinding.

Minutes later, or at least it feels like minutes, (the full hour, plus 20 extra minutes, has passed) you hear you phone buzz. Before you can get to it, the intercom buzzes. You grab your phone and run to the door.

“Hi I’m here”

You smile at his message and let him into the lobby before texting back, “543.” You’re surprised and a little flattered that he remembered where your building was and was confident enough to come without even confirming.

He sends a smiling emoji in reply.

Your back is against the door, eyes closed. Your picturing him walking to the elevator, pushing the button, waiting…

The elevator here is pretty slow…

He gets on and hits the 5th floor button. It comes straight up without stopping, considering the early hour. Everyone else in this building is definitely sleeping in. He turns right and walks, maybe a little hesitantly, toward your apartment, looks at the number on the door, then at your text.

He knocks gently. Three soft little knocks. You take in a deep breath; you’re more nervous than you thought you’d be. The deadbolt clicks.

When you crack the door he’s smiling down at you. You pull it open the rest of the way and stand there awkwardly for a moment. You feel like one of your eight-year-olds trying to find the right words in English. You stupidly breath out a wow and desperately hope he didn’t hear it

He stands there with one hand in the pocket of his shorts. The other hand is holding a paper bag. He swings it a little as he takes a careful step over your threshold.

“Morning.” You finally manage to say.

“Good morning,” he closes the door behind him, and his smile grows as he moves closer to you.

His face looks a little different. It’s been long enough that you’re thinking his braces have changed his smile, or maybe he’s just gotten older. The spring sun has turned his skin a few shades darker compared to October. His hair is dark and straight across his forehead; different then the last time you saw him. You’ve also gotten used to seeing him only in videos and photos. None of that does him justice. In front of you, he’s better—and you forgot how much better.

“Are you okay?” Seungmin reaches his hand toward you as if he’s going to touch your cheek, but he stops just short of you, and his hand falls slowly.

“Yeah, yeah…sorry,” you set your hand on your face where his hand should have been. “I uhhm,” you still can’t seem to find the right words. So much for a new first impression. Now what?

You put your other hand around his waist and pull yourself to him. You’re relieved when he reciprocates the embrace. He holds onto you for a while, not letting up on his grip.

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”

Even though you had plenty of old texts to return to; to re-convince yourself that Seungmin liked you and wanted to see you again, you still needed this physical reassurance. The last two months were a lot more lonely than you care to admit, and part of you was starting to let go.

“It’s okay, I know you’re busy.”

“Still a bad excuse.” He loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t let go completely. The bag he’s holding shakes a little in his hand. “I brought this for you.”

“Another gift? You’re making me look bad.” You slide away from his grip (very reluctantly) and head toward the kitchen.

“Well, you did make me coffee. It smells good.”

Seungmin follows closely behind. The kitchen is a little bit of a mess, but cooking and cleaning at the same time is not one of your strong suits. You grab a few things and toss them in the trash, the sink, the dishwasher. You don’t even realize he’s right behind you until you turn again to grab two clean glasses.

“I can bring you your coffee. It’s a mess in here, you don’t need to see this.”

“Oh I don’t mind. You are definitely a messy cook, though. You should clean as you go!”

“Believe me, I try.” You pour the cooled coffee into a glass over ice. “I hope you like this…have you ever had Kona coffee?”

Seungmin shakes his head and smiles. You briefly wonder if he realizes how cute it is, then you pour some for yourself, “I’m sure you’ll like it.” He takes it from you and follows as you lead him out of the kitchen and into the living room.

You sit. He sits, and sips his coffee, then adjusts so he’s a little closer to you.

“How long have you been in town?” You bring your knees up to your chest and turn your body to him.

“I got in yesterday afternoon, but I fell asleep and woke up very late.”

“Oh, that explains the late text.”

“Yes, hopefully it didn’t wake you. Choonhee told me you wouldn’t mind if I texted you so late.”

“It didn’t wake me up. It was a nice surprise this morning.”

He’s bouncing his legs up and down; knees are moving together, then apart, then together again. A nervous tick, maybe. All you do know is that the movement of his thighs is distracting. You tear your eyes away, and when you do, he’s looking at you.

“How have you been?” He asks, and he’s not just making conversation. The way he speaks is sincere. “Anymore blind dates?” He whispers the last part.

“Oh, no…no,” you stare into your coffee and shake your head. “Nothing special, not since our date.”

He smiles, but says nothing.

“I did keep up with you. I caught a few of your lives, checked YouTube for new videos…”

Seungmin laughs and lays his head back against the couch, “next time we don’t see each other for a while, I will call, and we can have a real live.”

“Is that a promise?”

He thinks for a moment, “yes, promise. I’ll be a better texter…also.” He adjusts and moves himself a little closer to you.

“I’ll take either.”

“I think I just…don’t know what to say sometimes. I don’t want to say something stupid, so I don’t say anything at all. And then I forget.”

“I don’t mind if you say something stupid.” You reach out and move a piece of hair out of Seungmin’s eyes. “I’d prefer it, actually. Then I can say something stupid back.”

He tilts his head and his hair falls back over his eyes. “Good to know.”

“Are you hungry?” You move his hair again.

He looks at you without answering for a very long moment. His eyes are impossibly big and dark; bottom lip a little bit red from biting down on it. Your eyes jump from the beauty mark on his cheek (you’re also thinking about how nice it is to finally see him again without makeup), to his eyes, his nose, his lips. His hair swings back down in front of his eyes.

He brings his hand up and attempts to fix his hair, but he just shakes his head again and smiles, “yes, I am. Very hungry.”

“I guess you can help me finish up,” you reach for his hand, which he happily takes, and lead him back to the kitchen. You prepped everything, but wanted it to be fresh when you sat down to eat.

“What are we having?” He looks at the counter. Four thick slices of bread and a bowl of something milky, eggs. “Oh these I can do,” Seungmin picks up an egg and holds it next to his face. “I can fry a good egg.”

“Okay, that’s your job.” You freshen his coffee while he examines the half dozen eggs in front of him. “Make however many you want.”

“Can I make all of them?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I have more if that’s not enough.”

“French toast?” He examines the milky batter next to the slices of bread. “I’ve had it before, but not for a very long time.”

“Is that okay? I can always make something else.” You turn the burner on low and let the pan get warm.

“No, I want to try your french toast.”

You reach for the butter, taking great care to reach around him by placing your hand on the belt of his shorts. He watches you closely as you dip each slice of bread into the batter, and when the butter melts completely, place them neatly in the pan.

“Nice sizzle,” he whispers. And then he laughs when you laugh. “Oh, I’m doing the eggs…” He turns his burner on low, butters his pan, and cracks four of the six eggs.

Seungmin looks at you, “I don’t want to crowd them.” He nods his head at two intact eggs. “They can wait.”

“You’re the expert.”

“They will be good, I promise.”

“Even if they’re bad, I’m sure I’ll love them.”

You hear him laugh as you tend to the French toast, shaking on the cinnamon, flipping them when they’re just crispy and brown. Seungmin ooohs at them as he seasons his eggs.

“Do you prefer maple syrup or…honey?”

“Hm?” He flips the eggs carefully and takes them off the heat before turning to the selection of toppings you’re setting out.

“Can you turn my burner off?”

He clicks it off, and Seungmin finds his way to the cupboard to get a plate. He gently sets his finished eggs onto it and cracks the remaining ones into the warm pan.

“Do you like maple syrup, or do you want honey?”

“Oh…maple syrup! And strawberries.”

“And whipped cream?”

“Dessert for breakfast…” he takes one of the strawberries and bites into it.

____

You have one dining table in your tiny apartment. It has two chairs, and it’s right next to the large picture window that sits just between the kitchen and the living room. Outside is a limited view of the city. It’s nice, though. And you can afford it.

Seungmin is watching the city slowly start to move, chin resting in the palm of his hand. He has a smile on his face–it’s very subtle on his lips, but not in his eyes. You made him sit while you got the rest of the food ready, and eventually, he listened.

“Is this enough strawberries?”

He looks at you first and smiles, then at his plate. “Yes, thank you,” he waits for you to sit before whispering jal meokgetseumnida and when you pick up your fork, he follows. Seungmin opted for maple syrup, strawberries, whipped cream. He goes for the whipped cream first, eating a forkful by itself.

“Did you make this, too?” He takes another bite of it, this time with a big piece of strawberry.

You nod.

“It’s very good, it’s not too sweet.” He cuts into his French toast now, getting a bite of all three at once.

“If everything is too sweet, it ruins it.”

“Sometimes…” he says in a singsong voice, almost a whisper.

You sneak glances at him between your own bites. He’s a quiet eater this morning, but you’re comfortable sitting there with him in the silence.

“How has work been?”

“Kind of crazy.” He takes a drink of his coffee, “we will be in Japan in two weeks, and then to the US after that.” Seungmin nods to himself and divides the four eggs between you.

They do look perfect and exactly how you usually make them. Over-easy. “That’s exciting…but I’m sure it’s very exhausting.”

He picks one up and shoves the entire thing in his mouth. You can tell he wants to speak as soon as he does it, but he chews patiently. “I wouldn’t want to do anything else, but some days it is a lot. And very tiring.”

He rests his face in his hands again. He finished his food. Now he’s looking at you with the same tired eyes he’s given you before.

“Thank you for making time for me.” You say.

He sits back in his seat, smiles, shakes his head a little.

You look at him questioningly. His mannerism are cute, but you’re not quite sure how to interpret them sometimes. “What is it?”

“I’m happy to be here.”

“You are?” When you stand to clean off the table, he stands with you to help. You let him.

“Yes,” he bites into another strawberry when he gets to kitchen sink with his dishes. “I like you. You're...you're relaxing to be around. I don't feel any pressure here."

You look at him and smile, unsure of how to respond at first. "Thank you." It's not enough of a reply, you know that, but you're a little lost for words.

"Is that a weird thing to say?"

"No! Not at all. It might be the sweetest complement a date has ever given me."

Seungmin follows you wordlessly to the living room, and sits when you sit. You move a little closer to him and relax, hoping he continues to mimic you. And he does.

“Can I ask you something…um,” he purses his lips as he thinks, covers his cheeks with his hands. “Something personal I guess. Kind of. Maybe not really personal but-”

“Yes, of course you can.” You take one of his hands away from his face and hold it in yours. It’s starting to feel like the first date, except now he seems a little different than last time. Maybe he’s worn out from performing. Maybe it’s just an off day.

He’s looking down at his hand clasped in yours, “do you ever feel like, um…I guess it’s hard to put into English.”

“That’s okay, we can use whatever words feel best for you.”

Seungmin can’t help but smile at that, and a tiny laugh escapes. “I almost forgot, you teach kids. You do sound like a teacher.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I mean…whichever language.” You pull his hand closer to you and put your other hand over it. “I’m sure between us we can figure it out.”

“You’re so sweet.”

“What’s bothering you?” You squeeze his hands even harder.

“I don’t know if you will, but if you ever meet my friends…the other members.” He stops for a moment to look at you.

You nod at him, but at the same time you’re completely unprepared for that statement. Meeting his friends? It's a big jump from where you're at right now.

“I guess I’m worried you might like them more than you like me.” His head falls back on the couch and he covers his eyes with his free hand. He sighs loudly.

“Why would you think that?” You pull him closer and shake him a little, “Seungmin…Seungmin, what do they call you when they don’t call you Seungmin?”

You get him to laugh, at least.

“Minnie,” he looks at you through his fingers. He says it again under his breath. “Min…puppy.”

“Puppy?” you scoot even closer to him, until you can almost set your chin on his shoulder. "Puppy."

He closes the gap a little.

Your forehead is almost touching his. You hold his eyes there. Then you kiss the bridge of his nose.

He leans forward and sets his head in the space between your neck and shoulder. His hair is tickling your ear, and his lips are brushing against your skin. You’re certain he can hear your blood pumping through your veins.

He lets out a long sigh. You don’t really want to say anything, you’d prefer it if the two of you could just stay like this for a little bit longer. And suddenly thinking of him leaving again (for another six months, maybe) gives you a horrible sinking feeling in your stomach.

But you need to talk to him.

“Why do you think that?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds as he searches for the right words. “There are eight of us…and sometimes I end up feeling, uhm…”

There's a long pause while you both think. He's searching for the words; you're searching his mind and his face.

”Do you feel like you're stuck behind everyone sometimes?” You think that’s what he’s getting at. You can see it in his eyes.

”Yes, I guess so. I mean, I know I am not as popular.”

It’s a hard comment for you to respond to, but the sad smile on his face makes you a little angry. Not at him, just at every single person outside of your apartment.

“Well, you’re my favorite.”

A hesitant smile appears.

Your hands close around either side of his face, and you graze your fingertips over his ears, “I’m sure the others are great, and I’m sure I could be friends with them someday...but they’re not you, and I already told you we wouldn’t make very good friends.”

You’re not sure why him being vulnerable and honest is suddenly, making you so bold, but you’re not going to question it. He’s quiet and calm as you speak, so you must be doing something right.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else here with me.” You hope he believes you, but you also aren’t a stranger to the hesitant feelings he’s obviously processing. “And I wish you could stay.”

“I can stay today!”

____

Seungmin falls asleep on your couch again. This time, though, he’s lying comfortably with his face shoved into one of your pillows and his curled up legs are almost on your lap. It’s a small couch.

You put a movie on, but he didn’t last more than a half an hour. It’s been two hours now, and you really don’t want to wake him. You’re certain he’ll get up on his own soon.

The kitchen is clean, the movie is over. You’re a little tired yourself, honestly, but you don’t think you could fall asleep while he’s here and almost in your lap. He’s a quiet sleeper, and he’s hardly moved, but you can hear his big sighs every few times he exhales.

He shifts a little when your hand touches his leg, but he settles back down immediately, and is out again. Even when your palm slides over his skin, he doesn’t move.

The soft buzz of his phone doesn’t wake him, either. But it’s going off again, and it’s the third time. You’re wondering if it’s important, but you don’t want to pry.

You run your hand over his leg again. Still nothing. It goes off again—this time it’s ringing. You can see the name on the screen without looking very hard.

“Seungmin…” You whisper. This time you gently drag your fingertips across his skin. “Seungmin?”

A little groan. His leg stretches out across your thigh. You squeeze his calf a bit and he seems to react, but not enough, so you gently move him and get up.

“Seungmin?” You kneel down until you’re face to face with him. He looks so peaceful and content, and while you hate to disturb him, you’re kind of looking forward to him slowly waking up. Saying his name isn’t getting through, though, so you place the tip of your finger at his temple and lightly trace a line down the side of his face.

A raspy mmm is all you get in return.

You bury your fingers in his hair and comb through it, kneading into his scalp a little. “Minnie?” You move down toward his neck, knead a little more, this time into a soft part of his shoulder.

His eyes open slowly, eyelashes fluttering a bit as they readjust to the sunlight in the room. He looks around before his gaze settles on you, and for the briefest moment he seems lost. But then he remembers where he is, and he smiles at you.

“Hi,” his voice is sleepy and raspy, like he hasn’t used it in a long time. He closes his eyes again.

“No no, eyes open.”

“I’m awake,” he mumbles.

“Look at me,” you lean toward his face until your noses are almost touching.

Eyes open again and he blinks a few times. “Are you gonna kiss me?” He asks, and the sleepiness in his voice is unbearable.

Yes, if he wants you to, you will kiss him. You lick your lips. But first, “your mom is calling you.”

“Oh, she’s probably wondering why she hasn’t seen me since I got home.”

“Do you want me to call and tell her you’re busy?”

Seungmin laughs and finally seems to be fully awake. He shakes his head and slowly sits himself up. “Do I have bedhead?” He rubs his eyes and runs his hands through his hair.

“A little bit.” You comb a hand through it and fix his part, “it’s cute, though.”

“Nooo it’s not,” he flattens it more and lays back against the couch. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“You apologize too much.”

“Do I?”

You nod and sit down next to him, “I’m glad you were comfortable enough here to fall asleep.”

“Did I snore?” He looks a little embarrassed.

“No, you were pretty quiet. You kicked a few times, though.”

He almost apologizes, but stops himself and picks up his phone. He reads through his messages and eventually types a reply to one of them. Then he turns to you, “what should we do now that I’m well rested? Are you tired?” He throws his phone down and turns the rest of his body to you, “did you sleep at all?”

“I didn’t sleep, but I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should rest,” he smiles and tilts his head. “I can leave for a while and come back, if you’d like.”

“No, I don’t want you to leave.”

He nods, “We can try another movie,” Seungmin relaxes on the couch, pillow at his side, and extends an arm. “And if you fall asleep, we’ll be even.”

You stare at him for a long moment. It’s not until he beckons you with his hand that you realize it’s an invitation to cuddle up to him. And you take it without another moment of hesitation.

Your cheek settles against his chest, open hand spread out over his stomach. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in a little tighter.

“Are you comfortable?” He grazes his fingertips over your forearm, very slowly, as if he’s still testing the limit of touch between you.

“I am.” You feel the goosebumps jump up on your skin, and Seungmin runs his fingers over you again, like he notices.

He does notice. You hear a breathy little laugh come from him. “Good.”

Now you think you could definitely fall asleep. He’s warm, but a good warm; not like the summer heat moving around the room. You push your face further into the space under his arm and inhale.

“What should we try to watch? Maybe something funny.”

He browses through Netflix. Meanwhile, you can feel yourself slowly slipping into sleep. But you don’t want to fall asleep. Sleeping now would just be wasted time with Seungmin, so you adjust yourself and sit up a little more.

He sits up, too. His eyes are big and a little worried.

“I don’t want to fall asleep.”

“Okay, how can we keep you awake then?”

You stare at him thoughtlessly for a few seconds. Then you feel like maybe you’re blushing because he probably (probably?) isn’t thinking the same thing your sexually frustrated mind is thinking. Now you can’t get the thought out of your head. You try not to breath out like you’ve just been holding your breath for too long.

He grins a little, so you think the thought may have crossed his mind after he said it. But he stays quiet.

“Maybe we can…go for a walk,” you say it as you exhale and then take a steady breath in. At the same time, your brain is slowly unbuckling his belt and lifting his shirt. “We should go for a walk.”

“Okay, that sounds nice.”

____

It’s warm out, but not enough to be uncomfortable.

You changed into something to show a little more skin, because you might as well try to get his mind where yours is. He may not even be interested in going there.

“So, are you allowed to date yet?” It comes out before you even decide if it’s a good thing to bring up.

Seungmin giggles. You look at him and see him covering his mouth with his hand, but the smile in his eyes is obvious.

“Sorry, that came out of nowhere…”

“It’s alright. You can ask me anything you want,” he shoves his hands in his pockets and slows his walk a bit.

“Okay, I’ll just throw questions at you as I think of them.”

“Good,” he stops and bounces on the balls of his feet, “ we should get some boba.”

You were already concerned about Seungmin being recognized on your walk, and going into a boba place seems like the most obvious way for him to be seen. But you’re not going to tell him no.

“Maybe I should go in and get us both something, it seems a little busy in there.”

“If that makes you feel better, yes.”

“It doesn’t. I just don’t want you to get any unwanted attention.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” He brushes his hand against your arm and leads you across the street. “I’m not as popular or recognizable as you might think.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“If nobody expects to see me, they’ll miss me,” he hops up on the curb like a kid. It feels like he becomes more and more relaxed as the day goes on. “But…” he pulls a black face mask from his back pocket and loops it around his ears. “I’ll be much happier if you’re more comfortable.”

____

The sun is coming through the trees and leaving freckles of light over Seungmin’s face and chest. His eyes are closed, hands propping him up as he leans back and stares up at the sky.

“Hey, sorry…I didn’t mean to get quiet.”

“I have a question.”

He sits up fully and smiles, “oh I never answered you before. No dating. Openly. Technically.” He says it like he’s not sure if he’s using his English words correctly. “Maybe that wasn’t the question.”

“It wasn’t, but I did want to know that, too.” You sip your drink and think about your question again. You had it ready to go, but Seungmin said the word openly and you lost it. “Do you know that I’m older than you?”

“No, I didn’t know. But I don’t mind.” He gets on his hands and knees and crawls closer to you. “If you don’t mind that I’m younger.”

A breeze picks up and his hair is swept across his forehead. He tousles it a little until his bangs fall back in front of his eyes.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t,” the question starts forming in your head again. “Would you ever consider dating, uhm, me? I mean, let’s say you weren’t who you are and we still somehow met. Is that something you’d…consider?

Seungmin looks at you, and his eyes have certainly never been this big before. His ears and cheeks are slowly turning red. And he’s quiet. His mouth opens a bit, but no words come out. You’re afraid you asked the stupidest question you could have possibly thought of.

You made it weird.

“You don’t have to answer. I’m sorry. Please pretend I never said that.” You lift your knees to your chest and bury your face in the space there. You whimper a little to yourself and hope he doesn’t hear it.

“That’s a tough one.”

You can’t see his face, but you can imagine it.

In reality, he’s thinking and playing with his straw. Still blushing, still smiling. If you’d just lift your head and look at him, you’d see that he’s unable to contain his smirk.

“Let’s go back to you looking up at the sky and me not talking.” You relax as much as possible and your back gently hits the grass. You spread yourself out, hoping to sink into the ground.

“No,” he sips his drink and leans back on one hand. “You asked, now it’s out there forever.”

You peek up at him briefly and see his face in the sun again; eyes closed but smirk still tugging at his lips. Quiet and thoughtful.

“Seungmin?”

No answer. You look back at the sky, but you can hear him moving and getting closer. His shadow blocks the sun from your eyes, so you open them.

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay if you wouldn’t.”

Still no answer. Your eyes close again, and then he lays down next to you. It’s a nice moment, or it would be. The birds are singing and there’s the sound of the wind through the trees. The only other people around are far enough away that you can barely hear them.

You feel like you could cry.

Maybe he just isn’t very good at letting people down. He can’t find the right words to tell you it would never work, and that’s understandable, really. He’s sweet and thoughtful and kind. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He just wants to be friends.

You cover you eyes with both hands and sigh as quietly as possible.

“I would, but…I don’t know…” he hmmms and uumms a few times. “Nobody has ever asked me out before.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t believe much.”

"If that's true, it's because you're intimidating."

"Me?" He's trying not to laugh. "I'm not intimidating! Am I? Is it my face? Do I look angry?"

"Okay, wrong word to use. You're too handsome to approach, I mean. I would have never, on my own, started a conversation with you had I seen you at that coffee shop by yourself."

Now you sit up and shade him from the sun. There’s a stray eyelash on his cheek, so you lean forward to gently blow it off.

His eyes flutter open. "I am not too handsome to approach." He whispers and lets himself laugh out loud.

“Okay fine…so I’m your first.”

“So you’re not taking it back?”

“You mentioned meeting your friends earlier. Did I interpret that wrong?”

He shakes his head.

“Then no, I guess I’m not taking it back.”

----

The trip back is not awkward. You expected him to keep his distance, physically and mentally, but he walks almost shoulder to shoulder with you the entire time. He hasn’t given you any type of answer yet, but you’re not worried about it. Part of you still wants to take it back and let things flow at a slower pace. This is, after all, only your second date. The other part of you is already on fire. It’s a tough line to walk.

Inside the apartment it’s gotten much warmer, and you regret not starting the AC before leaving. It’ll take forever to cool down now. You close the windows, lower the shades, and pull the curtains closed. Then you head to the couch and collapse onto it.

Seungmin makes himself at home by heading to the bathroom, then finding himself (and you) something cold to drink. You’re too distracted to even care that he’s digging around in your messy fridge.

“I forgot about this,” he grabs the bag from the side table and dangles it in front of his face. “Your gift.”

You sit up against the arm rest and smile at him, “thank you, Seungmin.” Inside is a small yellow dog plush. “Oh, it’s you!” You squeeze him and adjust the hoodie he’s wearing before bringing him up to your face. “Was he yours?”

“Yeah, he was mine.”

“He smells like you.”

“Is that a good thing?” He sits down by your folded legs and sets a hand just above your knee.

He’s touchy today...almost as much as you. And for never being properly asked out (now you wonder what else he hasn’t experienced), he knows just what to do to make you squirm.

You sit up a little more, bumping his hand off of you by mistake. He pulls it back a little, so you reach out and take it in yours. “Yeah, it is.”

He squeezes your hand and pulls you closer so he can place a kiss on your lips. You kiss back, but your brain takes a second to catch up with your mouth. When it finally does, you kiss hard enough to force him back against the couch.

Seungmin is better in action than he is with words today.

He doesn’t struggle against you or ease up, but pushes on with just as much enthusiasm.

You don’t know what to do with your hands, though. You have a lot of options. Through the hair? No. Neck? Maybe, but you don’t want to be too rough at this angle, and he might not be into that. Face? It’s a good option, and his cheeks are soft and nice to touch. And it's not too much.

Before you can decide, he takes your other hand and pulls until you have no choice but to swing a leg over his lap. And then his hands are on either side of your thighs.

You pull back and look at him.

He stares back, catching his breath. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at answering your questions.”

“You don’t have to.” You let your hands wander over his chest and down his sides. He squirms just a little; probably ticklish. When your hands settle on his belt, you lean in to kiss him again. On his lips, over his cheek. “I shouldn’t have put that on you.”

“I’m glad you did,” he looks down at your hands. “It was nice to be thought of like that. It felt good.”

“If I can see you again, that’s enough for me.”

“Is it?”

It really isn’t, but you decided on the walk back that anything with Seungmin would be okay. “If it’s what you can give me, yeah.”

Your needy, clingy heart feels like it’s crumbling, but you do your best to keep it from showing on your face.

“I can’t promise much, but I can try.”

You kiss him again, and without thinking it through properly; without thinking at all, really, you slide your fingers down and over the zipper of his shorts and feel the significant bulge that you somehow didn’t notice before.

Seungmin’s tiny oh and his hand wrapping around the offending wrist makes your stomach sink. His eyes are wide and fixed on you.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you gently push yourself away from him and sit against the opposite side of the couch, hands covering your red face. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

“It’s okay,” he giggles and adjusts himself, and you watch from behind one hand as he runs a palm between his thighs. “Please don’t be upset, you didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice softens as he speaks, and the last part is a barely audible whisper, “it was my fault.” But the grin on his face only sharpens. He’s looking down at his hands as they nervously fidget with the hem of his shorts.

“Was that uh, a first, too?” You regret asking it as soon as it leaves your mouth.

He doesn’t answer right away. You’re worried he feels embarrassed about it. And you feel weird for bringing it up. The urge to get closer to him is kept under control for now.

“It’s no big deal, Minnie…if it was.”

Using his nickname breaks him from his trance, and he looks at you, blinks, nods. “Yeah, it was.”

“Did you want that? I mean, when you pulled me on top of you.” Now you scoot a little closer. “You can give me boundaries.”

“I got caught up in the moment.” He starts, thinking and picking his words carefully. “But I did want to kiss you like that.”

“Got it,” closer still, until your knee is brushing against his thigh. “You can always stop me if I go overboard. Sometimes I can be too much.”

“Is that bad? Too much is sometimes nice.”

“I guess it depends…”

You lean forward until your forehead can lay on his shoulder. His cheek rests on your head. You stay that way until you feel yourself relaxing and drifting into a half-sleep.

“I think it’s time to rest.” You don’t move, but Seungmin lifts his head.

“That’s a good idea,” He grabs the pillow to his right and puts it on your side of the couch. “Do you want me to stay?”

You lay back on the couch and sigh. “Yeah, I do. If you want to.”

“I do…move over.”

#kim seungmin #skz fluff #skz seungmin #skz x you #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #stray kids fluff #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin x you #skz x reader #skz smut

251 notes · View notes

lividstar · 2 months ago

Text

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8.2k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

a/n: was supposed to upload this on the 27th cause that’s my birthday but i just can’t wait any longer 😅 keep an eye out for the littlest of details because nothing is as it seems in this chapter :P lmk what you guys think!

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

First of all, I hate myself. Second of all, I hate myself. Oh, and did I already mention that I hate myself? I just don’t know what to do anymore! It feels like it’s been a whole decade ever since I last picked up a pen to scribble on this godforsaken journal… I wish I could just go back to the time I was writing the page behind the one I’m writing on right now and just cancel my flight to Paris. This is all so frustrating, you know? Fashion Week is nearing, and I am not prepared at all—no, not even a little. I’m supposed to be spending my hours inside the studio practicing runway walks and testing out facial expressions, but no! I’m way too afraid of crossing paths with Hongjoong to even think about the consequences of not taking my preparations seriously! And speaking of Hongjoong…

He’s driving me to the edge of my sanity. I don’t know what’s going on with him—okay, scratch that, I definitely do. I just don’t get why he’s acting so avoidant all of a sudden… I mean, like, okay, I would understand his unprovoked need for distance between us if we actually kissed that night, but we didn’t. The farthest step we were able to take was just him holding onto the sides of my face and me looking at his lips like I’m a starved dog looking at its first meal of the day before Wooyoung fortunately interrupted us—so why is he acting up?

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. Seriously, what’s his problem? He made me accustomed to his usual sweet and caring persona, and all of a sudden, he wants to act like this? What have I done wrong? Wasn’t it literally him who initiated the… whatever I’m supposed to call what happened that night?

I’m just concerned, you know. It’s been two weeks, and yet he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague. I haven’t been receiving any messages from him at all lately, either. Even Madame Dupont is asking me why she no longer sees the “small young handsome boy” waiting for me outside the apartment building while leaning against his car. Wooyoung’s been trying to persuade me into confirming his theory that Hongjoong and I are going through a lovers’ quarrel for three days now, too. And guess who’s the most troubled of them all? Seonghwa. He’s been doing his best to put us back into speaking terms for a while now, and I don’t know why—I swear I didn’t ask him to do that.

Everyone is worried. Everyone but him.

You know, this brings me back to that unrecognizable faceless guy I see in some of my blurry flashbacks. I remember him asking me how long I’ve been bottling up my emotions, and when I told him I’ve been doing so for pretty much my entire life, he told me to consider writing in a journal.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

I just noticed that it’s been a while since I last wrote a journal entry, and… it’s been a while since I last let my emotions unravel. I remember the words that came out of his mouth that day.

“When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You know what, in a way, I think he and Hongjoong actually have something in common. I know I can’t say much because I only have one memory of this guy, but he spoke with as much wisdom as Hongjoong does. Also… “let yourself get lost in your own world.” That’s honestly the most Hongjoong-ish advice someone could ever give, given how he himself gets lost in his own world of artistry, too.

I just wish he’d stop ignoring me. I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault… Am I just hurting myself by expecting things to suddenly go back to the way they used to be?

As you closed your journal with a weary sigh, your eyes drifted to the dim glow of your bedside clock reading 2:37 a.m. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of distant traffic, yet you felt far from at peace. It was a night for sleep, yet your mind wouldn’t quiet; thoughts of Hongjoong twisted and turned within you, refusing to settle.

“Why does it feel like this?” you murmured, pressing your palms into your face, as if that could somehow soothe the ache in your chest. You longed for comfort, for answers, even for a brief respite from the confusion that had become your constant companion. “If only that faceless guy could telepathically whisper some words of wisdom to me right now…”

Two weeks had passed since you last shared any words with Hongjoong—two weeks where every glance, every passing moment, felt laced with an unspoken tension that only deepened the rift between you. It was all becoming painfully real, the shift so clear to everyone around you. But no one knew the truth—the moment you almost kissed, the silent proximity that had left you dizzy and wondering. Even Seonghwa, in his genuine concern, couldn’t know the pang of vulnerability that had filled that night, the fear and excitement mingling as you’d come closer than ever before.

Your mind flashed back to the other day when the ache of his absence had been sharpest. You passed by him in a hallway, hoping for a flicker of his usual warmth, his soft gaze that once reassured you of your place in his world. But he’d brushed past with such indifference—not even nodding to acknowledge your presence, a chill in his demeanor that left you hollow. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you alone with a rising sense of loss.

Without thinking, you picked up your phone and opened your gallery. Photos of Hongjoong filled your screen, and your eyes drift over candid snapshots—some of you and Hongjoong working late in the studio, others of him laughing or looking thoughtful, moments caught by your camera that now feel like glimpses into another lifetime. There’s a picture of him outside your apartment building, waving you goodbye one evening. Another shot of him hunched over his desk in concentration, unaware that you’d snapped the photo from across the room. Then, there’s a particularly precious one of the two of you, taken in his office—which was likely Wooyoung’s doing.

As you scroll, an ache blossoms within you, spreading in slow, insistent waves that make your chest feel tight. You can feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and it catches you off guard. Why now? Why does he, of all people, have this power over you? You swipe at the tears, frustrated by the sudden swell of emotion. It’s not supposed to be like this, you tell yourself. Hongjoong is supposed to be your friend, your mentor, the one person in Paris who helped you find your footing when everything felt foreign. But as the images blur beneath the glisten of unshed tears, you can’t help but wonder if that’s all he’ll ever be—someone whose warmth once felt like home, and whose absence now feels like a loss you’re not ready to face.

The soft scratching at your window pulls you abruptly from your thoughts. For a moment, you freeze, glancing back at the phone you’d just placed on your desk. Carefully, you grab your journal—a flimsy defense, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Heart pounding just slightly, you step forward, inching closer to the window.

When you peek over, you’re met with a familiar sight: Pompidou, the resident stray cat who had made the apartment building his kingdom, sits with one paw pressed to the glass, his usual unamused expression aimed your way.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders as you let out a soft laugh. Setting your journal on the bed, you reach over to open the window, letting him slip inside with practiced ease. He slinks past you with the air of someone who owns the place and makes himself right at home, hopping onto your bed and circling until he’s claimed his spot in the center.

You sit beside him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur. It’s strange how much you missed him. For the past few weeks, your room felt emptier without his occasional visits—without that extra little creature who just… understood you, in a way. And now, with Hongjoong’s absence haunting you, Pompidou couldn’t have come at a better time.

The thought hits you harder than you expect: here you are, at your lowest, relying on a cat for comfort simply because the one person you’re used to confiding in has become distant, almost like a stranger. The ache in your chest intensifies, and before you know it, you’re lying down next to him, resting your head on the bed and gazing at his calm, indifferent eyes. It feels silly, pathetic even, to be speaking your heart to a cat, but in this silence, with no one else to turn to, you let yourself unravel.

“Pompidou,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine, wasn’t it?” Your fingers tremble as they thread through his fur, a warmth grounding you in the midst of your unraveling. “I don’t know how we ended up here. He’s always been there for me, and now… it’s like he’s vanished. And I’m trying, I really am, but every time I reach out, it’s like he’s miles away.”

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and you look up at the ceiling, fighting against the tears stinging your eyes. “It’s probably all my fault,” you confess in a whisper that breaks. “Maybe I was too much, or maybe I should have… I don’t know, said something differently, done something better. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him to eat dinner that night so that…” A bitter chuckle slips out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s funny, you know. All my life, I’ve been terrified of being alone, of people walking out… and now here I am, trying to be okay with him pulling away like it’s nothing.”

Pompidou shifts slightly, his warm body pressing into your side, a small reminder that he’s there, and he’s not leaving. You let your hand drop to your chest, feeling the dull ache that’s settled there. “I just miss him, Pompidou. I miss the way he used to look at me like I mattered. Now, he can’t even look me in the eyes. And I don’t know why I’m clinging to that, why I’m hoping he’ll suddenly turn around and go back to being who he was.”

The silence swallows you for a moment. “Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m still the same pathetic teenager from Arcadia Bay who’s scared that she doesn’t deserve anything better. That she’s always going to be left behind, and this… this is just proof.” Your voice falters, words thick with pain you can no longer hold back. “And if he leaves, then maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better.

The pain is so sharp it almost feels physical, a hollow ache that makes every breath feel heavier than the last. You close your eyes, fighting against the helplessness clawing at your insides, but the words keep pouring out, jagged and raw, as though voicing them might lessen the weight—even if it’s only to a cat who can’t respond.

“Do you know what’s worse?” you whisper, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt over your chest as if you could hold yourself together by sheer will. “It’s that I can’t even be mad at him. I want to be—believe me, I’ve tried. I tell myself he’s the one pulling away, that he’s the one who’s changed, but then I start wondering… what if I pushed him to this? What if I’m the reason he’s slipping through my fingers?”

A soft tremor runs through your hands, and you curl them into fists, teeth gritted as you force the tears back. “I keep thinking… maybe he’s right to distance himself. Maybe there’s something broken in me, something that just drives people away. And the worst part is, I keep wishing he’d come back, like I’d somehow be enough if I could just—”

Your voice catches, breaking into a whisper as you bury your face in your hands, barely holding in the sob that threatens to spill out. “I just don’t understand. He was my safe place, Pompidou. For the first time in so long, I actually felt like I mattered. He made me feel seen. And now… now I feel invisible all over again, like everything we shared was just temporary, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Pompidou shifts closer, his soft purr rumbling beneath your fingertips as you stroke his fur, a small solace in the middle of this storm.

“I try to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can go on without him,” you continue, voice cracking as the words spill out unchecked. “But the truth is, I’m terrified. I’m scared that if he leaves… if he’s really gone, I’ll be alone again, just like before. And I hate myself for feeling this way, for being so… so weak.”

The tears finally break free, slipping down your cheeks in a silent flood. “What does that say about me? That I’m so dependent on him, that I can’t even imagine my life without him? I thought I was stronger than this, that I’d learned how to stand on my own. But now… now it’s like I’m right back to that scared, lonely kid I used to be, clinging to anyone who shows me a hint of kindness.”

You pull your knees to your chest, holding yourself as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the emptiness swallowing you whole. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all I deserve. That maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe he’s finally seeing me for who I am, and he’s realizing I’m not worth it.”

Your shoulders shake as the sobs escape, quiet and raw, each one cutting through you like glass. Pompidou curls closer, his little face pressing against your arm, as though he understands in his own way. But his silent comfort only deepens the ache, a reminder that the person you need more than anything isn’t here, and you’re left holding yourself together with nothing but frayed threads of hope.

With a shuddering breath, you finally admit the fear you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “What if he doesn’t come back, Pompidou? What if this is it? I don’t think… I don’t think I can handle losing him. Not like this.”

Your voice drops to a whisper, the words coming slow and soft as you gaze out the window, eyes unfocused. “I just… I miss him, Pompidou,” you murmur, fingers absently tracing patterns against the sheets.

“I miss all the little things that made it feel like he was a part of me, like he was woven into my days without me even realizing it. I miss the way he’d send me random sketches, the ones that made no sense but made me laugh anyway, like he was letting me in on his little worlds. I miss… I miss how he’d always have this ridiculous drink order for me every time we’d meet up at the café where we switched up our notebooks with one another before we met for the first time. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d need, even if I didn’t.”

The memories wash over you, and you can’t stop the warmth from pooling in your chest as you picture those moments. “I wish we could go back to that time when things were… simple. When I could sit beside him without feeling like the whole world was shifting under my feet. When he’d laugh and look at me like I was… like I was something special, you know?”

Your voice trembles, and you tighten your grip on the sheets. “And the thing is… it was just easy with him. He’d be there, always making me feel like nothing could go wrong as long as we were together. He’d be there with his quiet, comforting presence, and I could just… be. I didn’t have to pretend or put on some mask. It was like he could see right through me, and somehow, he didn’t care about all the mess he found.”

You take a deep breath, the words spilling out like a plea. “I just want to go back, Pompidou. Back to before everything felt so fragile, before that almost-kiss, before this… this distance. I wish I could reach out and take it all back. I’d give anything just to have things feel normal again.”

Pompidou tilts his head, eyes blinking up at you, and you can’t help but laugh, a soft, broken sound that catches in your throat. “I know it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, how could I expect anything to be the same after that? But I can’t help it, Pompidou. I want to go back to when he’d smile at me like that, when I didn’t have to wonder if I was the one pushing him away.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of each memory anchor you down. “I miss his laugh. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way he’d lean closer when he talked about his dreams, his voice getting all serious like he could see every detail in his mind. And I miss… I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I belonged with him. I miss how he’d look at me with this warmth, like I was enough, just as I was.”

The words come out like a broken whisper, a confession you’ve been holding inside for far too long. “I can’t stop missing him. I wish… I wish I could go back to that last night before everything shifted. Before the night we nearly kissed, before I even realized what I felt. I wish I could’ve just stayed there, in that moment, without letting any of it change.”

You hug your knees, curling up as the ache settles deeper, heavier. “But I can’t. And now it’s as if I’m left with pieces of him in everything around me, and I don’t know how to put myself back together without him.”

You pull yourself up, exhaling slowly, and walk over to your desk. The room feels quiet, still heavy with everything you’ve let out, yet somehow emptier too, as if releasing the words has left you hollow. With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone and make your way back to bed, curling up beside Pompidou, who has already claimed his spot against your pillow. Settling into the blankets, you scroll through your contacts, your thumb hovering over Hongjoong’s icon.

It’s just his initials next to a simple photo he once sent—a candid moment he probably forgot about, something so ordinary that it’s precious now. The way he looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching: a slight smile, eyes softened by something he found funny, maybe even a bit endearing. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you let yourself scroll up, reading through old conversations like leafing through the pages of a treasured book.

Each message brings back flashes of shared laughter and late-night ramblings, little moments where time seemed to pause, and it was just the two of you—untouchable, safe. You linger on a message he sent on a rainy afternoon, a random joke he thought would cheer you up. Your lips curl into a faint smile, but it’s bittersweet. There was a time when it was so easy, so effortless, like breathing. He had a way of knowing exactly when you needed a reminder that he was there. But now, that comfort feels distant, unreachable.

A tear slips down your cheek again before you realize it, and you hastily swipe it away, but the sorrow wells up again, slipping past your guard. As if sensing your pain, Pompidou extends a soft paw, resting it gently below your eyes, and you feel his fur against your cheek, grounding you in a way that words can’t. His small gesture tugs a quiet, breathy laugh from you, despite the ache in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to catch your sadness, pulling it away piece by piece, his wide eyes fixed on yours with an empathy you can almost feel.

You let your head fall, hugging Pompidou close, allowing yourself to finally surrender to the pain and let it wash over you without restraint. The loneliness, the longing, the hollow spaces Hongjoong’s absence has left in you—all of it spills out as you clutch the feline tightly, letting his warmth and steady breathing lull you into a fragile sense of comfort. The room seems to blur, softening around you as the weight of everything you’ve been holding back presses into you.

The tears come faster now, unstoppable, and your quiet sobs fill the silence, raw and unfiltered. It’s just you and Pompidou, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not truly alone. There, in the quiet solace of your room, you cling to that small comfort, letting yourself feel every ounce of longing, letting yourself miss him—fully, desperately, hopelessly.

—

Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood in his office, the warm, nostalgic tones of “La Vie en Rose” playing softly from the record player behind him. His gaze fixed on the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. Each note lingered in the air, pulling him deeper into the web of memories he was desperately trying to forget. This song, of all songs—he could still remember how it had been playing when the two of you had stood together in the flower shop, laughing over bouquets and trading light-hearted jokes as if the world beyond didn’t exist.

Part of him knew he could walk over and turn it off. The music was his to control, after all. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The melody was the last fragile thread that kept him tethered to you, a reminder of the warmth he felt in your presence, the comfort of knowing someone understood him.

The dim light from the city outside cast a soft glow over his office, illuminating the expanse of papers scattered across his desk, the outlines of unfinished sketches and hastily scrawled notes, all reminders of the whirlwind he’d buried himself in since he started pushing you away. Each corner of the room felt saturated with memories of you—and it was strange how a space that had once felt so alive now seemed hollow, absent of the warmth you’d brought into it.

He tried to focus on the skyline again, his eyes tracing the glittering lights of the city. It was an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself back from the turmoil inside him. But tonight, every bit of stillness he attempted felt false, every piece of composure barely hanging by a thread. All he could think about was you—the absence of your presence filling every empty space in his mind, as if refusing to be silenced.

He turned slowly from the window, allowing his gaze to wander over his desk. It was almost impossible to remember the last time he’d felt fully at ease in this room. The stacks of designs that had once held so much promise now felt like hollow accomplishments, each one only reminding him of the fire you’d helped him ignite. His eyes landed on a small pendant lying amidst the clutter. The flower encased inside had faded slightly, its once-vibrant petals softened by time. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his hand, feeling a strange tenderness rise within him.

You’d given him that flower, pressing it into his hand with a shy smile as you murmured something about it bringing him luck. He could still recall the way your fingers had lingered against his, the brief but electric touch that had left him wondering if you felt it too. “For good luck,” you’d said, your eyes sparkling in that way they always did when you felt especially close to him.

Hongjoong swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest as he held the pendant closer. How was it that something so small could carry the weight of so many memories? He closed his eyes, and the warmth of your smile flashed in his mind, as vivid as if you were standing beside him. But now, as he held the pendant, it felt heavier, like a tiny piece of the past he was terrified of losing forever.

In his mind, he slipped back to that night—the one that had started as an ordinary work session, yet had unraveled into something far more vulnerable. He could still feel the closeness of the room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows as you both worked side by side, immersed in the quiet moment you shared.

You’d shared things that night that were never meant to leave the room. He could still hear your voice, low and hesitant, as you revealed the fears you held closest to your heart. “Being left alone,” you’d admitted, your words raw and unguarded. The truth of it had lingered between you, a quiet vulnerability that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

When you turned the question back on him, he’d hesitated, feeling the weight of his own guarded secrets pressing against his chest. But in that quiet space, under the gentle glow of the lamp, he’d found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. “Losing myself,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible, but enough for you to hear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Now, standing alone in his empty office, Hongjoong felt the irony of it all washing over him. He’d tried so hard to protect himself, to build walls so high that even you couldn’t reach them. But now, it felt as if he had developed a new fear bigger than losing himself—losing you.

A quiet knock on the door broke his reverie, and he tensed, slipping the pendant into his pocket as he turned. Wooyoung’s face appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Hongjoong standing alone, the haunting strains of La Vie en Rose still spinning softly from the record player across the room.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to the player, where the melody had been looping for what must have been the better part of an hour. “Still here?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern threading his tone.

Hongjoong forced a slight smile, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wooyoung stepped further into the room, his gaze sharp as it settled on Hongjoong. “You know…” Wooyoung began, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “the world can see how miserable you are. Including her—especially her.”

Hongjoong stiffened, the forced nonchalance slipping from his face as he turned away, staring intently at the record player as if it held all the answers he was struggling to find. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s tone softened, a hint of exasperation breaking through. “I know you. I know how much you care about her. And I know you’re running from something you can’t outrun. But you’re not fooling anyone by pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with all the reasons he’d built to keep you at a distance. Each one felt logical, safe, a way to protect himself from something he couldn’t quite name. But here, with Wooyoung standing there, watching him with that steady gaze, he felt every layer he’d built start to unravel.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, barely audible above the music.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning softer, almost pleading. “Then what are you doing, Hongjoong? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone too scared to reach for what he really wants.”

Hongjoong’s heart twisted painfully, Wooyoung’s words hitting far too close to home. He felt the weight of everything he’d tried to suppress rising within him, a tidal wave of emotions he’d buried so deeply he’d convinced himself they were gone. But Wooyoung’s words had brought them to the surface, and now, there was no escaping them.

A silence stretched between them, and Hongjoong’s gaze fell to the floor. In that moment, he felt utterly vulnerable, as though Wooyoung could see right through him, could see the aching desire he’d tried so hard to deny. He didn’t have to say it—Wooyoung already knew.

Hongjoong’s fingers were still curled around the pendant in his pocket when Wooyoung let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “So,” Wooyoung began, breaking the silence, “are you really going to stand here, pretending everything’s fine?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to brush off Wooyoung’s words, to deflect with some casual response that would keep the carefully built walls intact. But his mind was a battlefield, each memory of you cutting through his defenses like a blade.

“Everything is fine,” he replied tersely. He didn’t meet Wooyoung’s eyes, focusing instead on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

Wooyoung’s brows knitted together, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’ve been playing her favorite song on loop for the last hour. That’s why you’ve been holed up in here, avoiding anything that reminds you of her.” He shook his head, his tone equal parts exasperation and worry. “Hongjoong, you’re not fooling me. I know you, and I know you’re running from something—from someone.”

Hongjoong let out a low, frustrated sigh, finally looking up at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung, just drop it, alright?” He forced a tense smile, attempting to sound dismissive. “This… whatever you think is going on, it’s all in your head. We were just friends.”

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. “Friends?” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of disbelief. “You really want to go with that? Because the way you’re acting… it doesn’t look like you’re just missing a friend. You’re avoiding her like she’s a stranger, but then you’re here, playing her favorite song over and over, clutching onto that pendant like it’s the last piece of her you have.”

Hongjoong’s fingers instinctively tightened around the pendant, and he felt a pang of frustration rise within him. He didn’t want to admit that Wooyoung’s words struck too close to home. “I told you, it’s nothing like that,” he bit back, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his gaze not faltering. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a guy who’s desperately trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t even believe.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Hongjoong, you can’t keep lying to yourself.” Wooyoung’s tone softened, his voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut deeper than the words themselves. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know that you care about her. You’re not fooling anyone by pretending this distance is ‘better’ for either of you.”

Hongjoong’s patience began to fray, his frustration morphing into anger. He shot Wooyoung a glare, his voice rising. “It is better, Wooyoung. She… she deserves better. She doesn’t need to be pulled into whatever mess I am.” He paused, catching his breath, his anger mingling with something closer to desperation. “I’m not what’s best for her. And it’s better for the both of us if I keep my distance.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he stepped closer, unwilling to let Hongjoong brush him off. “So, what? You think pushing her away, acting like she means nothing, is somehow good for her? You really think she’s better off without you?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong replied, his tone final, but the conviction in his voice was starting to waver.

Wooyoung gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and for a moment, the silence between them was thick with unspoken truths. Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The words hit Hongjoong like a slap, and a flash of anger surged within him, simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’m doing this for her, so just… stop.”

But Wooyoung wouldn’t relent. “You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this because you’re afraid. Afraid to admit how much she means to you. Afraid of what might happen if you actually let her in. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you think is keeping you from being with her… maybe it’s worth rethinking. Because if you keep running like this, you’re going to lose her. And then what?”

Hongjoong felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed barriers he’d built starting to crack under the weight of Wooyoung’s words. He clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “This isn’t about fear.”

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice softened, a hint of understanding breaking through the frustration. “Hongjoong… I get it. You’re scared of losing yourself. Of losing control. But she’s not the one who’s going to make that happen. You are, by doing this. By trying so hard to keep her out.”

Hongjoong stayed silent, his chest tightening as Wooyoung’s words began to sink in. He wanted to deny it, to push back with the same conviction he’d clung to for weeks, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew there was truth in Wooyoung’s words.

Finally, Wooyoung let out a sigh, his tone softening even further. “Listen, man. I don’t know what almost happened, or why you’re so determined to stay away from her, but you have to ask yourself… is this really what you want?”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to that night in your apartment—the feeling of your hand brushing his, the way your gaze had lingered on him, the unspoken tension that had nearly pulled him into something he couldn’t name. He’d wanted so badly to close that distance, to feel your lips against his, to let go of the fear and doubt that had held him back. But just as he’d leaned closer, Wooyoung’s call had snapped him out of the moment, bringing him crashing back to reality.

“Do you even understand how much she’s hurting, Hongjoong?” And there it was again—the harshness in Wooyoung’s tone. “Seonghwa told me she’s tearing herself apart over this. She doesn’t eat right anymore, and she barely even sleeps. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong, wondering if she’s the problem.”

The words landed like a punch to Hongjoong’s gut, leaving him breathless. Images of you flashed through his mind—moments when he’d caught glimpses of your smile faltering, your laughter quieting, the spark in your eyes dimming little by little. He’d told himself it was just his imagination, that you were fine. But Wooyoung’s words shattered that illusion entirely.

“She thinks she did something wrong, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung continued, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “She actually believes she’s the reason you’re running. Every time you disappear, every time you pull away, she thinks it’s because of something she did. And the worst part? She doesn’t even blame you. She blames herself.”

Hongjoong’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as guilt clawed at him.

“Seonghwa told me she asked him if she was too much. Can you believe that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “She actually thinks she’s too much for you. That she’s somehow burdening you, dragging you down. She’s convinced herself that if she were just… less, maybe you wouldn’t be running.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he realized the full extent of the pain he’d caused. You—who had always been so vibrant, so unapologetically yourself—were now questioning every part of who you were, trying to shrink yourself down to avoid scaring him away.

“She’s not even angry at you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper now, each word a dagger aimed straight at Hongjoong’s heart. “She doesn’t hate you for this. She just… she thinks she’s not enough. Or that she’s too much. Either way, she’s convinced that she’s the problem.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He could feel the anchor of your pain weighing down on him; He’d done this to you—turned you into a shadow of yourself, left you grappling with doubts and insecurities that weren’t yours to bear.

“You’ve been so busy hiding behind your own fears,” Wooyoung continued, “that you haven’t even stopped to consider what this is doing to her. You’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’re hurting her—over and over, every day, with every step you take away from her.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify this? How could he explain that he’d been running not to hurt you, but to protect himself? It sounded so selfish, so small in the face of everything you were going through.

“And you know what’s really twisted?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Despite everything, she’d still look at you the same way she did before you started pushing her away. She’d still forgive you, still try to see the good in you, because that’s who she is. That’s how much she cares.”

Hongjoong felt something break inside him, a quiet, shattering realization that left him reeling. You would forgive him. He knew that. He could see it in his mind—the way you’d smile softly, the way your eyes would fill with understanding, even now. Even after everything, you’d welcome him back, arms open, heart exposed, waiting.

“She deserves better, Joong.” Wooyoung’s words were softer now, the anger replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her question her worth. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s somehow wrong just for being herself. And if you can’t be that for her… if you’re too wrapped up in your own fears to let her in… then you need to let her go.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as he struggled to process it all. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. But the thought of holding onto you only to keep hurting you, to keep dragging you through his own tangled web of insecurities and fears—it was unbearable.

“She’s barely holding up. She hides it well, but Seonghwa can see it. He told me how she sits alone for hours, just staring off into space, like she’s lost something she can’t find. She keeps her phone close, hoping maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out. But every time you don’t... it breaks her a little more.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened painfully, each word slicing through him like a blade. He could see it so clearly now, every painful moment he’d forced you through. How you must’ve waited for messages that never came, must’ve spent countless nights wondering where things had gone wrong. The thought of you sitting there, lost in your own pain, while he’d been so focused on his own fears, was more than he could bear.

“And don’t think she hasn’t tried to talk to you.” Wooyoung’s voice turned sharp, accusatory. “Seonghwa told me how many times she’s wanted to reach out, just to make sure you’re okay, just to see if you’d give her even a scrap of reassurance. But every time, she stops herself. She doesn’t want to bother you, doesn’t want to seem needy. She’s holding back everything she feels because she’s afraid it’ll push you further away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly, but the fire of his conviction remained. “You need to understand, Hongjoong. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her too. You’re hurting her, and if you don’t start realizing that, it’ll be too late. She’s going to break, and I don’t think she’ll come back from it.”

Hongjoong felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The thought of you shattering into pieces because of his cowardice was unbearable. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to say that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He was only trying to shield himself from the fear of loss, the same fear that had haunted him since that girl from his past had walked away.

“I can’t… I can’t lose anyone again, Woo,” Hongjoong finally admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “What if she sees me for who I really am? What if she realizes I’m not worth it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, frustration flashing across his features. “That’s where you’re wrong. She already sees you, and she loves you for all the parts you’re trying to hide. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re only pushing her further into despair.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions colliding within him. “How do you know? How do you know she feels that way?”

“Because I’ve talked to Seonghwa, and he cares about her, Joong! He’s seen her cry over you. He told me she broke down one night, just sitting on the floor of her room, wondering why you were so distant. She kept saying she must’ve done something wrong. Do you want that for her? Do you want to be the reason she loses herself?”

The image of you curled up alone, tears streaming down your face while grappling with your worth, sliced through Hongjoong. The sheer guilt of it settled heavily in his chest, suffocating him. He had wanted to protect you, but in doing so, he had only hurt you more.

Hongjoong lingered in silence, the weight of his unspoken fears casting a shadow over the room. He could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him, a

persistent pressure urging him to confront the thoughts he’d been too afraid to voice.

“What if…” The words caught in his throat, his voice strained with the vulnerability he couldn’t hide. “What if I take the next step, and she leaves? What if she ends up leaving just like—”

Wooyoung interrupted him by reaching forward, pressing his fingers gently but firmly to Hongjoong’s lips, shushing him with an authority that surprised them both. “I know what comes next, Hongjoong,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say it.”

Hongjoong stiffened, pulling back ever so slightly, a touch of annoyance flickering across his face. “You think it’s that simple?” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think it’s easy to just… forget?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, though he held firm. “I think you’re holding onto something that’s long gone, Joong. And you’re letting it get in the way of something real.” He paused, leaning forward. “So what if the girl you loved back in middle school left you? You’re still letting her be the one who decides what happens now?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened, then closed, his defenses crumbling under Wooyoung’s scrutiny. He could feel the words bubbling up, the excuses he’d used to justify his fears over and over, but this time, they didn’t come. The silence between them grew heavier, and he felt himself shrinking under Wooyoung’s eyes.

“It’s not about her,” Hongjoong finally managed, his voice a strained whisper. “It’s just… this was exactly how it started back then. The same moments, the same feelings, and then…” His voice broke, a haunted look creeping into his eyes as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “And then it all just fell apart the moment she left without a word.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his gaze filled with something close to sympathy, but there was no pity there, only an understanding forged through years of friendship. “Joong,” he said softly, leaning even closer as if he could bridge the distance that Hongjoong had placed between himself and everyone around him. “So what if some things feel familiar? They’re not the same person, are they? You’re not the same person, either.”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest as he searched for a way to deflect, to deny the truth in Wooyoung’s words. “It’s… it’s not like that, Woo. You don’t get it.” His voice grew sharper, frustration edging his tone as he tried to hold onto the walls he’d built.

Wooyoung shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? Because it doesn’t look that way to me.”

Hongjoong looked away, his gaze hardening as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that simple, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to… to risk everything and then lose it.”

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hongjoong, I may not know exactly what you went through, but I do know one thing: you’re letting something from the past dictate your future. And that’s not fair. Not to you, and definitely not to her.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he felt the weight of Wooyoung’s words settle over him. Part of him wanted to argue, to cling to the fears that had kept him guarded for so long, but another part—a part he’d buried deep—knew that Wooyoung was right.

“What if I let myself try?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words laden with the weight of years of doubt and self-preservation. “What if… what if I take that risk, and she ends up leaving?”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Joong, if she’s really the person you believe she is… then maybe it’s a risk worth taking. Because people leave, yeah. They walk away. But the ones who matter, the ones who are meant to stay—they won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re saying I should just… trust that?” His voice wavered, the question more for himself than for Wooyoung, as if he needed to convince himself that he could still believe in something other than his own fears.

Wooyoung’s mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile. “Yeah. Trust it. Don’t let something that’s already gone keep you from what could be right here, right now.”

“What if I let her in? What if I let her see the real me? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then you fight for her,” Wooyoung replied. “You show her every day that she’s enough. You fight for her instead of running away. You have to be brave enough to take the risk, Joong. And if she does leave, at least you’ll know you tried. You can’t live in the shadow of your past forever.”

“But what if she sees me as weak?” Hongjoong countered, bitterness lacing his tone. “What if she thinks I’m broken?”

“Then you show her that even broken pieces can fit together to make something beautiful,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’ve built this wall around yourself, but you’re just hurting the one person who’s tried to break through. You need to trust her. You need to let her help you. She wants to be there for you, but you have to meet her halfway.”

The truth of those words echoed painfully in Hongjoong’s mind. He had been running, terrified of the vulnerability that came with love, terrified of the chance that he could be left once more. But he could feel the edges of that fear beginning to fray under the weight of his guilt, unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke.

“You can’t let the past dictate your present, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, a mixture of empathy and frustration. “You can’t keep running away from what you feel. If you do, you’ll end up losing her, and it’ll be your fault.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced as he thought of you—how you had lit up his life in ways he never thought possible. How your laughter had become a soothing balm to his weary soul. He couldn’t keep ignoring the truth that was staring him in the face. The realization washed over him like a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do?” Hongjoong whispered.

“Fight for her, Joong. Show her that you’re not afraid. Be honest with her, and don’t let fear win this time.” Wooyoung leaned closer. “She deserves that much, at the very least. Fight for her—before it’s too late.”

“But what if it already is?”

🪞 — lividstar.

#౨ৎ﹒ノ﹒lividstar．#ateez fluff #ateez x reader #hongjoong #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong x reader #ateez angst #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #hongjoong ateez #jung wooyoung #park seonghwa

44 notes · View notes

bridgertonbabe · 10 months ago

Note

So having read the bridgerton spouse group chats by you and bridgerton family group chats by @holybatgirlz I’ve realised Benedict seems to always been one of the ones getting injured during family games night…

Does Sophie ever ban him from playing after an Injury or flat out refuse to go after she’s had all four kids and Benedict ends up back in hospital and ends up out of action for a few weeks meaning Sophie has four kids and a husband to tend to (and forces the injuring causing party to wait on him hand and foot for the duration of his Convalescence)

Also on another point… reading these makes me wanna write a family games night fic 😂😂

I feel like by the time all the spouses are married in and as they all start their families that Bridgerton game nights would become a bit calmer - only fractionally, but enough that the hospital visits aren't as frequent and the injuries sustained are far less serious. Though the Bridgertons (and Kate) remain insanely competitive to a terrifying degree, the spouses manage to limit game nights to once a year at most and then following the annual game night the spouses make it very clear how little they care for the family's version of a casual night of board/parlour games, and at the very least some of the Bridgertons take their partners feelings on board and attempt to mellow their competitiveness (kinda).

But with that being said, just because the injuries at game nights wind down, doesn't mean casualties don't occur through other competitive dumbass means...

BSSG Group Chat

Sophie: Guys I'm at the hospital.

Penelope: omg are you ok?????

Lucy: oh no what's happened?

Sophie: Ben broke his leg.

Phillip: Shit how did he manage that?

Sophie: He broke it go-karting.

Gareth:

Simon: What the ever living fuck was he doing go-karting?

Lucy: and not to be ageist - but at his age????

Phillip: The fuck is he playing at?

Gareth: i have to know

Gareth: did he go by himself?

Michael: Gareth please don't make this any more tragic for Ben or any more embarrassing for Sophie

Sophie: For your information he wasn't by himself.

Lucy: then who the hell did he go with????

Penelope: wait

Sophie: Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news

Phillip: Oh no

Simon: Please don't say it

Sophie: But it was a Bridgerton sibling day out

Michael: Oh for fuck's sake

Lucy: but greg told me he was going to spend the afternoon helping his mum pick up the flowers and decorations for penelope and eloise's baby shower on saturday!

Penelope:

Simon: As much as I can share in your dismay Lucy I can't say I'm remotely shocked to learn that Daphne and her siblings all lied about their whereabouts to hide the fact that they were having a sneaky go-karting afternoon 😑

Michael: I'm well aware I'm including my wife in this but do none of them have jobs??? Who goes go-karting on a Wednesday afternoon????

Phillip: Lets just be grateful that there was only one casualty from their go-karting escapade.

Sophie: ...

Sophie: Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news again

Simon: Sophie don't you dare

Penelope: oh god do we even want to know

Sophie: But they've all been hospitalised.

Lucy:

Michael: Why

Simon:

Michael: Why must they be like this

Gareth: just how exactly do 8 people get taken to hospital from a single go-karting afternoon?

Phillip: Soph is El ok????? I'm on my way right now

Sophie: She's ok Phil and so is the baby, she's just got a sprained wrist. She fared the best out of them all injury wise.

Penelope: El's fared the best???????

Michael:

Michael: Just what exactly is the extent of the damages we're talking here @ Sophie

Sophie: So Colin has a broken leg to match Ben's, Anthony's in a neck brace, Fran's fractured a couple of ribs, Daph's fractured her arm while Greg's broken his and has bruised his coccyx, and Hy's broken her big toe and is currently sporting an eye patch.

Penelope: COLIN'S BROKEN HIS LEG???????

Penelope: I'm 4 weeks away from giving birth wtf am I supposed to do with Limpy for a husband?!?!?!?

Lucy: ffs greg and i were supposed to be playing tennis with hermione and my brother this sunday 😤

Gareth: at least this isn't your wife:

Gareth: and soph how exactly did hy end up with an eye patch from go-karting?

Sophie: Greg shot her.

Lucy: HE DID WHAT

Simon: He shot her?????

Michael: Wow Greg shot Hy?

Michael: Honestly I would have imagined Fran snapping before Greg

Gareth: @ Sophie if you've previously failed to mention that my wife is wearing an eye patch because she's been blinded in that eye NOW WOULD BE THE TIME TO MENTION IT

Sophie: Relax she hasn't been blinded, it's just precautionary until the swelling's gone down.

Lucy: CAN WE GET BACK TO THE PART WHERE MY HUSBAND SHOT HIS SISTER

Penelope: yeah wtf is Greg doing with a gun????

Simon: And why does he have one for go-karting?!?!??!

Sophie: Ok so it was a BB gun he was using

Lucy: AND HE HAD IT BECAUSE?!?!?!?!?

Sophie: Well you're all going to love this

Sophie: They weren't just doing regular go-karting

Phillip: What

Sophie: They were doing it Mario Kart style.

Michael:

Simon: I actually can't stand them.

Gareth: not to be pedantic but they don't have guns in mario kart

Gareth: did they get it mixed up with gta coz that would make way more sense with all of the injuries they've acculumated

Lucy: are you seriously telling me they were driving go-karts around a track while shooting at each other??????

Penelope: I'm a month away from giving birth to a Bridgerton baby 🙃

Sophie: Basically they were using an assortment of items like hurling banana peels and pouring out oil on the track to make the others slip, they were throwing frisbees and balls at each other which were meant to be like shells and they had a variety of water/nerf/BB guns to take each other out that way. All of which contributed to the massive pile up that caused most of their injuries.

Michael: God almighty

Gareth: question; was hy not wearing a helmet?

Sophie: She was but she had the visor open after Eloise sprayed it over with paint which was how she ended up getting shot.

Kate: Omfg

Kate: I cannot believe this!

Sophie: It's a lot to take in I know.

Kate: I can't believe they didn't invite me!

Michael: Kate do you even care that your husband is in a neck brace?

Kate: Well that's what he fucking gets for not including me! Karma's a bitch and so is Anthony!

Simon: @ Kate

Phillip: God can you imagine what Violet's reaction to this is going to be when she finds out?

Sophie: No need to imagine she already knows.

Penelope: omfg

Gareth: damn you already told on them???

Sophie: Violet was the first person I told as soon as I heard about it all. I'm sick to death of them all acting like this and being so stupidly reckless. Not one of them even stopped to think that it might not be a good idea and now I've got to see after 4 kids with an invalid for a husband, and the rest of their injuries will come as just as great an inconvenience to all of you as well!

Sophie: So yeah I immediately went to Violet to tell on them because I want her to wipe the absolute floor with them for being so thoughtless!!!!!

Penelope:

Gareth:

Michael: You did what had to be done Soph and for that I applaud you 👏👏👏

Sophie: But that's not all, I'm also punishing Ben for being so feckless.

Kate: Oooh kinky

Sophie: Far from it. For starters when I got here Ben wanted to cuddle Vi to cheer himself up but I told him no and that he's getting no snuggles with her from now until his cast comes off.

Gareth: holy shit you're gate-keeping his own daughter from him

Lucy:

Lucy: and i love it

Michael: How quickly did he start to cry?

Sophie: Instantaneously. It was incredibly rewarding.

Sophie: And I'd encourage you all to do the same with your respective Bridgerton in whatever way you see fit.

Penelope: once Colin's home I'll keep offering him food but then just sit and eat it right in front of him 😈😈😈

Gareth: i'm going to get a toy parrot and perch it on hy's shoulder and call her patchy 🦜

Simon: I'm not even going to bother picking Daph up from the hospital. She has to learn she can't keep pulling stunts like this as a mother of four.

Simon: That and I've already started drinking to deal with this nonsense so I couldn't even if I had to.

Phillip: I'm going to make El take and stay with the twins at back to back children's parties this weekend. She'll absolutely fucking hate it.

Kate: I'm just going to laugh in Anthony's face. Probably get the kids to join in too.

Lucy: damn i'm not sure what i'm going to do with greg

Michael: I'm going to withhold sex.

Penelope: damn that's a bold move

Simon: But is that going to be more of a punishment for her or you?

Michael: Not to give you all too much of an insight but that's going to kill Fran more than you'd think it would.

Michael: But that's what she gets for going along with her fam's unhinged competitive behaviour.

Michael: No more snu snu.

Penelope: I actually think if we all withheld sex from our respective partners that they might finally learn their lesson.

Lucy: that's... actually a very valid point that could very much work

Kate: Well we don't call them sex idiots for nothing.

Michael: They're essentially a bunch of horny Tinkerbells; they need sex to live.

Simon: I truly hate that sentiment. But you're not wrong.

Michael: So are you all following my lead? It's your own choice obvs, no pressure if anyone would prefer not to.

Gareth: i'm not exactly chomping at the bit to be having snu snu with patchy

Kate: Yeah neck braces don't make for a turn on either.

Penelope: And being this pregnant I'm not really in the mood for it as it is.

Sophie: Like I'm going to have the time or energy seeing after the kids while Ben's bedridden anyway.

Lucy: fine by me

Simon: I have 0 qualms with this method of punishment.

Phillip: Same here.

Michael: Then it's no snu snu all around! Vive le resistance!

#asks #group chat au #bridgerton spouses #obviously the no snu snu rule wouldn't have lasted for too long at all #but the spouses would have at least had some satisfaction in making their partners suffer for the time that they did

112 notes · View notes

ivymarquis · 1 month ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Hello my loves I swear I am writing but at the moment it is like herding chickens- I have like 3 things Im writing rn.

So have a lil snippet of this Simon x Reader fic Im working on! Im still rewriting it because I decided to try and make it be a GN piece so we’ll see how that goes??

“Okay,” your voice is like music to his ears and Simon immediately stops what he’s doing, “I have one for you this time.”

Simon pesters you with his worst “dad jokes” often, so he supposes turnabout is fair play here.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“What’s the last thing to go through a bug’s mind when it hits the windshield of a car?” You pause for effect, not really waiting for Simon to make any sort of acknowledgement before continuing. “Its butt.”

Simon snorts- more of a huff, really- the sound short and low. “Got to hand it to you, pet- never heard that one before.”

You let out a pleased hum, obviously proud of yourself for eliciting the response from him. Contrary to his reputation, Simon can appreciate a bit or a joke as much as the next person.

He’s never met you in person (despite a handful of attempts on his end- trying to find you on base has been much like trying to wrangle down a feral cat), but that voice follows him everywhere. Keeps him cozy at night when he’s squirreled himself away until daybreak.

He’s not proud of the number of times your voice has been in the one in his head while his hand is stuffed down his trousers stroking himself- how many times he’s cum to the idea of you laying on her back, thighs spread wide to make room for him as he makes you see God.

Since he’s never seen you, the physical aspect of the person in his fantasy always changes- the color of your skin, the texture of your hair. Whether you have a light eyed, piercing gaze or seductive dark doe eyes. If you’re a short, plump thing with plenty to grab hold of or long and lean and easy to fold- the combinations are endless, each one as appealing as the last. The only constant is the way Simon is at half mast just thinking about that divine voice whining in his ear as he ruts away at you.

It’s easy to get pulled into the lull that it’s just you with him- that there isn’t an entire room full of agents behind you.

Of course it’s just as Simon’s mind starts to wander again that he gets his cue to go.

The mission is simple in the way that all missions are.

Step 1: Get in

Step 2: Don’t die

Step 3: Get out

Step 4: (Optional) go home and work out the stress of the mission by rubbing one (or several) out to the thought of you staring at him moon eyed and begging for his mouth between your legs.

Unfortunately for Simon, things get hairy somewhere around Step 2.

No pressure tags and Il flying off the seat of my pants at the end of my break so Im sorry if we’re moots and I didn’t tag you ;.;

@gaqalesqua @glossysoap @direwombat @g0dspeeed @thanksbutno98 @the-californicationist @391780 @ceilidho @pricegouge @yeyinde @captainfern @kneelingshadowsalome

#one of these days Im making a list of my moots Im forgetting SO many people #but alas my break is over now!#wip wednesday #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #also selectively open to notes on if that one paragraph is a lil too afab-leaning but this is still again a WIP soooooooo

29 notes · View notes

clarisse0o · 6 months ago

Text

Camp Wiegman - Part 3

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe : Military School

Words : 6k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Wednesday, October 7; 6:00 AM - Ona and Alexia's Room.

Once again, that damn alarm clock that sounds like a firehouse siren. It never stops. I wonder how I missed it yesterday! I must have been really tired not to hear it. I press my pillow against my ears, which can't take this shrill, repetitive noise anymore. I only release the pressure once it stops. I need to make the effort to get up today if I want to avoid Bronze' wrath a second time. She exhausted me so much yesterday that I slept straight through the imposed curfew. It's been a long time since I had a full night's sleep. I grimace, letting out a groan as I sit up. Damn it!

"Sore muscles?" Alexia mocks, already up.

"More than a little, damn it."

"You'll get used to it, don't worry!"

"I've been hearing that since I got here."

"Because it's true. Hurry up if you don't want even more sore muscles. We only have fifteen minutes to get ready before inspection," she tells me.

"Fifteen minutes?!" I repeat. "Are you kidding me?"

"If only," she laughs.

I think I've never gotten up so fast, realizing my lateness as I see Alexia already freshly dressed and made up. I'm a dead girl if I'm not ready on time. Bronze threatened to make me endure worse than yesterday if that happened, and I'm not sure I can survive it. I rush to the bathroom with the right uniform. Turns out I got sent back from my first class for wearing the "sports uniform." Alexia had warned me, but exhaustion had taken over. As a result, I had to come back to my room to return to class in the proper attire. An awful outfit, by the way. It's composed of my combat boots, black pants, a khaki t-shirt, and my infamous military jacket. I put it all on before doing my makeup and fixing my hair. I now have two little minutes left to make my bed. I almost run to it to finish before her arrival. Alexia is already ready at the foot of her bed while I wrestle with my duvet. I panic, realizing the mess I'm in. I get all mixed up and can't remember the right steps.

"How do you manage to be so quick? Damn it! I can't make this damn bed again!"

I throw the duvet on the floor in a fit of anger. My bed looked like a mess anyway, so showing her my work or this pile is the same.

"Is there a problem, Batlle?"

I jump at the sound of her voice. That's it, I'm screwed. I turn around as slowly as possible to see her behind me. I feel intimidated by her stance, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Alexia is holding back laughter behind her. I admit if it didn't concern me, I'd find this situation somewhat amusing. But since it does concern me, it's immediately less funny.

"Look at me when I talk to you!"

My eyes automatically return to her. Her sharp tone leaves no choice but to listen. She then turns to Alexia, who immediately stops giggling.

"No problem, Bronze," I reply, emphasizing her name. "Been fishing for information, Batlle?" "So it seems... Isn't Engen supposed to inspect the rooms in the morning?"

I cast my eyes on my informant, none other than Alexia. She doesn't dare move since Bronze looked at her. She's as straight as a rod with her hands clasped behind her back. It's like we're facing our section leader in the army... Almost the case.

"Stop looking at her, you're talking to me!" "Then answer me." "I'm personally in charge of this room while you adapt." "How lucky," I said sarcastically. "You said it," she smiles. "You can go, Putellas."

Alexia thanks her in a barely audible voice and flees the room, abandoning me with the tyrant. Thanks for the support! I fix my gaze on Bronze once the door closes at her request. As much as I want to stand up to her... It's a different story when she's in front of me. She seems cold and confident. It's no wonder everyone is afraid of her. However, I still plan to devise an attack plan against her. I just need to wait for the right moment and regain my strength.

"Well, now that your distraction is outside, will you answer me seriously?" "Why is she allowed to leave and not me?" "Don't dodge my question. You know perfectly well why you're staying here." "I don't want to miss breakfast again!"

"I gave you a pain au chocolat without being obliged, as far as I know. Now, tell me what your problem is. We'll see if you have time to get there."

She annoys me with her insistence on having things her way. She didn't earn her nickname for nothing! I'm no longer used to taking orders. I wait to see if she gives up without an answer, but she remains very patient. I comply, stepping aside to show her the disastrous state of my bed.

"I tried to remake it, but I can't do it anymore," I admitted. "You did it in front of me yesterday."

I relax when I realize she's not angry. She's just trying to understand what's going on. Maybe I'll avoid punishment if I stay honest.

"So, will you explain?"

"I just told you," I growled. "I'm not used to making my bed like this! You can't expect me to get it right overnight! Plus, I panicked because of your damn pressure!"

I realize what I just let slip when I see the little smile forming on her face. Damn it! I didn't want her to know something like that. She now knows she already has an influence over me.

"Alright, let's make a deal."

"I fear the worst," I mumbled.

"Hey, I'm doing this for you, just to be clear."

"Yeah, yeah..." I said unconvincingly.

"I'm willing to show you how to make your bed again so you know how to do it in the future, and you can have your breakfast. In return, we'll meet tonight after your classes."

"For what reason?"

"Do you really think you'll get away with nothing? I warned you that you'd be punished if you weren't ready on time today."

"I'm not gaining much in your proposal!" "You gain my help and your breakfast. That's a lot from me."

In the end, I won't escape this punishment... I weigh the pros and cons, even though the answer should be obvious since, in any case, she won't let me leave without making my bed and receiving my punishment.

"Alright, fine. I'll go with your proposal." "Good. I'll show you this time. Watch carefully and then do it yourself, okay?" "Okay..." "Come closer and observe carefully."

I move forward as she shakes out my duvet, letting it fall onto my bed. Like yesterday, she starts at the corners at the foot of the bed. She takes her time to show me each fold again, making sure I'm following. Once that's done, she smooths the duvet upwards before tucking it neatly under the pillow. She then tucks the excess sides under the mattress, which doesn’t seem to weigh much. I observe the flawless result. She must be well-trained to do it so quickly and perfectly.

"Got it?" "I think so..."

"No, you need to be sure. If you tell me you got it and tomorrow you’re not ready on time, I won’t want to hear any excuses when I punish you."

"You're such a pain," I mutter. "Excuse me?!" "Can I try again before giving you my answer?" "If you want."

I move to undo the bed, but her arm stops me.

"Don’t ever say something like that again. The fact that you even dare to address me informally is too much. Don’t push it too far, or you’ll regret it bitterly. Are we clear?"

"Yeah..." "Yes," she corrects me. "Repeat." "Yes," I growl. "Good," she says, lowering her arm. "Now try again."

I undo the bed in one go, then start from where she began. I try to replicate what she just showed me, starting with one corner, then the other. It's the hardest part. Once done, I smooth it upwards and tuck it under the pillow. I was about to tuck one side, but her voice stops me.

"Pull the duvet more, there are still wrinkles."

"Like this?" I ask, following her instructions.

"A bit more. Don’t hold back. The duvet is too caught at the foot of the bed to come out."

I follow her advice and pull harder. I let go of the duvet once it’s nicely stretched, without any wrinkles.

"Good, now tuck the sides under the mattress."

I do as instructed, starting with my side, then the other. I smile at the result, better than yesterday. I glance at my supervisor on the other side.

"It’s not so hard, is it?"

"No..."

"Do you feel confident you can do it, or do you need another try?"

"I think I'm good."

"Sure? I don’t want to hear any complaints if you’re late because of this tomorrow."

"Yes, I’m sure. I’ll face the consequences."

"Alright, you can go then. We’ll meet after your classes. What time do you finish?"

"Four o'clock, I think."

"Where’s your schedule?"

I point to my desk where it’s pinned to the wall. I don’t know my hours yet, so I keep it in plain sight. She approaches to look at it closely.

"Four o'clock, that's right. See you later." "See you later, Commander."

I give her my best sarcastic smile before leaving my room. I hate the idea of another punishment tonight. It’s not like my lateness was my fault. I just couldn’t make that damn bed! I dread what she has in store for me. I hope it’s not more laps around the field. Apparently, that’s her specialty according to Leah. Well, at least I get my breakfast. I arrive at the buffet, greeting the staff as I serve myself. I’m the last one, but I'm glad to find my precious hot chocolate and morning pastry. I turn towards the room once done. I smile, spotting my roommate and her friends at their table. I quickly join them.

"Oooh, here’s the survivor!" Alba mocks as I arrive.

"Hey," I say, sitting down.

"You've already made a splash since yesterday!" Pina informs me.

"Everyone’s talking about you!" Patri adds. "You’re building quite a reputation!"

"Really? Why?" I ask before taking a bite of my pastry.

"They say you have the guts to stand up to Bronze," Lotte says. "Is it true you address her informally?"

"Maybe," I answer vaguely. "I don’t see what’s so special about it." "We see it very clearly," Alexia mocks. "Did you get away with nothing this morning?" "I have to meet her after my classes." "That smells like punishment!" comments Alba. "It is. She told me." "And you’re not bothered?" "Why would I be? I plan to prepare something much worse for her." "You've got balls," Alexia comments.

I know they think I’m crazy, but I’m not changing my mind. I finish my meal, continuing to chat since we have time. Then we head slowly towards the classroom buildings, with little motivation on my part. I met my first teachers yesterday. They’re all old fogies who aren’t even fifty yet. I’m curious about today's teachers since I was bored to death yesterday. I was on the verge of falling asleep, but Alexia kept me awake by mentioning the words "expulsion" and "Bronze." It seems that behavior like that leads to expulsions, like being late. I wasn’t going to tempt fate after spending my morning with Bronze. Knowing her a bit better, I doubt she’d let something like that slide. She doesn’t seem like someone who appreciates such behavior. Instead, I tried to follow the lesson as best I could. It was difficult, not having been in a classroom for two years. Today, it’s the same. I take my place next to Alexia with a long sigh. I have a feeling today will be as long as yesterday given the new teacher in front of me.

Wednesday, October 7; 4:10 PM - Ona and Alexia's Room.

I was wrong this morning. My day ended up going faster than expected. Maybe because I haven’t seen my supervisor since this morning. It put me in a good mood. At least, as much as I can be here. Adjusting is difficult. There's not much difference from a military camp. It’s likely there’s more

freedom there. I’m happy Alexia is here to brighten my days. She reminds me of my best friend from Barcelona. She’s just as energetic. I'm lucky to have her in my class, even if she’s too serious for my taste. I managed to make her laugh several times today. We got remarks, but nothing alarming enough to stop us. I'm still relieved it’s over. I’m supposed to meet Bronze, but I didn’t get any instructions on where to meet. So I followed Alexia to our room where she wants to finish her homework before joining her friends in the common room. I plan to do the same if Bronze doesn’t show up. She’ll have to find me if she wants to see me. I’m not chasing after her! I have a tiny hope she’s forgotten, but I doubt it. In the meantime, I chat with Ale about our day on the way back. She tells me a story about Patri and Claudia during their chemistry class last year. Apparently, they did an experiment that almost set the school on fire, leading to a summons and a big punishment. I can’t stop laughing with Alexia, who has a knack for making stories funny. She did the same at lunch, and it’s rare for me to laugh so sincerely over so little. My laughter stops abruptly when we open our room door. Damn... My last hopes evaporate seeing Bronze waiting for me, holding my sports uniform.

"It’s about time. Go change," she orders.

I find myself holding my uniform without even having entered my room. Her determination scares me for what’s next. Alexia passes by her, greeting her and making herself small. She confessed to me that she’s afraid of her for some reason and respects her greatly. I understand, but that doesn’t mean I’ll react the same way.

"Please... Not laps again, please! I did everything you asked! It’s not my fault I couldn’t do it." "Already begging, Ona? I thought you were braver than that."

I narrow my eyes at her jab. Not only is she provoking me, but she’s also implying I’m already giving in. I’d make her eat her smug smile if I could! So she’d understand it’s not the case.

"No, I just have a lot of sore muscles because of you," I retort.

- That mean that your body needed it. Now go change.

- Damn it, you’re annoying, I grumbled. Promise me you won’t make me do any sports first.

- Change your tone with me. I haven’t planned any sports, but I might add some to my list if you keep being cheeky. Maybe you’ll understand what it’s like when I really annoy you.

- Fine, I was just joking, I rolled my eyes.

- Do I need to drag you by force to make you listen? she threatened me. I sighed as I walked into the bathroom. I envied Alexia, who was sitting on her bed doing her homework. Her encouraging smile was the last thing I saw before closing the door without locking it, as per Bronze’s orders. I tried to hurry, but the muscle soreness made things difficult, especially with my pants. I was curious to find out what I was going to do if I wasn’t running. When I opened the door again, Bronze was waiting with her arms crossed and her foot tapping nervously on the floor.

- Let’s go. Bronze went ahead while I said goodbye to Alexia, who wished me good luck. I followed her through the corridors, putting my hands in my pockets to annoy her a bit.

- So, Bronze, what’s the plan for today? I asked when I caught up with her.

- Stop being cheeky, I won’t repeat myself. You weren’t so smart-mouthed yesterday, on the field.

- Me? Cheeky? I laughed. Nonsense!

- Start by taking your hands out of your pockets.

- That’s nothing bad!

- Batlle ! she snapped. When I tell you something, you obey. I took them out, afraid she would follow through on her previous threats. In other circumstances, I wouldn’t have done it, but now I wasn’t sure I could handle another sports session with my aching thighs. At least I had managed to annoy her as I wanted. We entered the gym, making me fear the worst... I hoped she kept her word and that I wouldn’t do any sports. I forced myself to keep up with her quick pace. It was my first time here. Wiegman hadn’t given me a tour, and I hadn’t had any sports yet. She walked down several corridors of the new building before opening one of the many doors in a hallway. She stepped aside to let me enter first. I walked in cautiously, too disturbed by the room. It was a locker room, so what? My supervisor pushed me in the back to make me go faster. It was a new room with benches and hooks lining the right wall. I stopped in the middle, where there was an open frame facing the benches. Damn... I understood our presence here when I saw the state of the communal showers. They were corroded by lime due to extensive use. Bronze had placed cleaning supplies on the floor. I had no more doubts about my punishment tonight.

- Is this a joke? I blurted out.

- No sports. Isn’t that what you wanted?

- Maybe, but not this! I’m not a fucking maid !

- Too bad, you’ll have to improvise then.

- Stop messing with me! Is there really nothing else?

- No, there isn’t. You’re not in a position to negotiate with me, so accept your punishment.

- Because I will be someday?

- Start by accepting your punishments and changing your behavior, then we’ll talk about it. She had a cold-bloodedness that impressed me. I gave up, realizing that I was indeed not the one in control of the situation right now.

- Okay, I resigned. Will you leave me alone?

- No. I’ll be supervising you to ensure you do your work, but first, we’ll have a talk.

- About what? I asked, intrigued.

- Yesterday, you told me you didn’t know the rules, so I’ll explain the most important ones to make it clear. That way, you’ll be warned and won’t have any excuses.

- Oh, yeah. At least I’ll know why I’m being punished.

- Good, take a seat.

I sat on the bench she pointed to and noticed a whiteboard with bullet points on it that I hadn’t seen before. The writing, which I guessed was hers, was very neat. I was ready to pay attention to the rules. I planned to follow them while scheming my revenge and getting out of this place. The fewer rules I broke, the less she’d be on my back. It would take some effort to comply, based on what I could already see on the board.

- First, wake-up is at six o’clock, she began, pointing to the first bullet point. You should know that by now.

- Hard to miss the alarm anyway.

- Inspection is fifteen minutes later, she continued, ignoring my remark. You must be ready by then, in uniform, and with your bed made perfectly.

- Is it a disaster if I’m not wearing makeup when you come?

- No. You’ll have access to your room after your meal. The purpose of the inspection is to see if you’re in uniform and if your room is tidy.

- Okay, I sighed.

- A problem?

- No... I was just wondering why wake-up is so early.

- Simply to prevent you from being too tired in class.

- No, actually! I countered. By getting up so early, we’re definitely more tired. She shook her head. It was the first time I appreciated her smile and our conversation. It wasn’t an order or a dispute for once. I almost forgot her cold and unbearable personality.

- You don’t understand anything.

- No, indeed, I frowned.

- Let’s move on to the third rule before the explanations, shall we? I nodded, curious to hear her arguments. For me, six o’clock was not a time to get up. It was way too early, especially after the year I just lived. I had my own schedule.

- So, curfew is at ten o’clock, but Alexia must have already told you that.

- Yeah.

- An instructor can enter the room at any time from that hour to check that you’re asleep.

- And what if we can’t sleep that early? That was my case the first night.

- Is that why you didn’t get up the first day?

- Yeah, I fell asleep around one in the morning.

- I see. You’ll soon get into the rhythm, don’t worry. What were your usual sleep hours before coming here?

- Well... I thought. I’d say four o’clock until noon most of the time. She raised an eyebrow at my honesty. She probably didn’t expect that. Understandable. She must have thought I was in school, but that wasn’t the case. I did nothing with my days, so I had my own schedule.

- You didn’t have classes?

- No. I stopped studying after high school.

- How come you’re in the final year then?

- No idea, I shrugged. I’m where they told me to go.

- Hmm, she replied skeptically. Let’s get back to the main subject. Wiegman kept her word about the file. She didn’t seem to know the reasons for my presence, given how intrigued she was. However, she didn’t ask any questions. I wouldn’t have answered anyway. This school isn’t going to change me. If my mother thinks so, she’s an idiot.

- As for my explanation, the curfew ensures eight hours of sleep until six o’clock and prevents you from staying up at impossible hours at night.

- What difference does it make? We could just wake up later in the morning, and it would be the same.

- No, it’s not the same. By taking away an hour at night, we restrict your use of electronic devices. You’re more likely to use them at night than in the morning. Besides, you have more time to eat and be together instead of communicating with the outside world.

- Everything we do at night, we can do in the morning too, I retorted.

- I assure you, you can’t. Even if that’s the case, it allows you to be fully awake for your classes. You have no excuse for being tired. Explained this way, the schedule seemed great, but I remained skeptical. It’s true that I was more awake in class this morning compared to my high school memories. The problem is, it’s useless if I have teachers who put me to sleep right after. I kept this response to myself, not wanting to get scolded for saying such a thing.

- Still, six o’clock is way too early.

- You’ll get used to it. You’ll see, in a week, your previous schedule will be a thing of the past, and you’ll be back on track. Can I continue now?

- Hmm.

- Okay, then, no electronic devices outside the rooms, whether it’s a phone, Mac, or any other device, she listed. You should already know this since I haven’t had to reprimand you in two days. Am I wrong?

- I know, yes. Why is it forbidden?

She raised an eyebrow at my question. My participation must have surprised her, or maybe it was just my questions. We were only at the fourth point, and I hadn’t remained silent on any of them. I’m naturally curious. I like to know the why and how.

- Each student is here for specific reasons... Excessive drug use, family problems, or simply

behavioral issues, for example. -

I felt concerned about all the points she just mentioned. It was impressive. Had she already figured me out? It’s very likely, but I don’t see how.

- The problems are the same for all students?

- Mostly what I just mentioned. Why?

- No reason... So, why no devices?

- The purpose of being here is to solve your problems while continuing your studies. Can you understand that?

- Hmm.

- With this rule, we simply forbid all means of communication during the day. The goal is for you to focus on yourself and only yourself, without external pressure. This rule was more understandable than the previous one. I could have responded that I didn’t want help, but I refrained. We would enter a debate that I would surely lose. I simply nodded.

- If I see you with something like that, I won’t hesitate to confiscate it for an indefinite period. Agreed?

- Yeah... So, we’re allowed to use them in the room?

- Yes, of course. This will be a rule to follow. I’m not risking losing my phone. It would mean cutting off communication with Joan and my best friend. "Next rule," she continues. "Show respect to educators," she reads from the board. "By educators, I mean the teachers, instructors, and the rest of the staff. Just because I'm in charge of you doesn’t mean you should disrespect my colleagues." I nod, not knowing what else to say. I'm not going to ask for the reasons behind this rule. "And no lateness will be tolerated. Be on time in the morning, when I give you an appointment, or even in class. Teachers have been instructed not to let you in if you're late. You’ll be sent straight to me."

"And I imagine I’ll have a hard time?"

"You'll find out soon enough if it happens. Also, I want you to behave in class. Don’t be cheeky, don’t fall asleep, and avoid excessive chatting. Try to show interest and participate."

"That’s going to be hard..."

"I'm serious, Ona. I'll be aware of your behavior in class and I’ll step in if it gets out of hand. I'm going to make sure you get through this year."

"Good luck with that."

"At least avoid getting expelled. You’d seriously piss me off if that happens and that won't be good for you."

"OK." She looks at the board one last time, making sure she's covered all the points.

"Well, I’ve said what I needed to say. Outside of class, you have free rein. The only exception is when I ask you to be with me. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, I guess. Wake-up, check-in, curfew, no lateness or disrespect," I summarize. "Perfect. Now, I believe you have a task waiting for you."

She points her thumb at the communal showers. I sigh heavily, having forgotten about that detail amidst everything else.

"Does every sanction mean a punishment?" I ask.

"Exactly. This morning you were late and you talked back to me," she states. "You can try anything behind my back, nothing will escape me."

Leah has taught me a lot about her, including this detail, which doesn’t surprise me. I pick up the sponge lying on the floor with tongs. In the end, I'd rather have yesterday’s punishment. This one is pure humiliation. Especially since Bronze sits on the bench, right in front of the showers to have a perfect view.

"She’s not going to eat you," she comments. "Come on, start, I don’t plan on staying here all night." "You really have no pity." "I’m not here to have pity, Ona."

She takes a book from the bench, which she had probably prepared, and starts reading. I pick up the gloves from the floor since I’m not even allowed to use a mop for cleaning. I put them on and dip the sponge in the soapy water. I start with the stalls, where the lime scale is clearly visible on the matte black glass. I try as best as I can to scrub the top of the first stall with my small stature. I have to jump to reach it. I grumble mentally to avoid giving my supervisor the satisfaction of hearing me complain aloud. I manage to finish two stalls in half an hour. It’s far from perfect, but I want to finish the other eight and the floor as quickly as possible. I’m already exhausted. I take a break to relieve my thighs, which are already aching. Not to mention my arms, given the intensity I’m putting into it. I glance at Bronze, who remains absorbed in her book.

"Stop daydreaming, Ona."

How does she manage to see me without looking up? I sigh and get back to work. If someone had told me one day I’d be on all fours scrubbing the floor of a communal shower, I’d have laughed in their face. I hate Bronze for making me go through this.

"You know, if you followed the rules, I wouldn’t punish you." "Sorry, but rules and I aren’t very good friends," I grumble. "Then you only have yourself to blame for your punishments." "And you too since you’re the one inflicting them on me."

"I’m just doing my job," she replies, closing her book. "Let me tell you something. The less effort you make to follow the rules, the more I’ll be on your back. We can continue like this until the end of the year if necessary."

"What?!"

I straighten up on my knees at this news. I wipe my forehead with my arm, which is dripping with sweat from scrubbing so hard.

"What do you mean, until the end of the year? I was told this was only temporary until I adapted!"

"Not exactly. I’ll be your supervisor until your behavior changes. Given the hothead you are, we’re far from that."

"What a joke!" I spit bitterly, getting back to work. "You’re right, I’m not going to change. I don’t even plan on staying here."

"And where do you plan on going?" she asks, curious.

"Far from this crappy school, far from this town, and especially far from people who won’t leave me alone!"

"That’s going to be complicated. You’re not going anywhere with me." "We’ll see about that. I’m not following your rules, Bronze. I’m not like all those other students."

"You’re not going anywhere. I’ll make sure to help you whether you want it or not. After this experience, I guarantee you won’t be that little daddy’s princess who can do whatever she wants anymore."

"Damn it, you don’t even know me!" I yell, throwing my sponge at her face. "I don’t want your damn help, so leave me alone! It’s precisely people like you I want to get away from!"

I can’t control my anger after she touched the one point she shouldn’t have. Her eyes remain closed from the impact of the sponge. I’ll probably pay for this, but I don’t care. It was the last straw, the one thing not to say. If she wanted to affect me, she succeeded! She slowly opens her eyes.

"Pick it up." "I’m not your dog, damn it!"

I throw the gloves next to the bucket and leave the room to avoid confrontation. She can go to hell with her damn rules! She chases me down the hall, calling my name, but I keep going. I surprisingly find the exit without getting lost. I barely have time to accelerate and touch the handle before I’m pinned against the door roughly. She blocks all my movements with her body and pins my wrists on either side of my head. I struggle with rage, but she perfectly channels my strength.

"Let go of me!" "No. Stop fighting back," she says calmly.

I keep moving as much as I can under her grip, which I hate. She has no right to touch me; I don’t want her to! Yet she tightens her hold to completely stop my movements. I press my forehead against the door, closing my eyes to calm down. I must not have a panic attack here. Once I’ve calmed down, she grabs my arm and drags me back to the locker room. She pushes me inside and locks the door.

"Get back to work. We’ll leave here when I decide," she says, resuming her place.

I don’t understand how she can stay so calm while I’m a volcano on the brink of eruption. If I wasn’t sure before, I now know I hate this girl.

Wednesday, October 7th; 8:05 PM - Ona and Alexia's Room

I slam the door of my room without holding back. I'm relieved to find it empty. We're two hours away from curfew. Alexia must be in the common room with the others. If it's like yesterday, I have about an hour before she returns. I'm feeling really down since my interaction with Bronze. I didn't even go to eat, even though she allowed me to. I just needed to be alone. She drained me physically and mentally. I'm dirty and wet from crawling on the floor. It took me four hours to clean everything. Bronze stopped me at some point. The result was far from perfect, but she seemed satisfied that I finished. Now, I plan to decompress under hot water and get to bed. I find a pj set consisting of a t-shirt and shorts, and then I lock myself in the bathroom. Once my shower is finished, I slip under the covers. I'm exhausted and on edge. I think it's the right time to call my best friend. I've left her without news since my arrival. It was hard to reach her because I was never alone since I got here. Not to mention there's a one-hour time difference with Barcelona. I really need to talk to her right now. I miss her more than I thought. I take my phone from the nightstand and dial her number.

"Hello?" "Hey, Mapi."

"Oh my God, it's about time!" she says on the other end. "I thought they took your phone or something," she quickly replies.

"Sorry for not calling sooner," I chuckle. "Are you okay? Your voice sounds strange."

I'm so emotional and exhausted that I can't hold back the tears running down my cheeks against my will. It had to come out when I was on the phone with the person who knows me best.

"Yes, yes...," I say, wiping my cheeks. "Let's just say my mom really outdid herself this time."

"That bad? You don't like Manchester ? It's supposed to be a beautiful city." "Believe me, there's nothing to envy. It's been raining all the time so far."

"Well, it's definitely not Barcelona ! Come on, tell Auntie Mapi everything. You don't sound well. Is your new school nice?"

"It's a military school, Maps. Well, it's a private school with instructor supervision."

« Ouch, your mom really went all out this time... How did she get you in there? Isn't it supposed to be restricted?"

"The principal is a friend of my mom's," I sigh. "It's hell!"

I pour out the start of my new life to relieve myself. Mapi is like a sister to me. She regularly comes to my house and knows my mom well, who is also her doctor. I know she appreciates her, unlike me, but she always listens attentively when I criticize her, like now. She will always be there for me, and I'll never be grateful enough for everything she does for me. She's pulled me out of the water more than once when I was drowning.

"I have a little soldier on my back. You can't imagine the horror!" "A little soldier?" she laughs. "What's that all about?"

"A supervisor or something until I adapt. I have the worst instructor in the camp, apparently. A real viper! In two days, she's already managed to punish me twice!"

"The great Batlle punished? I would've loved to see that!" she giggles. "Is she at least good- looking?"

Mapi's question doesn't surprise me. From the moment we met, she declared loudly that she was a lesbian. She loves women... I mean she LOVES woman. We met in our first year of high school. She joined my class in the middle of the year and sat next to me. We hit it off immediately, and she quickly started flirting with me. I brushed her off, but I quickly grew attached to her unique personality. Within two months, she had turned all my convictions upside down. She was touchy and insistent. She made me doubt my sexuality. I ended up giving her a chance. It took her two months to become my first and only girlfriend for two years. It was my longest relationship. Today, we're best friends with a very close bond. She's the only one I truly trust. She's my only confidante, and I'm sure she won't judge me. That's why I'm not afraid to tell her what I think at this moment, even though I hate to admit it out loud.

"Brown hair, green eyes, taller than me. She's young and quite charming. I’d say she's twenty-five. She's pretty sexy in her uniform, but her personality ruins everything."

"Wow... She's totally your type!" she teases. "Did you hear the rest? She's a real tyrant! She's making my life impossible, damn it." "Have you thought about a counter-attack?" "Of course, she's going to regret it!" I say, making her laugh.

As I expected, our conversation turns to revenge ideas. Mapi has a wild imagination for this kind of thing. When we've covered everything, we switch to the latest gossip I've missed in Spain. Our call

ends a quarter of an hour later since it's late for her, and she has class tomorrow. I was lucky to reach her so late. Our conversation did me good. She managed to take my mind off things, as I hoped. I put my phone away and decide not to wait for curfew to fall asleep. I turn off all the lights and settle comfortably in my bed so that the door is behind me, to avoid being disturbed by Ale's arrival later. It doesn't take long for me to fall into a deep sleep.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #barca femeni #ona batlle #woso soccer #lionesses #sefutbol fem #leah williamson #alexia putellas #mapi leon #ona x lucy #ona batlle x lucy bronze

70 notes · View notes