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junplusone · 23 hours ago

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i'll always say it's you ; yoon jeonghan

summary: you always used to think that even the end of the world couldn’t keep you and yoon jeonghan apart; you’d find your way back to each other somehow. ten years later, you start to wonder if that’s such a good thing after all.

contains: childhood best friends to ??? to ???, swearing, drinking (+ underage), talk of joshua and cheol's arm muscles, mention of drugs in a joke like once i think, caffeine addiction, peak delusion, jeonghan cheating in games as always, hella yearning

word count: 12.98k

a/n: this is lowkey a mess and probably kind of inaccurate loll but i hope u enjoy! feedback always appreciated xx

the me of today hopes for the you of tomorrow

“What about you, Y/N? Have you ever been in love?”

Hearing your own name slowly zones you back into the conversation at the table. You pause at the question, a drop of soju splashing out of the glass in your hand.

“What?”

“Come on, it’s just a silly question,” the young intern says, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun, Y/N. We’re off work right now! It’s fine,” he drawls, swaying a little in his chair.

You can’t really remember his name right now, downing the glass in one go, but his bold innocence bothers you. Maybe his demeanor, full of life and promise, is what gets on your nerves.

Were you like that when you were fresh out of college, too? It’s so unthinkable to you now, at twenty-nine. It feels like ages in the past.

“So? Are you —”

“I hardly think this is an appropriate conversation,” you say quietly, zipping your bag shut. “I think I’m going to head out, anyways. It’s quite late already.”

“But —”

“Chan, just stop asking questions and drink this, okay?” His friends try and calm him down with a glass of water. Amidst the chatter, you decide to slip away, silently pushing in your chair and leaving the bustling restaurant.

Dinners like this always end up making you feel worse, anyways, like an outlier at a table of people with fervent hopes and dreams of their own.

You make it two blocks until your phone begins to buzz in your pocket, and you fumble to answer it, knowing there’s only one person who would call you at nine o’clock on a Friday night.

“Hello?”

“Oh, you answered,” Yeonju says, evidently surprised. “I thought you’d still be at work.”

“I’m on my way home now,” you tell her. “Why, did something happen?”

“Kind of,” you hear rustling on her end of the line. “Jeonghan called.”

“Huh?”

You had stopped abruptly at Yeonju’s words— foolishly in the middle of the road, and you rush to the sidewalk, still reeling. It’s been so long since you’ve even heard his name that it sends your mind into a tailspin when she says it again.

“I thought you knew,” she says, “He said he tried calling you first, but you wouldn’t pick up.”

“I don’t answer calls from numbers I don’t have saved,” you remind her. You haven’t had Jeonghan’s number saved on your phone in a long time. There was no need to keep it if you never used it anymore.

“I think you should talk to him.”

“Yeonju,” you shake your head. “Why would I? There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is, and you know it, too,” she doubles down. “You won’t say it, but I know you agree with me.”

She’s right, as much as you want to pretend otherwise. When has Choi Yeonju ever been wrong about you? Sometimes it scares you how good she is at reading your mind, but as always, she delivers reality checks right when she feels like you need them.

“Maybe,” you admit begrudgingly. “But things are just easier without him.”

“Yeah, well, nothing is ever easy,” she points out, “but take your own time, no rush. And take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“I will,” you say with a faint smile.

“OK, perfect. Call if you need anything else, yeah? I gotta go now.”

“Okay, Yeonju, take care.”

“Bye!”

She hangs up just as you unlock your front door, shutting it behind you and kicking off your shoes. The peace and quiet of your apartment welcomes you, and you sigh in relief as you sink into your couch.

Pulling out your phone again, you scroll through your call log. There are a few unsaved numbers, likely just spam calls, but when you see the same number four times in a row, there’s no doubt about who it might have been. Your finger hovers over the screen; should you? Shouldn’t you?

No, it’s easier to just stay angry. It’s easier to pretend his name means nothing to you anymore.

But even as you toss your phone to the side, Chan’s question still haunts you, like it’s a reminder that maybe you need to retrace your steps and do something different this time.

God, you had finally been able to go a few days without thinking about him, but today just took you right back to square one.

“Have you ever been in love?”

When you close your eyes, all you see is him.

first time feeling my heart race, never thought it'd beat so fast

TEN YEARS AGO

“Yoon Jeonghan, delete that right now or I’m going to kill you.”

Jeonghan shakes his head vehemently, still cackling at the picture of you on his phone. This is nothing new to you; over the years you’ve gotten used to him finding the absolute worst angles of you whenever you fall asleep in class, or on the bus, and it never fails to get you fuming.

In fact, if Jeonghan has one talent, it’s probably pissing you off.

“Not my fault you dozed off like that during lecture! Even Yeonju would have bullied you if she was there,” he teases. “I’ve been collecting bad Y/N photos since we were sixteen and in high school, why would I stop now?”

“You’re evil.”

“Thanks, I know.”

“Dinner’s on you, by the way.”

“What?!”

“Do you want to keep that horrendous picture or not?”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes immediately, slipping his phone into his pocket. “But we’re going back to my dorm first because I left my wallet on my desk.”

"Why would you not have that with you? Dumbass," you scold.

To anyone else, you might sound angry, but somewhere in the unspoken words, you and Jeonghan have already reconciled.

The weather is chilly and perfectly November-esque, and if not for the thick scarf around your neck you’d be shivering by now. Having Jeonghan by your side adds to the warmth spreading throughout your body, a little piece of happiness found in his company.

You’ve never needed to explain yourself to him. Somehow, whatever you’re feeling, whatever’s going on, he just knows, and it’s perfect. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Not much to your surprise, Jeonghan’s roommate is there when the two of you walk in, blankets piled over him as he hunches over his laptop.

“Hey, Josh,” you greet him. “Everything okay?”

“No,” he frowns, rubbing his eyes, “I may have procrastinated a little too hard on this paper and now it’s due in a couple of hours and I’m totally fucked.”

“This is why I told you to drop that philosophy class at the beginning of the semester,” Jeonghan says, pocketing his wallet. “You don’t even need to take it.”

“Just trying to knock off my humanities electives, but honestly, this one kind of backfired on me,” Joshua admits, defeated. “Where are you guys headed?”

Jeonghan points at you accusingly. “This one tricked me into buying her dinner earlier.”

“I did not!” you gasp. “You walked into that one, stop blaming me for the consequences of your actions! Also, I want ramen, which means we’re going off campus, so you’re driving.”

He narrows his eyes at you as he reaches for his car keys. “You are so evil.”

"Takes one to know one, Hannie."

What throws you off is the way Joshua’s eyes flit between the both of you as you bicker, the way he tells you to have fun in that singsong voice of his as you step back out into the cold, like he knows something you don’t.

You still remember the day you first met him, when Jeonghan left to go grab something after introducing the two of you, and the question that immediately followed.

“Are you guys together or something?”

And of course, Joshua meant no harm — nobody ever does, when they ask something like that. You and Jeonghan have been fielding questions like that since the start of your friendship. Everyone’s wanted to know exactly what it is that you are to each other, and the answer has always come without missing a beat.

Friends, you’ve always said.

Friends in the way that you can’t go anywhere alone in your hometown without being asked where the other one is, the way that your parents always set out an extra plate and ask if he’s joining for dinner as usual.

The right word for it would be ‘inseparable’. Sometimes, though, you wonder if that’s all that it is.

Like now, as you notice the cold has Jeonghan trembling next to you. His teeth are chattering, long lashes framing his eyes that are now narrowed in displeasure.

When you unravel your scarf from around your neck and reach to drape it around his, they go wide in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“You never wear enough layers, idiot.” You tuck the ends into his jacket and the way he’s staring at you steals the breath out of your lungs.

You can’t run from the fact; your best friend is undeniably attractive. It’s a simple truth, down to his soft but sharp features, the slope of his cheeks, and the hair that frames his face so perfectly. It’s dark out, but Jeonghan’s eyes are lit up like stars. You don’t even realize it until you start to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“Thanks,” he says with a faint smile. “What would I do without you?”

“Freeze, probably,” you reply flippantly, but you look away, unable to take the intensity of his gaze on you.

Just think about the way he looks at you, Y/N.

Was Yeonju right? You have no way of knowing, and you don’t want to tip the scales by bringing any of it up now.

“Alright, let’s go,” you say instead, tugging him along to the parking lot. “It’s late, I’m hungry, and you promised.”

“Why do you always seem so excited to drain my bank account?”

“It’s my favorite hobby,” you quip. “Shall we go?”

“We shall, m’lady,” he says as you get to his car, pulling open the door for you with a wink. Your cheeks burn as you get in, his defined features etched into your brain.

Yes, he’s your dearest, oldest friend, but Yoon Jeonghan has a certain way of making your head spin that throws that very title into question.

when half of me is gone, how can i live as one?

PRESENT DAY

It’s been exactly three days since Jeonghan called you, and you haven’t heard from him since then. You don’t know what you were expecting. Another call? A text?

No, it would be quite stupid to hope for such things after everything that’s happened.

It’s a quiet Monday night, and your brain decides to take an involuntary trip down memory lane. Ten years ago today, you’d probably be doing homework frantically, most definitely an assignment you’d put off until the night of. Ten years ago today, Jeonghan would be by your side.

Oh, how some things change over time.

After another hour of mindless TV and doing whatnot on your phone, your conscience finally wins the moral battle against your pride, and you scroll down through your call log again. Taking a deep breath, you decide to call him back before your brain can convince you otherwise.

All the words evaporate out of your mouth when he picks up on the first ring.

“Y/N?”

God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. Just the sound of your name from him is enough to make you tear up.

“... Jeonghan?”

Silence. After a few seconds your heart sinks, thinking maybe he’s hung up on you and gone radio silent yet again.

Then you hear it, just barely whispered into the phone: “I’ve missed you.”

Those words tug at your heart so badly you press your eyes closed to prevent your tears from welling up. “Jeonghan, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I haven’t heard from you in over a year,” you cut him off. “A year, Jeonghan. Do you really think you can just ‘I miss you’ your way back into my life whenever you want?”

“Don’t say that,” he implores. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. I mean it.”

“I’ve heard the exact same line from you so many times,” you tell him, the rest of your words dying in your throat.

You have many more things to say to him, so many unspoken feelings, but now doesn’t feel like the time. Instead, you swallow your anger like you’ve done every time he finds his way back into your life.

“How… how have you been?”

“I’m okay. I wrote a new song,” he says lightly. “Shows have been pretty alright, things are looking up… just the usual.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What about you?”

“I’m okay, too.” A blatant lie. “Jeonghan… why’d you call me on Friday?”

“Oh,” he starts, like he’s surprised you even asked. “Um, I’m actually in town for a bit, so… I was just wondering if you wanted to meet and catch up again. Y’know, like old times.”

It’s the flippant edge in his voice that stings more than anything else, as if he doesn’t care that your friendship hasn’t been the same for years. Do you mean that little to him now?

But, like always, you have a hard time saying no to Yoon Jeonghan.

“Okay,” you agree. “Just tell me where, I guess. And when.”

“Okay.”

It’s not for a few seconds that you realize your cheeks are wet. Jeonghan feels so far away now, the distance hurts like a piercing pain and you have to slap a hand over your mouth so he doesn’t hear you sob against your couch, the stoic wall you put up crumbling away with every passing moment.

“Y/N,” his voice is shaky now. “Y/N, please don’t cry.”

Feeling caught and cornered, your brain enters fight or flight mode, and promptly chooses the latter. “I’m not,” you blurt out, and immediately end the call, tossing your phone across the room so you aren’t tempted to call him again.

If time traveling was an option, you’d go back to a decade in the past without a question. For some reason it hurts more that after all this time, Yoon Jeonghan is still the one that knows you the best.

You wake up the next morning horribly late for work, with a blinding headache and a notification from Jeonghan on your phone.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: is tonight @ semicolon cafe ok with you? after you get off work?

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i won’t take up too much of ur time, i promise

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m so sorry y/n

you: its ok. that works, see u then

It’s well past nine o’clock when you finally enter the office. You almost make it to your desk unnoticed until your boss glances at you sneaking in.

“You’re very late,” Seungcheol observes, leaning back in his chair. His gaze is always stern, and today it makes you even more anxious than usual.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. “Things just… everything kind of worked against me today. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I believe you,” he says, casting another concerned look at you as you nearly drop your laptop going to your desk. “Is everything okay, Y/N? This really isn’t like you.”

“Yeah,” you lie through a tight smile. Damn Yoon Jeonghan and his stupid face for ruining your whole day. “Everything’s fine.”

Looking back, it’s quite impressive how you manage to keep your composure throughout your whole workday. You know you’ve accomplished a feat when even Junhui doesn’t really notice anything’s wrong.

Despite how oblivious he comes across at first, your colleague is easily one of the most perceptive people you’ve ever met, as you’ve learned in the past five years you’ve spent at this company.

“Long day?” Junhui swivels around in his chair as he catches you taking a break from your screen.

“Yeah,” you admit, glancing at the clock. Almost five. “Even longer when we get asked to fix all of the intern’s mistakes. How do you just forget to write a whole method?!”

“God, I hope Lee Chan never gets hired as a backend developer. Love the kid, but I’m not sure how he got through college with his code looking like this.”

“Hard agree.”

“Hey, do you have plans after? Me and the rest of the team are probably gonna get dinner together. None of the interns,” he clarifies with a grin. “We need some peace and quiet. I think Wonwoo’s genuinely at his final straw, he’s been downstairs with them all day.”

As tempting as that sounds �� Junhui has a knack for finding the best spots in Seoul — you have something more important on your plate for the day.

“Maybe next time,” you decline. “I have to meet someone after work.”

“Oh?” A sly grin spreads across his face. “Someone special?”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, face heating up.

“I never asked if it was, Y/N, you’re just outing yourself at this point.”

“It’s not!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teases, turning back around. “Keep me posted!”

You roll your eyes.

The end of the day couldn’t have come any slower. Usually, you’d get so engrossed in whatever you were working on that you’d end up staying late, but today you shock everyone by packing up when the clock hits five, bidding Junhui a good night as you almost run to leave the building.

(“Someone’s in a rush,” he remarks when you turn your computer off. “Don’t be late on a first date, it’s not very polite!”

“Fuck off,” you respond, when Seungcheol is safely out of earshot.)

The walk home almost freezes your fingertips, and you have to shove your hands deep into your pockets to keep them from going numb. You make a note to dress accordingly for the biting cold later.

At least the weather matches your mood today.

The idea of a hot shower turns out to be a little too inviting, though, because when you finally step out, hair wrapped in a towel, it’s 6:28, and you have a text from Jeonghan waiting to be opened.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m here, i snagged a table in the back

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, pulling on an old sweater and some jeans. You don’t have time to fully dry your hair, so you just run your round brush through it a couple of times, hope for the best, and throw it into a claw clip, praying it stays up.

You’re officially twenty minutes late when you finally get to the cafe — it’s not too far from your apartment, thankfully, but you still had to book it — and you approach Jeonghan slightly panting and out of breath.

(If Junhui was right and this was actually a date, you would be royally screwed.)

“Here, sit,” he pulls out your chair, a little alarmed by your flushed face. “Were you running?”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m late,” you answer, and then you look up at him and the air is knocked out of your lungs as if you weren’t already winded from getting there. He’s even more beautiful than the last time you saw him. “Wow, you…”

“I?”

You’re not even sure what the rest of that sentence was going to be, the words slipping out before you could even think about them. Snap out of it.

“Nothing,” you say quietly.

“How have you been?”

“You already asked me that.”

“I want to know more.” He’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize your features; it’s hard to ignore.

“I don’t have anything interesting going on,” you deflect. “Tell me about what’s going on with you. You said you wrote a new song?”

Jeonghan’s face lights up when you say it. “I did. I spent around nine months rewriting and perfecting it. It’s kind of like my child, in a way.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, a father. I never thought I’d see the day.”

He laughs, and it feels like a part of your old selves is back. “Want to listen?”

You nod, and he passes you an AirPod and his phone. “Imperfect Love,” you read out loud. “That’s deep.”

“It came from a pretty raw place,” he confesses. “Something that’s kind of been on my mind for a while.”

“Something or someone?”

Jeonghan’s face reflects something akin to panic. “What are you talking about?”

“This seems like a song about unrequited love,” you deadpan. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Well, it’s not,” he huffs. “Don’t assume things.”

“This is the kind of update I was waiting for. You didn’t tell me you’d found someone!”

“I didn’t!” he insists, concealing a smile. “Will you just stop asking questions and listen already?”

“Alright, Mr. Unlucky in Love,” you tease, securing the AirPod in your ear and pressing play.

The instrumentals are beautiful, and Jeonghan’s angelic voice fills your ears a few seconds later. You haven’t heard him sing in a long time, and you’d forgotten just how ethereal he sounds when he’s pouring his heart into the mic.

The sunlight that happily illuminates this dark world

Becomes a star when night comes

Come down to me

There are many, many things shining in this world

But among them, you’re the only one that’s precious to me

Jeonghan is watching you nervously, like he’s anxious for what you will say. You make the mistake of catching his eyes, because immediately you falter — they are gorgeous, he is gorgeous, and it feels like you lose time with every second you spend admiring him.

Even if I can’t be the perfect weather for you

Will you still love me like this?

It feels like a silent plea — you wonder what kinds of things have happened to him in the past year that you missed, all the things you don’t know about.

Together we become old and worn out

Even if you come to me, who’s useless

At the end of a shining day

I’m happy that it’s you every day

The song comes to an end, and you hand Jeonghan’s phone back to him. His eyebrows raise, like a question.

“Did you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him honestly. “I love it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m still convinced you have a secret crush that you’re not telling me about.”

“Oh, not with that again,” he grumbles, waving off your curious questions.

What you don’t tell him is that you’ve missed hearing him sing and watching him perform, that the look in his eyes when he’s doing what he loves most is something you adore. There are a lot of things like that you want to say to him, and as good as the both of you are at acting like nothing’s wrong, the situation feels awfully different this time.

“Hey.” Jeonghan has a glint in his eye, the one he usually has when he’s up to something. “Do you wanna leave and go get tteokbokki and fried dumplings at the night market stands instead?”

Your favorites, from when you were a broke college student and couldn’t afford anything nicer. How did he still remember that?

“Yeah,” you say, already grabbing your things and standing. “Let’s go.”

You had forgotten that it was cold as fuck outside.

You had also forgotten that the food stalls were in the opposite direction of your house, so now you’re stuck walking twice the distance in the freezing weather.

“Are you warm enough?” Jeonghan asks, a bit worried. Stop looking out for me, you want to scream at him. Stop caring. Stop making such a fool out of me.

“I am, but I know you’re not,” you scold instead. “I’ve been telling you for years to dress for the weather.”

“Eh, what’s a little bit of cold?” he jokes, but you catch him shivering violently out of the corner of your eye, and you can’t just watch as he suffers.

“Here.” You pull your scarf off of your neck and hold it out to him. “Wear it.”

“Are you su—”

“Wear it before I take it back.”

You wait until Jeonghan’s listened to you, the warm fabric wrapped around his neck. A part of you thinks you’ll always feel the urge to look after him.

Stop it.

“You still haven’t told me about yourself,” Jeonghan starts hesitantly. “I know I’ve probably missed a lot of things in the past few years.”

“Eight years,” you correct him. “We graduated and then you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear, things just got really hectic,” he tries to explain. “Like, all of a sudden everything was on my shoulders, and I had to spend all my time working towards what I wanted. That or it was all just gonna go to waste.”

“Right,” you leave it at that, not wanting to start an argument on the road. This always happens — you’ll run into Jeonghan somehow, you’ll somewhat reconcile, fight, make up, and then it’s radio silence from him again. A year after you graduated college, you stopped looking for news articles on him entirely, actively avoiding any headlines with his name in them. It hurt a little too much to bear. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

You suck in a breath at the quick response.

“Yeonju’s doing well,” you start, even though he probably knows that already. “She has a cat now, actually. She adopted him a couple of months ago.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“Mandu, because she says he’s round and fat like a dumpling.”

Jeonghan snorts. “That’s like when Josh told us his dog’s name was Bingsu.”

“Oh, I remember that,” you say, faintly reminded of his college roommate. “Um, there’s not much else, honestly. Junhui is still a major pain in my ass, that definitely hasn’t changed.”

“Your work friend, right? I thought you two got along pretty well?”

“Yeah, we do,” you admit. You don’t need to explain any further, because Jeonghan knows that your sarcastic remarks are reserved for those you cherish the most.

“It’s been a really long time since you introduced us,” he muses. “But I still remember him pretty clearly.”

He remembers you, too, you think to yourself, recounting all the times you’ve ranted to Junhui about all the times Jeonghan got on your very last nerve. Just not as fondly.

“Oh! Wonwoo actually joined the same company two years ago. I think I told you this already,” Jeonghan confirms with a nod, “But it’s really nice getting to see him again, I missed when we used to hang out in college.”

“Aw, that must be really nice.”

“And the three of us still work for Seungcheol,” you conclude.

“I remember him, too. The one with the huge ass biceps,” Jeonghan says, a bit miffed. “I don’t think he liked me very much.”

“He doesn’t like randoms coming in during work hours, which is what you did, Han.”

“Oh. Right.”

Despite his short response, you know Jeonghan is smiling to himself right now, and you kick yourself mentally for letting the decades-old nickname slip. The two of you may be on a truce right now, but that doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven him.

A few minutes later, the lanterns and lights of the night market come into view. A little piece of childhood memory burrows its way into your heart. The vendors and stalls may have changed, but you used to love visiting this street with Jeonghan when you were still students.

“I really feel so old right now,” Jeonghan remarks as he follows you through the narrow walkways. “I feel like the last time I’ve been here was when we were eighteen.”

“It probably was,” you say. “Oh! Tteokbokki!”

You don’t even realize the way you’re holding on to the sleeve of Jeonghan’s sweater as you pull him along with you in excitement. He doesn’t say anything, just chuckles to himself as he walks behind you.

“Two cups, please,” you request the vendor when you finally get to the cart, and reach for your wallet. Jeonghan stops you before you can get to your pocket.

“No way,” he says firmly. “This one’s on me.”

“Jeonghan.”

“That voice isn’t working on me this time.” He hands the vendor a couple of bills with a friendly smile. “Just let me buy dinner tonight.”

You cross your arms. “No.”

“Why not? You had no problem doing it back in college.”

“Don’t bring that up now,” you say sharply, stung by the familiar memory. Jeonghan senses the shift in your attitude and drops the subject immediately.

“Wait here,” he tells you. “I’ll be back in a second.”

What are you supposed to do with yourself? Oh, you’re a mess, you realize, the way your feelings haven’t been in check for the entire evening. You were supposed to be so calm and collected, and now you’re anything but.

“Here you go,” the vendor hands you two steaming cups of the spicy rice cakes. “One for you, one for your friend.”

“Thank you.”

The man nods towards Jeonghan, making his way back through the sea of people. “Never let go of someone who cherishes you that much,” he says offhandedly, stirring the tteok in the pot.

You just blink, confused. “What?”

Before the vendor can answer, Jeonghan’s already caught up to you again. “There was nobody in line for fried dumplings,” he tells you excitedly. “Here, have some.”

“Thanks,” you say as you exchange with him for the tteokbokki, ignoring the awkward encounter you’ve just had. “We should probably get out of the way and find somewhere to sit down.”

“Yeah, we should.”

There are a few benches at the corner of the street, and you pick the empty one under one of the streetlamps, a hazy yellow glow cast over it. Sitting down, you bite into the first dumpling, the flavor flooding into your mouth.

“Jeonghan.”

“Yes?”

“Is this shrimp?”

“Yes?” He looks adorably confused in the dim light. “You prefer seafood over pork, right?”

Your heart feels like it’s beating at double the pace. “I do,” you reassure him. “It’s really good. Thank you.”

“Try the tteokbokki, too, it’s just the right level of spicy.”

“I will.”

Just being there and enjoying the food in silence reminds you of how easy it is to just be around Jeonghan. There’s no pressure to break the quiet; it’s comforting and peaceful.

You watch him savor the tteokbokki sauce and smile to yourself when he winces slightly. He’s always had less of a spice tolerance than you.

“Jeonghan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to vanish on me again when you leave Seoul?”

The question stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t seem to have the words to answer, and the lack of a response makes your heart sink.

“Why are you thinking about that right now?” he says instead, chiding you gently. “Did you finish eating?”

The way you’re looking at him now, your eyes are imploring him. Please don’t make me empty promises again.

“It’s rude to answer a question with another question.”

Jeonghan rakes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I’ve never vanished, Y/N, it’s just hard for me to leave my work that often,” he insists, “and besides, you’ve got Junhui and Yeonju and Wonwoo to entertain you in the meantime —”

“None of them are you!” Several people passing by glance over at you, but you can’t help that your voice is rising when you feel the anger bubbling up. “You’re my best friend, Jeonghan, do you have any idea how hard it’s been doing life without you?”

“Y/N, we’re past our youth,” he tries reasoning with you. “We don’t have to be attached at the hip all the time.”

Every word he says is like a knife to your chest. “You shouldn’t have asked to meet up today, then.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jeonghan shuts his eyes, trying to think of the right words. “I just can’t be there for you all the time in the way that you want anymore. You’re stable, you have a solid job, but my livelihood depends on my music and whether people like me or not. That’s the harsh truth of it. And I’m not getting any younger, either.”

“I’m not asking you to be there for me all the time,” you snap. “All I ever wanted was the occasional message. A few updates. Whether you’re doing okay, how your life is going, things like that. Don’t give me bullshit excuses. I know you have thirty seconds to text me back letting me know that you’re alive.”

And stop playing with my heart, you want to add. Whether you’re aware of it or not.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan swears under his breath. “Y/N, let’s calm down and talk about this inside —”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Yoon Jeonghan.” Your fists are clenched right now. Jeonghan knows this about you; you don’t get angry quite often, but when you do, you are a force to be reckoned with. “It’s always a goddamn cycle with you. You show up, make all these promises, and then abandon me again. What am I supposed to do with that?”

You’re on the verge of tears, but you can’t cry in front of him. Anywhere but here.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he pleads with you. “I don’t know what more to say other than I’ve been trying my best, I really have been.”

You’re not having any of it. “Yeah, right,” you scoff, averting your eyes so you have time to blink the tears away.

“I mean it. I want to be there for you, but…” he trails off, voice shaky. “It’s just been so difficult.”

“Save it, Jeonghan.” You don’t think you can be here for a minute longer without totally breaking down. “I should really get going now.”

“Y/N, wait —”

“If you took the subway, there’s a station down that street if you keep walking for a few minutes.”

“Wait,” Jeonghan insists, standing. “Let me at least walk you home.”

“No need,” you retort, turning around and setting off towards your apartment. It’s even colder now that it’s completely dark out, and you start to regret your choice of coat as your teeth chatter quietly. All you can do is thug it out for the remaining three blocks to your apartment building.

The wind stings your eyes and you tear up anyway, despite your attempts to keep it down for now. Why did you think today was going to go any better than every other time this has happened?

Stupid. Your fault for thinking anything would have changed in eight years.

It’s not until you approach the entrance to your building that you hear the quiet shuffling of footsteps. You whirl around, ready to fight, but you stop short when you see Jeonghan standing several feet behind you.

“Just to make sure you got back okay,” he says quietly, walking over to you. You accept gingerly when he places your scarf back in your hands. “It’s late.”

You don’t even know how to feel; you’re too high-strung with too many lines of thought in your brain at the same time. “Thank you.”

“One more thing.” Jeonghan hands you a small plastic bag. You peer inside.

“What is this?”

“Tiramisu,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

“Oh,” you’re confused. “Why?”

It should make you even more furious that he has the audacity to give you a soft smile, but for some reason it doesn’t.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

The realization hits you belatedly — how did you manage to forget? — that you were so swamped with work commitments, it had totally slipped your mind today. (So that was why your phone had been constantly buzzing with notifications from Yeonju before you’d put it on silent.)

Jeonghan’s gesture, though, comes as a complete surprise, and it starts to dissipate the irritation from earlier.

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I never forgot.”

just friends, that's not enough for me

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Normally, you are not someone who is criminally inclined.

However, it’s currently five in the morning on a day where you don’t have class until noon, so whoever is calling you at this time is most definitely going to end up six feet under.

You answer without checking who it is first, eyes still closed. “Hello?”

“Happy birthday!”

“Huh?” You lift your head just to be sure you heard correctly. “Yoon Jeonghan, it’s five a.m!”

“I know!”

“Why are you awake?”

“To tell you happy birthday?”

“Thank you, but cut the crap,” you tell him.

“I pulled an all-nighter to finish a project,” he admits. “Worth it, though. I’m the first person who told you, right?”

“You keep forgetting I live with Yeonju,” you point out, glancing over at your sleeping roommate.

“Damn it, Choi Yeonju!”

You grimace at his loud exclamation. “Jeonghan?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and let me go back to sleep.”

“Okay, but I’m waking you up at ten so you don’t skip your linear algebra class.”

“That class is at noon!”

“Yeah, and you take centuries to get ready, dumbass.”

When ten o’clock does roll around, you’re wide awake already. Yeonju is still fast asleep, so you try to get ready for class as quietly as possible.

jeonghan: i’m outside ur building

jeonghan: hurry up i’m hungry

you: ??? when u said u were gonna wake me up i thought u meant u would call

jeonghan: uhh surprise?

“Are you serious,” you mutter under your breath, haphazardly throwing an outfit on and rushing downstairs. Quickly, you press your key card against the reader and push the door open to the sight of Jeonghan leaning against the side wall.

“How long were you waiting?”

“Long enough. God, you really take forever, but I guess you get a pass because it’s your birthday,” he says begrudgingly, gesturing for you to walk with him.

The weather is quite bleak, but the slight smile on Jeonghan’s face is enough to chase the dreary atmosphere away, like your very own sun.

“Did you sleep at all?” you question, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“I tried, but by the time I finished the project it was already seven and Joshua was up, so I just didn’t bother. That guy’s a freak, I’m telling you. I don’t know anybody else who wakes up that early just to go to the gym.”

“Well, you don’t go at all. Maybe that’s why he has those nice muscles and you don’t.”

Jeonghan’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Are you kidding? Is this why you keep coming over? To ogle Joshua Hong’s arms?”

“Yeah, cause Joshua Hong is my best friend,” you deadpan. “Is it such a crime to just appreciate a nice set of muscles?”

“Okay, okay, stop talking about Josh when you’re with me and get in the car,” he urges, fishing out his keys. “Or we’ll be late and you won’t make it to that class.”

“I don’t even go half the time,” you point out. “And you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“What I can do is promise you will be happy and fed by approximately half past eleven.” Jeonghan starts the car, adjusting his mirrors. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Deal.”

It strikes you then, beneath the dim sunshine, how good he looks when he’s driving. His eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on the road, humming along to the song playing through Bluetooth. For all the jokes you throw at him for never being seen at the gym, his arms are quite toned, subtly flexed as he makes a turn with one hand on the wheel.

God, you are so done for.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan pulls into a relatively empty lot. The building is quite unassuming, but you recognize this cafe as the one you frequent during exam season for your coffee fix.

“I love this place!” you exclaim, beaming at him. “How did you know?”

“‘Cause you never shut up about it,” he quips back, grinning.. “Stay here, I’ll just be a minute.”

You hum quietly to yourself as you wait for him to come back, content where you are. There couldn’t have been a better start to your day, aside from Jeonghan’s early morning call, and you think you’d be happy to spend the day just like this, peacefully with him and your closest friends.

In truth, you aren’t really sure how to navigate things with Jeonghan at the moment. Your relationship has always been labeled as strictly platonic, but lately there have been things that make you want to think otherwise. A few stolen glances, the way he looks out for you a little extra… you think you’re going insane.

That, and the way your heart has been reacting when you make eye contact with him lately has been a bit unsettling.

(“Don’t be so delusional,” Yeonju had told you a week ago. “You have a lot to lose here if anything happens. Plus, it’s Yoon Jeonghan, everyone thinks he’s flirting with them.”

“Yeah,” you’d replied flatly. “You’re right.”)

But maybe you’re allowed to be a little selfish. Maybe those sunlit smiles and most vulnerable moments are memories reserved just for you.

The car door opens again, and Jeonghan pokes his head in, handing you a plastic bag as he gets in.

“Sustenance,” is all he says. “Eat before you go to class or I’ll have to deal with your hangry whining after.”

His words sound annoyed, but his tone is soft with you, like it usually is. You flash him a grateful smile before pulling the boxes out.

“What’s this?”

“Avocado toast, but yours has egg on it.” He wrinkles his nose with displeasure at the combination. “Plus a little sweet treat for your caffeine addiction.”

“This is beautiful,” you hold up the tiramisu box. “The caffeine is speaking to me, Hannie. We are one and the same.”

“One would think you’re on drugs.”

“One would think living with a chemistry major would teach you that caffeine is a drug,” you tease, sinking your teeth into the golden toast. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you were until now — maybe you shouldn’t have skipped dinner last night. “Wow, this is good.”

“It is,” Jeonghan agrees, “but I’ll stick with no eggs for now.”

“You’re just ignorant and have bad taste.”

“Again, free pass only because it’s your birthday.” Jeonghan waits for you to swallow, then asks, “So, does twenty-one feel any different?”

“Nope,” you say decidedly. “Why would it? The only thing that’s changed is that drinking is legal now.”

“Oh, and you can gamble.”

“Right, but I don’t have enough savings to do that.”

Jeonghan laughs to himself at a stray memory. “Remember when I turned twenty-one? I’ve never had a night more disastrous than that one.”

“I do remember! Anyone would assume you were a raging alcoholic,” you snicker. “Even Soonyoung felt the need to sober up and help me get you back to your place. Do you know how impossible that is for him?”

Jeonghan looks like he’s questioning his whole life. “Yeah, that is pretty bad,” he admits. “Good thing it hasn’t happened since and I’m a responsible alcohol enjoyer now.”

“You drank a whole bottle of soju before your exam last week because you ‘needed to pregame’ or you’d fail it.”

“... Right.”

The two of you eat in silence, careful not to drop crumbs in his car, enjoying the midday quiet with each other’s company and nothing else. It’s moments like these with him that you cherish the most.

Yeonju’s Don’t be so delusional echoes in your head, like a silent rebuke.

“Hey, we should start heading back,” Jeonghan says, glancing at the time. “Let this be the day that Y/N graces the lecture hall with her presence.”

You groan, not wanting to spend another hour and a half trying not to doze off listening to who is possibly the most boring professor at your entire university. Jeonghan pats your back empathetically.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you, “Just think about how you’ll feel later when it’s all over and done with.”

“I’ll feel like it was a huge waste of time and I could have just asked Wonwoo to catch me up,” you grumble.

Jeonghan’s smile falters a little bit at the mention of your classmate, one of Soonyoung’s friends and therefore a part of the friend group. You still can’t figure out why Jeonghan isn’t too fond of him, but you just assume they haven’t had the opportunity to connect as much and brush it off.

“He got me through data structures last semester,” you offer, trying to defend your point. “Or I’d probably have failed.”

“Right, I remember,” Jeonghan says absentmindedly. You don’t say anything more until you’re back on campus again, picking up on his sensitive mood. When you start making your way to your lecture hall, he follows you, and you let him.

“I’ll walk you to class, I have to print something out at the student center, anyways,” he explains, bag on one shoulder. “Also, you left this in the car. Eat it after class, or whenever.”

You take the plastic bag he hands you, the faint scent of coffee filling your nose. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan fills your ears with silly stories about his friends over the short walk and you listen carefully, always happy to hear about the boys. It’s been a while since you’ve seen them anyways; you’ve been swamped with work, and time that all of you have free together is quite rare.

“I should go in now,” you tell him when you reach the hall. You wish you didn’t have to be here, but you might as well, and Jeonghan can easily read the annoyance written on your face. He pats your shoulder gently.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “Come over later so we can all eat cake and listen to you rant about your god-awful professor.”

“Okay.”

“And so you can get an eyeful of Joshua’s arms, you freaking pervert.”

You gasp. “Am not!” you screech, punching his arm.

“Ow!”

“Take it back!”

“Not afraid to speak my truth,” Jeonghan says instead, feigning injury. “This is literally abuse.”

You roll your eyes. “Get out.”

“Go in.”

“Fine,” you huff, pulling open the double doors, but you look back over your shoulder before you let them close behind you. “See you later?”

Jeonghan nods, a twinkle in his eye.

(You won’t know it now, but this is the look on his face that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.)

“See you later.”

Choi Yeonju is, you discover, the lightweight of all lightweights.

That title had belonged to Soonyoung up until now, but tonight even he’s watching her in disbelief from where he’s perched on Joshua and Jeonghan’s couch.

“I only gave her a shot,” he promises you, eyes big and pleading. “I swear on my life.”

“I know,” you sigh, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her away from the wall she’s about to faceplant into. “It’s okay, I’ve got an eye on her.”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung offers sheepishly. “I know you were planning on getting wasted tonight.”

You were not, in fact, planning on that at all. “Who told you that?”

“Jeonghan?”

“That evil bastard.”

The evil bastard in question is currently deeply immersed in a card game with a couple of others at the small kitchen table. The subtle flush on his face tells you he’s a couple of drinks in, and if you squint enough, you can see the silhouette of cards hidden in the sleeve of his jacket. Typical.

“Y/N!” Yeonju taps your shoulder urgently. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

She grins. “I wanna go to the bathroom.”

“Alright, come on. You gotta stand up,” you inform her gently when she doesn’t budge from her spot on the sofa.

“Comfy,” is all she says, mumbling into the furniture.

“Do you still need to go to the bathroom?”

“No.”

Soonyoung just looks at you in total confusion and shrugs.

“Nothing to do about it until she asks again,” he says before sinking into the couch beside her. He still looks relatively sober — sober enough to handle the situation if Yeonju decides to walk into a wall again — so you tell him you’ll be right back and decide to check in on the game going on.

You walk in on a crime scene.

“You!” Seungkwan throws an accusing finger at Jeonghan, who you can tell is playing innocent through his surprised expression. “You rigged the game!”

“I didn’t do anything! I won fair and square!”

“Count the cards,” Seungkwan tells Wonwoo vengefully. “There won’t be fifty-two, I’m telling you!”

Jeonghan stands suddenly, laying his hand on the table. Everyone else is too busy yelling amongst themselves, and Wonwoo seems to be content with watching them argue, but you catch the way Jeonghan slips the cards in his sleeve into the pile unassumingly.

“Excuse me, boys,” he says smugly, “but I’m going to go on a little victory walk. Don’t mind me, enjoy!”

Seungkwan grumbles, but lets him go in favor of helping Seokmin back into the chair he’s just fallen off of. In the meantime, Jeonghan sidles up to you, faintly smelling of tequila.

“You seem very sober,” he observes.

“I am,” you laugh. “Not entirely, but sober enough to notice the cards you stashed during the game.”

Jeonghan’s face morphs into one of surprise, then mirth. “Shh,” he winks, placing a finger on your lips. That alone short-circuits your brain, so you nearly miss his next words. “It can be our little secret.”

“Oh, you are tipsy tipsy,” you murmur, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re up for that victory walk you were talking about.”

“I am! I’m so up for it,” he announces, tucking his arm in yours. “Let’s go take a walk outside.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“What’s four plus four?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ninety-two,” he says sarcastically. “Please, I’m not a lightweight like the rest of our friends.”

You cast a glance at the couch; Soonyoung has been roped into listening into whatever story Yeonju’s telling him very animatedly, sitting attentively with his back unnaturally straight. He looks a little scared of her energetic narration, which is a first for someone like him.

They should be fine, right? You don’t plan on being gone for long — usually you wouldn’t think twice about leaving Soonyoung and Yeonju together, but in their current state you’re not sure how chaotic they’ll get.

“They’ll be fine.” Jeonghan mirrors your thoughts as if he’s read your mind. His voice feels a little too close, like his lips are right by your ear. Too close, too close — you’re faintly aware of your breathing accelerating, heart running on sheer adrenaline.

By the time you snap out of it, he’s already at the door, turning to find you when he realizes you’re not next to him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” is all you can manage before you grab your coat off the hook and follow him out the door. A part of you wishes Yeonju was sober so she could slap the delusion out of you.

Jeonghan opts for the stairs — “We’re only on the second floor!” — and is waiting patiently at the main door for you. The smile he greets you with is blinding, and his eyes crinkle a little more when you return it.

“Did you bring your keys?”

“Right here.” Jeonghan pats his pocket reassuringly and pulls the door open. “After you, m’lady.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you laugh, reveling in the moment.

It’s windy outside, and you glance over at Jeonghan, satisfied to see that he’s dressed warmly for once. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and for a man his size, his thick sweater is draped over his body in a way that makes him look a little smaller. It’s adorable, and it just makes you want to reach over and squish his cheeks.

“You’re awfully quiet for a man who just won a game against Boo Seungkwan,” you tease gently. Jeonghan chuckles, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Nothing new,” he says. “Seungkwan just has bad strategy and won’t admit it.”

“Or you just enjoy cheating a little too much.”

He gives you a knowing smile. “Touché.”

You’re not exactly sure where you’re going; you don’t think Jeonghan does, either, but the two of you fall in step together perfectly on the sidewalk. It’s not too late yet, maybe nine or ten, and the streets are relatively crowded, as expected for a college city.

“Do you think we’ll be really different when we’re thirty?”

You look at Jeonghan, a bit surprised at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Like, we’re twenty-one now,” he explains, “Remember when we were sixteen? We had so many ideas about what we were gonna be, and we’re already there. Five years passed so quickly.”

You nod, reminiscent of your childhood days. “We’re gonna hit thirty before we know it.”

“Do you think I’ll be bald by thirty?”

“If you are, I’ll take lots of pictures of you and your shiny head,” you joke. “For memories.”

“Noo, not my hair,” Jeonghan laments theatrically. “My gorgeous, gorgeous hair.”

You can’t even counter that, because it’s true: Jeonghan must have won the gene pool because his hair has always been soft and silky. It’s longer now than it used to be, curling a little bit just under his ears and brushing the back of his neck.

“Soonyoung’s been campaigning for you to go platinum blond,” you inform him. “He keeps saying if you do it, he’ll dye his whole head bright yellow.”

“Highlighter Soonyoung is really not something I want to see.”

The more the wind picks up, the tighter Jeonghan has his arm looped around yours. His lips are pursed, like he’s preoccupied with something else.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Are we still gonna be friends when we’re thirty years old?”

The subtle, vulnerable tone in his voice surprises you a little bit. Drunk words are sober thoughts, you suppose.

You try to cheer him up, saying, “Why, did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

“No,” he shakes his head firmly. “Everything is so much easier with you.”

Don’t be delusional, don’t be delusional, is the mantra in your head as you attempt to ignore your rapid heartbeat. The truth is that you agree — the way Jeonghan just gets you makes things so uncomplicated and free.

It’s been this way since middle school, when twelve-year-old you found home in the boy who always helped you sneak snacks from your desk during class when the teacher wasn’t watching.

Jeonghan has always been the first person you think of in a sticky situation; he’s always been reliable, above all, because he knows you would do the same for him without even needing to think about it. He’s been by your side for so long, you can’t even picture what a life without him would look like now.

Your next words would never see the light of day had Jeonghan been sober, but you suppose you can get away with erring on the side of honesty.

“Me too,” you tell him quietly, holding onto him just a little bit tighter. “I like life a little better when it’s with you.”

because i love you, because saying i love you isn't enough

PRESENT DAY

The office is quiet when it’s late at night; there aren’t many people who enjoy staying past their stated hours, but you figure it can’t hurt to finish some additional tasks when you don’t really have much to go home to. You can’t remember the last time you had a day to yourself without worrying about deadlines; the lines of code haunt you in your sleep and fill every waking hour. Every night spent working overtime is a testament to your determination, though it crumbles it a little each time.

Today, though, you’re joined by Junhui and Wonwoo, the three of you working under the dim light. The rest of your team packed up and left hours ago, so it’s just you on this floor of the building.

“I feel like my eyes are melting in their sockets,” Junhui complains, stretching for the first time in what you think is a solid eight hours. “I don’t know how Wonwoo does it.”

“He’s a machine,” you joke. He’s got headphones on, most probably noise canceling, so you know he can’t hear you two. (Or he’s choosing not to.) “I just don’t want to go home with this stuff unfinished because I know I won’t stop thinking about it all night.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pulled an all-nighter in the office.”

“Unfortunately.”

Junhui frowns. “You need to take time for yourself,” he expresses. You let him lecture you, even though he’s younger. “Do stuff that you enjoy that doesn’t involve writing code. You know, enrich your personal life.”

“Maybe,” you sigh, putting your head in your hands. “There’s barely any time as of now.”

“Speaking of personal lives, I still can’t believe you won’t tell me about your date,” he sulks. “You’ve always come back with stories about your dates.”

“There haven’t even been that many,” you say at the same time Wonwoo turns around with his headphones off of one ear, asking, “Date? Really?”

You give the man a look. “You didn’t hear us say your name, but that was what caught your attention?”

“Well, Jun’s always talking, but the last time you went on a date was two years ago, so this is news to me.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Junhui reasons. “Everyone has bad dates. It’s a universal experience.”

“Okay, first of all, it was not a date,” you clarify. “I just met up with a friend from college.”

This piques Wonwoo’s interest. “Wait, really? Who?”

“Right, I keep forgetting you guys went to college together,” Junhui mutters under his breath.

“Did you see Yeonju again?”

“It was nobody,” you lie through your teeth, kicking yourself internally for your choice of words. As much as both men know about your ongoing tug-of-war situation with Jeonghan, you don’t really want to bring it up in conversation, and definitely not now of all times. “It went fine, just some catching up.”

“So it wasn’t a date?”

“You really need to stop believing everything Junhui tells you without fact checking it first.”

“Damn,” he says. “And we thought you were finally getting some action.”

“Wonwoo!”

The conversation is interrupted by the low rumble of your stomach in the few seconds of silence that pass afterwards. Both men turn to look at you expectantly.

“I haven’t eaten all day,” you admit, a little embarrassed. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll order takeout,” Wonwoo volunteers, already reaching for his phone. “Is kimchi fried rice okay with you guys?”

“Fine by me.”

“With pork?” Junhui asks hopefully.

“Done.”

The three of you promptly get back to work, aiming to maximize the amount of work you get done before the food arrives and you inevitably break focus. By the time the delivery notification goes off on Wonwoo’s phone, you’ve knocked off about three quarters of your to-do list for the day.

Good enough, you reassure yourself, pulling the sticky note off of your desk and flicking it into the trash can.

Junhui eats in a record time of ten minutes — you swear you’ve never seen him scarf down food this fast before — and starts packing up at his desk, dropping off a couple of notes on Seungcheol’s desk for tomorrow morning’s meeting.

“My girlfriend is going to be so upset if I’m not home soon,” he says ruefully, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Take care, guys! And thanks for dinner, Wonwoo, I owe you one.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

You and Wonwoo finish not too long after, and you take your time cleaning up the place, making sure everything is thrown away and in its place.

“Are you ready to lock up and go?”

“Yeah, let’s head out.”

It’s not until you’re in the elevator, heading to the parking garage, that Wonwoo speaks up again. A little hesitantly at first, but the concern in his tone is still evident.

“Hey, has everything been good with you lately?”

“Hm?” You look at him curiously, wondering what it was that made him ask. “Yeah, why?”

He shrugs, looking down at you through thick-rimmed glasses. “Just haven’t checked in with you in a bit. Seungcheol’s needed me all over the place lately, so it’s been a while since I caught up with you guys.”

“Right, you’ve been in back to back meetings with the design team,” you muse. “Seolhwa was talking about how chaotic it’s been in the restroom earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty tough.”

The elevator opens with a ding! and you follow him out, fishing for your keys that are probably somewhere in one of your pockets.

“I parked a little far,” you tell him, “so I’ll get going now. But I’ll see you at tomorrow’s meeting, right?”

Wonwoo just looks at you gently, like he’s seeing right through you.

“Jeonghan’s the one you met up with, isn’t he?”

You freeze. “What?”

“I had a feeling, but it was a little more obvious when you started getting defensive,” he chuckles. “Plus, I think you forget I’ve known you for nearly a decade now.”

You allow yourself to breathe, relaxing the taut muscles in your neck. “I didn’t want to make it awkward,” you admit. “I know you said you guys still keep in touch sometimes. I don’t want to make it weird.”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “Just for birthdays and things like that. We weren’t really that close in college, either.”

Not really knowing what to say, you stay silent, eyes glued to the ground. He seems to sense this and drops the matter, reaching over to pat your shoulder.

“I won’t pry,” he says lightly, “But if you ever want to talk about it, just know you can always call up an old friend.”

You smile. “Thanks, Wonwoo.”

“Take care, Y/N. Get home safe.”

The drive home is numbing. The playlist you have on dulls into background noise as you focus on the road, fighting the urge to yawn. It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night, and all you want is to be back in your bed.

At the back of your mind, all you can think about is the text you woke up to this morning.

yoon jeonghan: hey, i just wanted to tell you tomorrow is my last day in seoul

yoon jeonghan: i don’t know if you want to see me or not, but i’ll be at semicolon cafe working for most of the day. pls drop by if you have some free time. i really miss you.

So typical of him, to leave it up to you to go find him. And yet, you would — if it came down to it, you would go to the ends of the earth if he asked you to.

Yeonju would be furious if you told her you were even considering it, you scold yourself. After all, she’d only told you to speak to him once for your own peace of mind. Last week should have given you all the closure you needed.

Still, your conscience is swayed at the idea of being able to see him again.

You shake the thoughts out of your head, as if the subtle action could erase the pain and longing you’ve felt for the past eight years.

The traffic light turns green. You step on the gas and don’t look back.

even if i can't be the perfect weather for you, will you still love me like this?

SIX YEARS AGO

Jeonghan has been in the studio for hours.

Nothing seems to sound right, and the frustration makes him want to pull his hair out. He can’t even remember the last time he got out of the chair, but he doesn’t want to lose even a little bit of whatever workflow he’s managed to maintain while he’s been in here.

Occasionally, when the weather is just a little dull and time seems to tick by too slowly, he wonders if he made the right choice. Maybe he should have stuck with his career, actually put his degree to use, instead of setting it aside in the name of passion.

He’s vocalized these thoughts to his manager many times, and Jihoon is awfully good at raising his spirits, but the self doubt seeping into his soul is very hard to ignore.

Reluctantly, he presses the play button again, whatever he’s conjured up in the last couple of hours playing in his headphones again. It doesn’t sound any better this time.

Yes, he could swallow his pride and ask Jihoon for help, but after a year and a half of unsuccessful ventures in the music industry, he wants to be able to do something on his own.

Prove himself; to Jihoon, the world, and you.

Jeonghan will never forget your only words to him when he’d first revealed his plan to switch career paths, just a month or two before graduation.

(“I always believe in you,” you’d said, following it up with a comforting hug.

“Always?”

“Always.”)

And when you said that with such conviction, placing all of that trust and belief in his hands, he knew there was no way he could turn back on what he’d set his sights on. In truth, on days where things just seem so bleak, you are his strength, and he wishes he could tell you that.

But when your name comes through on his phone, he falters.

What is he supposed to say? All he can give is excuses, that nothing’s really worked, nothing has panned out in his favor yet. As it is, the two of you haven’t spoken that much since graduating, both of you occupied with your own goals and careers, and at times like these he feels your absence a little extra.

Is this what it means to grow up and grow apart?

For now, he ignores the buzzing, telling himself he’ll come back when he’s snagged his first real achievement. You’ll be proud of him, and he’ll finally make something of himself.

Jihoon walks into the room, closing the door quietly, right when he’s about to listen to the track for maybe the hundredth time.

“Oh, hey.” Jeonghan can hear the exhaustion in his own voice. “What’s up?”

“Wondering when the last time you slept was.” Jihoon sinks into the chair beside him, trying to lighten the mood. “You look like a zombie.”

“Yeah, I feel like one.”

“You need to spend less time in here,” Jihoon advises gently. “Or you’re going to lose your mind. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I just can’t figure out what it is I’m missing,” Jeonghan sighs, evidently frustrated. “It’s like, almost there, but not really. It’s been killing me for days.”

“You know, these things do take time.”

“Or maybe I’m just not cut out for this and I should just go work for a news channel instead.”

Jihoon watches him carefully, picking up on his slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “And then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you held on just a little bit longer. Do you really want that?”

Jeonghan doesn’t really know what else to say. He’s been hearing the same things from everyone around him — his parents, his sister; everyone talks of a future where he’s already succeeded, but that isn’t set in stone. Nothing is promised, he knows.

“I need a miracle,” he mumbles instead.

“You need to eat,” Jihoon corrects. “I just placed an order for dinner, and I know you like sundubu-jjigae, so you have no excuse to bail on me this time.”

Jeonghan considers this for a moment, then gives in. “Fine,” he says, “but I can’t stay too long.”

“Good.” Jihoon rises, and then places a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.”

“Thank you.”

He’s alone again, when the door closes behind the shorter man. It’s something he’s had to get used to; he’s learned to rely on himself over the past year or so, but when the reality of loneliness sinks in, it breaks his heart just a little.

Even more so knowing that it’s his fault that he’s pushed everyone away, including you.

Your name is still burned into Jeonghan’s brain, and his fingers itch to respond, but he ignores the urge. His phone is left forgotten as he slips his headphones on again, tinkering with the unfinished track.

And the thought of you dissolves into the music.

we used to be best friends, i remember you said you can be yourself when i'm around

PRESENT DAY

Today is the day that Choi Seungcheol learns that you are full of surprises.

In all your five years of working for him, he’s never once had you call in sick for work or ask for a day off. You’ve always been hard-working, maybe too much at times, but he sounds like he definitely didn’t anticipate this.

“Oh,” is all he says when you request the morning off. “Yeah, sure. Are you feeling alright?”

“Not really, but I will be before the client meeting at three, so I’ll be present for that.”

“Oh, all right. We’ll see you then.”

“See you.”

It weighs on your conscience that the first time you request time off also happens to be the first time you blatantly lie to your boss, but you’ve already deliberated this enough with Yeonju over call last night.

(“I’ve been such an honest worker,” you said dramatically, “and now I’m running all that to the ground.”

“Don’t be so theatrical. Choi Seungcheol can afford to give you half a day of paid leave.”)

Now that you’ve settled that, you grab your heavy winter coat, setting out into the morning cold. Damn Yoon Jeonghan for making you move your whole day around for him. You had predicted correctly that Yeonju would berate you for it — you sat through a lecture over the phone last night — but that hadn’t deterred your resolve to see him again.

Who knows? His behavior is so erratic that even you, who knew him like the back of your hand at one point, can’t predict him anymore. Today could very well be the last time you see him for another few years until he decides he has the time for you again.

Whatever, you huff to yourself as you walk briskly, knowing that as upset as you get, the soft spot you harbor for him will never go away.

You had worried that it would be a little too early, since it’s only eight in the morning, but you have no problem finding Jeonghan in the sea of caffeine-deprived corporate workers getting their fix in the small establishment. He’s engrossed in his laptop, and he doesn’t realize you’re there until you take the seat across from him, waiting for him to look up.

“Oh,” is all he says, pushing his screen down. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I didn’t think I would, either.”

Jeonghan gives you a sorrowful look, hair fluffy like a halo around his face. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“Jeonghan —”

“I’m juggling so many things at once,” he says quietly. “And I never wanted you to think any less of me. I wanted you to be proud of me..”

“I was. I still am.”

“But I still haven’t done anything.” He sounds more agitated as he speaks. “I haven’t gotten anywhere, I’ve barely made a name for myself. Nothing I do is paying off.”

“You’re trying, though,” you tell him. It saddens you to see him like this. It’s not often that Jeonghan talks about how he feels, especially not now that you’ve grown so distant. “And you don’t have to go off and accomplish great things for me to be proud of you. I already am.”

He’s quiet, like he’s dwelling on something.

“I’m sorry,” he says a few seconds later. “It’s just all been such a mess.”

“That’s okay.”

In the silence between those two words are many more that don’t need to be spoken for him to understand. You’re doing okay. Everything will turn out okay.

“I wish things could go back to the way they were,” he says again, eyes a little shiny when he looks back at you.

Nostalgia fills your brain, all of those treasured memories with him resting in a well-lit corner of your heart.

“You know, it really hurts, Han, to keep doing this push and pull with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Don’t apologize,” he laughs wistfully, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I never meant to hurt you, Y/N, honestly. And I’m really trying to be better about it. Things are looking up now, I think. It’s getting a little easier than before.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I knew you could do it.”

“How…” Jeonghan starts tentatively. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m not sure,” you reply, fidgeting with one of your bracelets. “Not too long.”

“Are you going to have something to eat?” An olive branch.

“I have food I meal-prepped at home.” A subtle denial.

The silence is loud. You try to think of something, anything to say to fill it, but you come up blank. There’s not much else to be said in the fraught air between the two of you. Not now, anyways.

“I’m sorry, I should let you get back to work,” you say suddenly, eyes landing on his half shut laptop. “I didn’t mean to take time out of your day.”

“That’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m really glad I got to see you.”

“Have a safe trip to… wherever you’re going.”

He chuckles. “Just Jeju, but thank you.”

Before you leave, you reach for the scarf loosely wrapped around your neck — your favorite one you’ve had since college, the plaid cream-colored one — and you set it down on the table. He just looks at you questioningly.

“Why…?”

“It’s cold,” you say with a faint smile. “You haven’t changed, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Thank you.”

You take the time to memorize him — the curve of his face, the soft look in his eyes, the one reserved for you and the ones he holds close. If you could etch his features in your brain here and now, you would.

“Well,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Don’t be a stranger, Han. The next time I see your name, it better be a call from you instead of another news headline.”

Jeonghan nods, eyes forming crescents. “I’ll do my best.”

And there is something to be said about the love in looking back, for sure, but there is also love in not looking back, in choosing to keep your eyes trained on the path before you. There is love in knowing your weaknesses, that if you turn around you might not be able to walk away after all.

You don’t release the breath you’re holding until you walk out the door. It’s raining, you realize with a start, the previously clear sky clouded over. It seems that your overcast heart has been mirrored by the earth.

The rhythmic droplets provide a strange sense of comfort as you let yourself get soaked, for lack of an umbrella. It works in your favor, anyway, because nobody will assume anything’s amiss if your face is already drenched.

Pit, pat. The smell of wet soil rises in your nostrils, and you let the tears fall.

no matter where i am in the world, i'll say it's you

FOUR YEARS LATER

The lights are blinding, and the sounds of the camera shutters are incessant. But this is the life Jeonghan has always dreamed of, so he doesn’t dare complain.

In truth, he doesn’t care for a lot of the interviews he’s been asked to do — he can’t be bothered by the mundane, mind-numbing questions he gets asked over and over again. Nothing ticks him off like the insensitive digs into his personal life they always ask him, searching for information he doesn’t wish to disclose.

But he does it, anyway, because what choice does he really have? It’s good for your image, Jihoon always tells him, adding another event to his schedule. It’s for your public platform.

“So, you’ve come out with another hit single,” the interviewer starts, beaming at him. His teeth are so artificially white, they seem to reflect the bright studio lights. “How does it feel to accomplish such a success yet again?”

“It’s really great,” Jeonghan answers honestly. “I’m very grateful to my manager, producer, and my beloved family. And, of course, all of the wonderful fans. I couldn’t have done any of this without them.”

“A touching answer as always, Jeonghan-ssi.” The man flashes a smile at the cameras. “Your new single To You was really well received by fans, especially for its fresh and passionate take on what it feels like to be in love.”

The blazer feels stiff now, under the heat of the lights. Jeonghan tries not to dwell too deeply on the true inspiration for the song he’d written late at night a couple years ago, overcome by his own heart.

“I’m really glad that everyone’s been enjoying it so much. That really was the intention,” he says, “to have a song that makes you feel like you’re floating.”

“And it does!” the interviewer laughs. “A lot of viewers really appreciated the sincerity of feelings that was conveyed through the song. Which raised the question; have you ever been in love before?”

Something akin to a late realization suddenly hits Jeonghan right there in the hot seat, under all those lights and cameras. His hand comes up to toy with the end of the scarf he’s wearing, a keepsake of treasured memories.

“Maybe,” he says with a wistful smile.

Wherever you are in the world right now, there’s a small part of him that dares to hope you’re watching.

“Maybe I have.”

thank you for reading! if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear it :) much love, ashi xx

#jeonghan x reader #svt #seventeen #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt one shot #svt fics #svt jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #jeonghan friends to lovers #jeonghan one shot #jeonghan fics #kpop fanfic

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snailpebbles · 24 hours ago

Note

your fic about Chishiya was so good I feel like you captured his character perfectly 😩 will you write more about him? I can barely find any good writings about him and yours is truly so perfect 😔💓

Patchwork Love

pairing: Chishiya Shuntaro x gn!reader

summary: after being injured in a game, Chishiya drags you off and is somehow more silent than usual. What's his problem?

tags: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, they're both so stupid

warnings: descriptions of injuries including blood, non-sexual unwanted touch, emotional constipation, Chishiya cries lmao

a/n: hope you enjoy :) my writing is rusty lol but I love this trope

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Everything was going fine at first; you were on your own in a level three spades game, lightwork! It was a construction zone with many metal rails and walkways, and multiple wide pipes at the very top. The objective was simple - get to the top before the time runs out. At first it was that simple, that is until the freezing cold water began to pour in randomized sections. A game of strength and luck it seems. There were others from the Beach with you, so of course you figured you'd just team up and make sure no one slips. Wrong! To save their own asses just as the four of you were getting towards the top, they used your body as an easier to grip ladder. Not only did you feel violated, you also felt icy cold fear mixing with white hot rage. What the fuck? You pulled those three up so many times at the risk of drowning and for what?

The water pours down on you as they cheer from the top with just two minutes left, freezing and blinding you as you struggle to actually breathe. Two hands on one thin bar that's already trembling under your suspended weight. Fuck. Everything felt like a blur as you hauled your leg over another bar, using all your strength to not drown from the water rushing across you and to pull yourself onto the walkway. For a moment it seems like something had snapped, your leg overstretched and arms overexerted. You aren't built for this! Your life before consisted of studying and absolutely destroying kids on x-box! As you lay on the metal grating, water having ceased with a heaving chest, Chishiyas face flashes in your mind. Well fuck - you're realizing you like him at the worst possible time. With that motivation in mind alongside the need to deck those three in the balls, you force your aching body up the rest of those rails with ten seconds left on the clock.

The three boys are obviously shocked to see you alive and rush off, once again leaving you behind with no transportation back. Lovely.

You aren't quite sure how you managed to get back to Beach but by the time you do, the sun is beginning to rise. Damn, what if they vacated your room? The morning air is chilly and you know you have some sort of hypothermia if your chilled fingertips are anything to go by, not to mention the way your head is beginning to swim - pun intended.

As your torn up, shaking form stumbles through the gates past a few surprised militants and even more surprised party-goers, Kuina barrels towards you. She looks both put together and a mess, her eyes red rimmed and seeming to water - pun intended - as her warm hands cup your ice cold cheeks. She chokes up at this realization and ushers you inside, muttering something about Ann being a little busy with some project as she leads you two to a familiar door.

Chishiyas face, as calm as ever, cracks when Kuina barges in. He's up in an instant and wasting no time as apparently one look at you is enough to know what you need - or maybe he just knows you. A blanket is around your shoulders before you can blink and now you're on his bed, unfortunately not in the context you'd wish for now. Kuina runs off after Chishiya instructs her to get a whole load of things, but you honestly have no idea what because you're too busy staring at him. Chishiyas face is contorted in a way you've never seen before or at least haven't been the recipient of. His eyes are focused in solely on you, his brows furrowed and typical smirk gone in favor of a grimace. Most notable are his hands resting heavy on your shoulders as if you'd shrug the warm blanket off. Those hands you now realize match those in your dreams are surprisingly warm and unsurprisingly steady - Chishiya was a little less smart than you thought if he didn't know by now that you knew of his profession. The idea of him in a doctors coat distracts you as he gets up from where he was crouched in front of you, reappearing with bandages and disinfectant.

"So..how'd your game go?" You break the awkward silence and feel your cheeks warm at how scratchy your voice is. Must've been the borderline constant drowning. His sharp gaze makes you almost flinch with the weight in it, your own eyes dropping back to your lap. Of course he doesn't respond, only making some vaguely disapproving noises as those eyes scan your wounds. His silence begins to piss you off, that rage from earlier being misdirected at him. Seriously, you almost died in a frankly horrific way and this is all he has to give?

"I can patch myself up. I'm not helpless." The tension rises, twisting uncomfortably in your gut as Chishiya stays in place while you glare at him. With a huff as he refuses to speak, you get up on weak legs. This seems to snap him out of it as he grabs your hips - and just at the right time. Your legs give way as the exhaustion hits all at once to only fuel that anger, a frustrated sound coming from you as Chishiya tuts disapprovingly again.

"Stay still. You're hurt and too tired to move." His voice is rough and annoyingly calm. Is he allergic to worrying? You obey though as he unravels the bandages and uncaps the disinfectant, steeling yourself for the following pain.

The blond has the grace to look at least a little apologetic at every wince and soft cry your battered form gives, even letting you hold onto either his shoulders or jacket. The cuts, scraps, bruises, and blood staining your body worry him even if he doesn't show it. Images begin flashing in his mind of internal bleeding, broken ribs, torn muscles-

"Are you..crying?" Your soft voice breaks the less tense silence, your own tears having dried up some time ago. Chishiya pales as he becomes aware of the liquid dripping down his cheeks and hastily wipes them away, refusing to meet your gaze or lift his head.

"No." He replies shortly, heart picking up its pace as he realizes he has to patch your torn hands. You follow his gaze and readily hold both hands out, skin raw and bleeding still. He winces internally at the sight of your beautiful hands so heavily marred.

Warmth spreads through you as he takes your hand in his non-dominant one to carefully disinfect it, whispering apologies as you hold back cries of pain. Somehow you aren't too shocked by this display of care, an inner part of you having sensed something was different by the lingering looks and the way he is always there. Chishiya wraps your hand with a gentleness you weren't sure he possessed, repeating the process with your other hand until every wound is patched up. Not a word was properly shared, your eyes rarely met, and you didn't comment again on the occasional slip of tears you caught.

"Go change in the bathroom." He mutters after passing you actual clothes, aka his own sweatpants and a t shirt. Once you step back out of the bathroom - definitely not after taking a moment to admire yourself in his clothes - Chishiya does just what you definitely didn't. The admiration is well hidden yet you catch it in the way he turns his head slightly to the left and steps back, as if you're a danger.

"These are really comfy, thanks." An appreciative smile brightens your face and threatens to blind him, so he sits down where you were moments earlier. You take a seat beside him and try to hide your steadily growing flustered state when that damn white jacket is placed around your shoulders. He says nothing so neither do you, the silence now companionable even as sparks burn its edges.

"What happened." It's not a question and you know that, just as you know what happened isn't your fault. The tears, anger and irrational shame, prick your eyes anyways. He doesn't comment, he only takes your pinkie with his.

After a deep inhale and calming exhale, you speak. "It was an easy spades game and I teamed up with three guys from here, but towards the end they just.." You choke up momentarily, but with the way his hand moves to rub your forearm, you know you'll get it out.

"They knocked me down so I was hanging and used me like a fucked up bridge- their hands were everywhere and I know it was for survival only but it was so..so dehumanizing." The words come out softer and softer until you aren't even sure Chishiya can hear, but he does. He only ever listens for you. His face is as calm as ever as you cry, arm light as it wraps around your shoulder to bring you into the only safe haven you have in this fucked up place.

Time passes, you aren't sure how much but you are sure you've dozed off, yet Chishiya hasn't moved once. He holds you close and his fingers still rub circles on your shoulder, mindful of a bruise there as he's memorized your injuries. There's some snacks and another blanket on the small dresser, presumably brought by Kuina.

Chishiya knows you've slipped into that numb state, so he doesn't mind helping you eat some crackers and drink that tea you're so obsessed with. He doesn't mind keeping you right there, right where he can protect you and you can rest; where you can heal yourself. What he does mind is you deciding to break out of this numbness by pestering him.

"You cried." You whisper, poking his chest lightly as his arms tenses around you. For a moment you fear you may have misjudged the air and his actions, envy flooding - pun unintended - through you at the idea that maybe all his patients get such treatment. His answer calms your thoughts.

"Yes, you could say I was..worried. Don't do that again." His warm breath brushes across the top of your head and a faint smile tugs at your lips from the slight roughness to his typically smooth voice. Your head props up on his chest so you can see him and he can't resist looking down at you. His eyebrow raises in a silent question that has you grin, that familiar smirk returning.

"If it gets me this treatment.."

"No."

"Worth a shot."

"..You don't need to be hurt to get my attention." The one-sided banters comes to a halt as your eyes widen, staring at his ever calm face like he hand painted the stars for you. If he could, he would.

With a slight grunt you manage to sit up a little better, worry flickering over Chishiyas face at your show of pain. Damn you could get used to this. Words aren't his thing so what better communication than action? Even with bandages, your hands ever so carefully cup his jaw, moving slowly incase he doesn't want this.

Chishiya really fucking wants this. With the way you're being so gentle, so considerate, when others in his life haven't almost keels him over. But you're injured, mentally and physically, so slow and steady will win this race. The kiss is soft and unhurried, as if there isn't an invisible timer looming over your heads. Time is irrelevant when he whispers your name oh so quietly and his hand oh so carefully caresses your matching tear stained cheek. With every touch, every shared breath, the previous hands are washed away for now. They'll haunt you at night but Chishiya will be there to wipe them away, whether that be with affection or simply being there as you get a snack to soothe your brain.

You know why he cried, why he looked so worried, why it's his clothes you're wearing, and why Kuina said Ann was busy when you actually passed by her lounging in the hall. He loves and he cares, the same as you. It only took almost losing you to realize it.

As you separate slowly and lay down, drawn together as if magnets, you drift off. Chishiya waits patiently as your breath evens out before slipping away.

It's the next morning when you wake up alone in the cold bed, insecure heartbreak seeping in until Chishiya quietly walks into the room, not hesitating with the gentle squeeze to your shoulder and kiss to your head. No words are exchanged when you settle in the chair next to him by his desk, watching him build who knows what as you munch away on those snacks. His ankle his hooked with yours and that is all that matters - you can ignore the split knuckles and prideful hint to his face because he's yours, and you're his.

#chishiya alice in borderland #alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro #aib chishiya #chishiya x you #aib fanfic #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya x gn!reader

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lolitastories · 21 hours ago

Text

Ocean blue

Rafe Cameron

As I stood one step behind Rafe and our daughter, I felt like their bodyguard. He always wanted to have her in his arms. He didn’t feel the need to use her stroller, so it always stayed in the trunk. He would look back every so often to make sure I was close by but most importantly, he made sure to catch every moment, expression, or action from our daughter. “Don’t get her too close to the glass” I warned. But just as I said it he squatted down with her close enough to touch the glass. He grins back at me before turning to see our daughter so fazed with the creature in front of her. I step back taking a seat on the wooden bench and just watch those two.

“Can you imagine them living amongst dinosaurs?” My head snaps to my right as a man takes the seat beside me. “Of course they developed over the years but it's incredible to think of how far back they go.”

“And now you have them here” I plainly point towards the glass. “Living behind a glass where people pay to come and see them.” The guy laughs shaking his head.

“If you think they deserve better, why come see them?”

“Call me a hypocrite,” I smile. “I like to think these places are made up of animals we have helped. Maybe that small turtle was saved and would never be able survive out there in the wild.”

“A nice way to see things,” He lets out a sigh. “But still pessimistic?”

“Oh yes” I laugh. “It’s second nature to me. People can be so deceiving that it's easier to never truly put your trust on someone.”

“Talking from experience?” I turn my head to look at him. My smile turned into a bit of a frown. His mood shifted really quickly, noticing my change. “You seem like a person who believes in second chances?”

“I believe things can be made right, but I also believe a person should know their value. Trust should be sacred. If you decide to trust someone it could either make you noble or a fool for falling for the same trick twice.”

“And you don’t want to make that mistake twice because you’re scared of the pain?” I shake my head letting out a quick laugh. “In my books it doesn’t make you a fool to trust again, it simply means you are a human with a big heart.”

“Guess we just differ in opinions.” He smiles nodding along.

“We should meet up to see if that is true, maybe in a couple of years it will be the same?” I look over feeling my smile die down. I take a deep breath ready to respond when someone cuts me off.

“I think not.” Our heads turn to see Rafe standing there. “Our daughter wants to visit the shop.” His eyes rolled over to mine. Dead expression on his face.

“I don’t mean to cause any trouble-”

“Then walk away.” I gasp at Rafe's response. I was about to grab his hand and pull him away when he turned towards me and handed over our daughter. As I adjusted her in my arms I am faced with his back.

“I-” I see the man stretch to the side with pleading eyes to look at me but of course Rafe blocks him. He moves forward with each hand grabbing a fist full of the man's collar.

“Look dude. I am trying to have a nice day with my family and you are ruining it. You are some creepy guy who comes to places like these alone to what? Pry on women hoping they give you some attention?”

“Rafe stop.” I demanded placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Look man I just saw her sitting there and she looked a bit down,” What? I looked down? People said I have a resting bitch face but I didn’t know it made me look depressed, what the fuck.

“Your mistake.” Rafe continues. “Now that I am here you can move along and bother someone else, this one is mine.” He lets him go with a little shove. I stay quiet knowing and hoping it won’t escalate. The man fixes his shirt and with a last glance towards me he walks away.

“Seriously?” I say watching Rafe walk to where I was standing. “You didn’t have to do all of that.” He doesn’t respond. He simply takes a hold of my hand and begins to drag me somewhere. “Rafe,” I say a little louder trying to get his attention. He swiftly dragged us between the crowd until we stopped in front of the family bathroom.

“In.” He opened the door and motioned for me to get in but I just stood there. I raised one brow thinking how crazy he was acting and childish. “Can you please get in?” I rolled my eyes and got in. I shake away the small grin knowing it wasn’t the time to acknowledge his cute plea. I wait for him to close the door and lock it. “I heard you two talking.”

“Rafe you know I wouldn’t-”

“I wasn’t talking about him.” He stays put in the doorway. I search his eyes for any clue, until it hits me. “Are you ever going to trust me?” His voice was almost a whisper. “You don’t say it but I know the reason for you breaking up with me and putting me on trial to be in our daughter's life was because of my past.” I was left speechless. My cheeks were burning and my bones were aching to just touch him. I saw how pain flashed in his eyes but I couldn’t find the words. “You would have hated who I was back then and who’s to say I won’t go back to being that person again. My father was a bad man but I loved him.” His last word made his voice crack. “I don’t want her to live through that and hate me,” His head falls down but I notice a small tear rolling down his cheek. “I don’t want to live knowing you always have a foot out the door.” That's when he broke down into a cry.

“Rafe,” I swallowed the pain in my throat and walked over to him. I grabbed his hand and led him to the single couch in the room. “Look at me Rafe.” I kneel in front of him. I lifted his chin a bit to search for his eyes. Once I saw his eyes focus on me I moved our daughter to his lap. “I can’t tell you that it didn’t play a part in my decision because it did.” His chest was breathing heavily. “But it didn’t make me stop trusting you, ever.” Both of my hands were holding his cheeks making sure he didn’t look away. I move my thumbs to clear up the remainder of his tears. “Baby I fell in love with the man you became after so much pain. You did that on your own before we met and after seeing you become a father, I know you won’t ever do anything to make her and I hate you.”

“But you don’t even look at me the same.” I grinned hearing his childlike whine. I move closer between his legs.

“I don’t look at you the same because you keep changing on me for the better.” I begin to smile bigger. “I fell in love with a 20 year old boy who was building a life for himself. Then again as a 24 year old man who became the father to our little girl. Now I have a chance to see what kind of person you will become as we grow older together but trust me, the only change you see in my eyes is how my love just keeps getting bigger and bigger for you.” I lift my head giving him a quick kiss. “Those blue eyes have become my favorite blues to see.”

“Not the ocean?” He says quietly.

“No, ocean blue doesn’t even come close.” He nods softly before fixing his down posture. “Are you okay?” He flickered his eyes down towards me as he nodded. But when I tried to get up with one hand he kept me from standing up. He leans forward and as I try to pull away but his free hand moves from my shoulder to the back of my head.

“You need to be more careful when talking to strangers,” What am I, 10?. “I held back because our daughter was nearby, but don’t go making friends with strangers, especially men.” I roll my eyes as I let out a chuckle. “You two are mine to protect.” I move forward resting my forehead against his.

“She is ours to protect,” I say challengingly. His piercing eyes don’t change showing how he was not amused with my answer. “I won’t do it again.” I groaned, pulling away from him. “Can I get up now? My knees are killing me”

“I don’t know why. You have always been good on your knees.” I scoff pushing him away.

“You're an idiot.” I hear him laugh as I pick myself up. “Now let's go because there is an otter plushie that has my name on it.” I hear the couch creek as he stands and walks over to the door. I turn around to face Rafe, one hand on the handle behind my back as he stares down at me. “I love you so much.” I whisper quietly and slowly. His eyes move to my right and then the left a couple of times. “Don’t forget it.” I simply state. I turn and push the door open but his hand grips mine and pulls it close. His face right beside me ear,

“Woman if I didn’t have my daughter in my arms right now I would fuck you against this very door. Don’t go saying things like that when I can’t do anything about it.” He takes a step back allowing me to focus back on opening the door. I tried to swallow but my mouth was left dry. Of course Rafe was enjoying it. He wrapped his free arm around my neck and led us to the shop with a grin on his face.

“Fuck the store” I stop in my tracks. Shivers were literally circulating around my body.

“What?” Is he stupid?

“We can come tomorrow to get her a stuffed animal. Let's go home. She needs to nap.” I didn’t care how desperate I looked or sounded. I needed Rafe. These people should be grateful I have enough self restraint to hold myself back but it wouldn’t be for long.

“What about the otter-?”

“Fuck the otter Rafe.” I looked around a little embarrassed as I spoke a little too loudly. I walked closer making sure no one was going to hear me. “I am giving you a chance to go home and fuck me Rafe.” His eyes widened. “You can fuck me until you put another baby in me. I need you,” I look up with pleading eyes hoping to get him on the same page.

“Yes ma’am.” And with Rafe, it didn’t take much.

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hergrandplan · 9 hours ago

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Breaking beds just to buy some time

So, a while ago I wrote something for the Spotify Wrapped Drabble challenge, and back then I mentioned that I initially wrote something else that I deemed "unpostable" based on one particular lyric, afraid that it would, honestly, get me shot on sight. Excommunicated immediately, because it shows Wille having sex with someone who isn't Simon but... in a very particular way. But 2025 is the year that I'm challenging myself to post things even if I'm scared they'll flop, even if I know no one will probably read them, because I'm still proud of them. 2025 is the year that I start writing for me again, fully and truly. And though this little ficlet is based on the same song (Gemini Moon by Reneé Rapp) as what I originally posted, it is actually a sequel to the Girlfriend Ficlet I posted a while ago. Anyways... enjoy?

CW: NSFW (hence under a cut), Wille has sex with someone else, emotional cheating (not on Simon), mentions of actual cheating. Take care of yourself, if you know this will trigger you, feel absolutely free to skip it, no hard feelings here 💜

It’s Simon he’s pushing into, when they finally get rid of all their clothes, nothing separating their bodies now aside from a slight layer of sweat. And it’s Simon whose hands he feels on his back, on his ass, urging him to go faster, harder.

Wille has closed his eyes, can’t see anything but the slight furrow on Simon’s brow that he remembers slightly too well.

It makes it easier to pretend, if he can’t see.

But when the person below him starts moaning, the spell is broken.

Because the voice is too high. Too soft. Too feminine.

With a groan that Wille hopes his girlfriend interprets as a grunt, Wille opens his eyes, and looks at the soft features laid out before him. Blonde hair fanning the pillow, eyes closed in pleasure and mouth slightly open as she lets out another moan.

Wille pushes in again, quickening his pace, and on his part, moans too. But moans thinking about how it felt to have Simon’s lips around his cock, how gazing into those deep, brown eyes set his entire skin on fire.

And then he imagines that sinful grin Simon got, knowing Wille was close, and how he swallowed every last drop, licking his cock clean while still gazing up at him.

And that’s when Wille comes.

Wille slumps over her, exhausted.

He knows he should talk to her. Admit that there’s someone else, or that at the very least, he doesn’t feel anything anymore. Not unless he’s thinking about him. But it’s easier to fuck than to talk to her, because in his mind he can at least imagine that it’s Simon.

Yes, it’s easier to fuck, and ignore and keep pushing on.

#damn is a cut even necessary with that long of an intro lol #sorry i am a yapper and will always be one #young royals #yr ficlet #young royals ficlet #yr fanfic #yr fanfiction #young royals fanfiction #young royals fanfic #please dont kill me i like my life rn

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heavenpierceher · 19 hours ago

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just played portal 2 for the first time yes somehow ive never played it before. reposting my thoughts as i played here:

I fucking hate wheatley. Little white cuck ball

As i understand it wheatley turns out to be like Secretly Evil later or whatever but like he’s so blatantly passive aggressive and casually shitty to you that i don’t see how anyone didn’t go okay fuck this guy immediately. Like he’s clearly acting as a sort of arm of aperture itself which constantly bombards you with like jokingly ableist/eugenicist/classist/misogynistic shit

like the juxtaposition of him being a huge asshole because he thinks you have brain damage and the announcer being like ‘ok if you’re old or stupid go back to your Primitive Tribe so we can have Good Subjects for Progress’ is 110% deliberate

also him assuming the person who killed glados was male LMAO

I want glados so bad

Some arasaka tower shit is happening to me

My psionic warriors find me art of chell dribbling and dunking wheatley like a basketball

Glados wants me so bad

my coworker losing his mindddddd 😂 😂 😂

I’m finding these puzzles easier than portal 1 but like in a good way. more intuitive

Also this has almost certainly been said before at length but god valve is so so so good at environmental design

HL is really good too obviously but it really shines in portal where they get to play with contrasts

the really harsh visual contrast between all of portal and the escape stages and the fact that you can see hints of it before it happens. chefs kiss

Single biggest visual improvement: the scary fucked up water that kills you

Yeah I do wish id played this earlier LMAO

glados hums me beautiful songs

I’m imagining that literally none of this is landing for chell like she doesn’t care. and/or glados is just making shit up and so chell also doesn’t care

wheres the dev thing where they were like ‘chell doesn’t talk because she’s just fucking pissed’

She's literally obsessed with me

Genuinely why does anyone like wheatley I'm gonna crush this little shit like a soda can

Guy accuses a woman who has literally never spoken to him or responded to a thing hes said of being bossy

At least the ways in which cave johnson sucks are really funny

i was talking about how wheatley is kind of a stand-in for aperture as an entity and i think cj is a continuation of that. like the above screenshot lines up as being an evolution of cj’s distaste for the ‘lab boys’ and ‘bean counters’; a top-down disdain for the people actually making ‘progress’ possible and keeping things running

me when i have 60 dollars

Valve in particular has a way of making its social commentary so pointed and over the top that its funniness almost but not quite overshadows the point it’s making. In a good way let me be clear

Like it’s so ridiculous you almost forget it’s criticizing/interrogating real phenomena that it’s honestly not depicting that absurdly because everything is very very intentional

i like the idea of chell being like. essentially an ordinary uninvolved person as much as she can be just thematically. glados is petty in the way that humans are petty, she chooses insults that are like… low-hanging fruit because of the environment she was cultivated in, so i think it’s both funnier and more thematically resonant if chell is like. Not even a little bit emotionally affected by glados fucking with her she’s just like Get me out of hereeeeee

A lot of people’s theories about this game seem to rely on glados being truthful which is fucking hilarious

woman who is making shit up to fuck with you: I am making shit up to fuck with you gamers: goly FUCK theory #CONFIRMED?????????????

aw hell no not the aperture science ejaculation gel

Wheatley can you quit jacking off over mic. Genuinely discusses me I hope he explodes

I do not want him to experience pleasure in any form much less as a result of my actions

The fucked up turretcubes are very cute though. Like hermitcrabs

Oh hey it’s the part where he kills me

this is a really good visual gag

Genuinely how does anyone admit to wanting to fuck wheatley how is that not an incredibly embarrassing thing to admit to

how sexist the adventure sphere is was funny and again it is not common for me to say that. valve just knows what they're doing

She’s holding my hand…

Rent free in her fucking head

Rent. Free.

Literally obsessed with me.

I don’t think it’s supposed to do this but it’s on a black screen with no options and has been for like five minutes and i sat there for the entire five minutes like ‘wow this is so poignant…’

Anyway yeah that kicked ass

#op #portal

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kitsunexgari · 2 days ago

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Summary: Trying to get a drink to relax after work one night, a strange but handsome man sits across the bar with his eyes on you. At first, you are annoyed by this but upon second glance, he seems to be the most enticing man you've ever laid your eyes upon, and he only wants one thing. Tags: Dirty talk, Risky & Semi-Public Sex, Fingering, Rough Sex, Mild Daddy kink, Extreme-Dub-Con Notes: This story is fan fiction for Front Man/Hwang In-Ho and not meant for anyone under the age of 18. It contains rough language and adult situations. Not sure if this makes sense either it's just a little idea that I had consider it AU if you must.

You first notice him eyeing you across the bar. He's only looking at you and he's kind of creepy. Though you do find him attractive you can't help but think he also could be a serial killer. You get your drink and slip away, trying to find somewhere else to sit down. You really only wanted to get a drink after work, maybe talk to some people, but you weren't hoping for any sort of hook-up. This place typically has decent clientele but not tonight. Not with how the creep in the nice suit keeps staring you down.

You get out your phone to browse it and pretend to be busy. You can see him circling around like a hawk. Ready to swoop in at a moment's notice. You try not to pay him any attention but it's not easy. He's very tall, and handsome, and his suit is sexy, flashy, and just as dark as his eyes. Without warning, he sits down across from you as if you already had a prearranged meeting. You look up at him.

"Not interested." You say.

"Then maybe I can change your mind." He says.

"I don't think so," You reply and go back to your phone. He continues to sit there anyway, staring at you as if he can change your thoughts with his own telepathically. After about a minute of this you get up and head away from there to change seats. He stays where he is but his eyes follow you. It's like you can feel them moving over every inch of your body. You wonder why he's stuck on you in the first place.

There are other people at the bar, men and women. Very attractive. It isn't as if he doesn't have a lot to choose from. You keep looking at your phone, trying to pretend he's not bothering you. It would be easier to just leave but you also want to finish your drink which cost close to fifteen dollars, and it's good. You figure that eventually he'll get bored and move on to something else.

Eventually, you manage to engross yourself in a story you find online and lose track of where he is and what he's doing. When you look up again, your drink is mostly finished and he is nowhere to be seen. You smile and shut off your phone, taking a moment to relax and sit back in your chair. Savor your drink and enjoy the final moments of your evening before heading to your car to go home.

As you stand up, you realize that you have to pee. It's not that far to the bathroom and it won't take that long so you head through the back into the waiting area that sections off the men's room from the lady's room. As you enter, you see he is waiting there. Sitting on the couch just between the two doors. You gasp. He turns and smiles.

"Thought you might change your mind." He says.

"I didn't." You reply, "Don't you have anything better to do than hang around me all night?" He stands up, coming right at you. With a forceful grab of your arm he yanks you into the women's restroom. You scream out in surprise but he's fast. He puts his hand over your mouth and presses his back against the door to shut it. In one swift move he has it locked and is pulling you to the opposite wall. He shoves you into it, pinning you there and looking down into your eyes.

"I know I didn't change my mind and I also know what I want." He whispers, "Now, I'm going to move my hand, if you scream you'll regret it." In this lighting and context you can see just how incredibly handsome he is. Positively gorgeous. You don't think there has ever been a man this intent on capturing you in such a manner. Your face starts to flush with arousal as fear flutters through your stomach. Why does he want you so bad and even more...why do you suddenly want him? You nod, signifying you understand what he's saying and he slowly moves his hand away from your mouth.

"What are...you going to do to me?" You ask.

"Looks like anything I want." He says and turns you to face the wall. His large hand comes up, pressing your cheek into the bricks. He keeps you held there but you are so excited by this point that the last thing you can think to do is run away from him or even try. You want him, badly. You can feel how wet you are getting just thinking about how hard he's going to fuck you. His free hand slides up under your skirt and his fingers move teasingly over the crotch of your panties. "I'm not hearing any protests now, am I?" You groan softly.

"No...but I-"

"Shhh...be a good girl and take Daddy's cock like you're meant to." He says. Leaning against you heavily, he shifts and you hear him unzip his pants. There is a bit more movement as he pushes the crotch of your panties to the side. He runs two fingers over your wet folds, teasing your clit and provoking another moan. Two of them slip inside of you, working in and out to get you even more slick and ready for him.

"Please just let me-"

"I told you to be quiet." He snaps, and you can feel his hot breath against your ear. His hand moves from your cunt and from behind her slips his hand over your mouth again, jamming the two fingers he just used on you in past your lips and onto your tongue. You start to suck on them heavily, your eyes rolling back in your head as he takes a moment to thrust into you roughly from behind. Your scream of surprise and pleasure is muffled by his fingers as he starts to thrust. "Keep sucking...clean them nice and good for me..." He orders.

You do your best to fulfill his commands but it's not easy. He is working his hips in ways you didn't know possible. Seeming to hit every spot inside of you in just the right way. His grunting and groaning is animalistic, like a dog in heat. You feel his mouth slip to your neck, biting here and there. Sometimes hard enough to get you to scream again as his sharp teeth break the skin. You groan and shiver, his tongue hungrily lapping up the blood in the wake of the wounds he's leaving. The combined pain with pleasure pushing you closer and closer to climax. His hand slips from your mouth to grab one of your tits through the cloth of your blazer. You squeal and he thrusts harder, the same hand now traveling down past the hem of your skirt into the front of your panties.

"Ready to cum all over daddy's cock?" He purrs and thrusts painfully hard, getting as far inside of you as possible.

"Y-Yes...Daddy...please let me cum..." You whine loudly. His fingers brush over your clit then apply pressure expertly. You cry out as your orgasm hits, his moans eclipsing yours as you both climax together. His thrusts like a jackhammer as you are pressing into the wall. You continue to ride the waves of ecstasy over, and over, taking this brutal pounding until you are both entirely spent. He leans into you, with his full weight once he's finished. You can smell him, the scent of sex, and his cologne. The entire experience is addictive. You've never felt anything like this.

A few moments later he pulls back and slaps your ass roughly. You whine, leaning against the wall trying to get your breath back. He grabs your hand and jams something into it."I'll be here again. Same time next Friday. Don't be late." He says and walks out of there. You blink, wondering if you heard that right and then look at what he's handed you. It's a business card with some weird symbols on it. You still aren't sure of who he is or what exactly happened here but you do know that you will not be late for your next "date" with him. That's for sure.

#hwang in ho #lee byung hun #squid game #squid game 2 #fanfic #one!shot

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slaymitchabernathy · 20 hours ago

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Family First

“Mr. President, over here!”

“Mr. President, a quick word please!”

“Mr. President, what are your thoughts on the upcoming elections?”

Coriolanus has grown used to ignoring these pestering questions. Especially when walking to his front door.

These pesky reporters haven’t let up since the day he moved into the Presidential Mansion, waiting outside the front gates, desperate for something juicy.

As if he’d ever answer them.

They can’t get through the fence but their words certainly can, their annoying questions about things that don’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things.

He’s got much more important things to worry about today.

He has to address the nation.

Riots have been breaking out across the Districts, causing shortages of food and supplies in the Capitol. If he doesn’t get things under control they might have another war on their hands. And he can’t have that.

Coriolanus nods at the two Peacekeepers stationed outside of the side entrance to the Mansion, a less impressive one yes, but easier to walk out of compared to the front door where everyone is watching.

He steps inside the Mansion and is immediately greeted by Eudora Trinket, his trusted coordinator who hopefully, has whipped something up for him to say to all the citizens of Panem.

“You’re terribly last minute with these things, you know that don’t you?” She asks as they briskly walk down the great hall towards one of the many conference rooms they have in the Mansion.

Coriolanus merely glances down at the middle-aged woman who is always sporting a new colored wig with eyelashes to match. She keeps him on task so he doesn’t comment on her fashion choices.

“Do you have a speech?”

Eudora scoffs, whipping out a stack of notecards, “Do I have a speech? Of course, I have a speech Coriolanus. This isn’t amateur hour!”

Coriolanus takes the cards from her, glancing over the prepared lines she’s written for him. They seem good, strong, and authoritative, not leaving any room for argument.

“Let’s just hope everything’s ready,” he mumbles as they walk into the largest conference room they have in the Mansion, already occupied by all his advisors and several diplomats whose jobs are all currently on the line for letting this happen.

They said they could handle it. Now he has to clean up their mess.

Coriolanus makes his way to the podium, a camera already positioned in front of it, ready to roll to the entire nation at his command.

Coriolanus grips the edges of the podium, reminding himself to breathe. Eudora says he’s going to get gray hairs before he turns thirty but running a country can be stressful.

He glances around the room and finds the one person he truly cares about it missing.

But there’s a good reason for that.

Ten years ago, Coriolanus met the love of his life, Soarynn Nightingale.

He knew from the moment he saw her that she was the one for him, no questions asked. He courted her, learned about her, and fell in love with her. They got married right after graduating from University and right before he began his campaign to become the youngest President of Panem.

She had supported him through everything, the hardships, and the victories. And just when he thought she couldn't possibly give him anything else, she gave him a daughter. Ceraphina Snow was two years old and the apple of his eye. With her golden curls and eyes identical to her mother's, she had him wrapped around her little finger.

He didn't get to see her as often as he liked, spending most of his time working on keeping this country under control but he cherished every moment he had with his baby girl.

He listens to the sound of quiet yet stressed whispers throughout the room, all from men who might be fired by the end of the night. They all look so pathetic in their seats, nervously looking at him before looking back at each other, trying to shift the blame off of themselves.

Coriolanus stares back down at the podium, looking at the cards Eudora wrote for him. He usually prefers to write these things himself but he was pulled out of a meeting to do this. This was a dire circumstance it seemed.

A hush falls over the room and he glances up to see why.

Soarynn is finally here.

She looks jarred, like she was just sleeping which she probably was, she's been more tired lately but there's good reason for that. His eyes zero in on his darling daughter who's hugged to Soarynn's hip, curiously looking around at all these men who will be jobless by the end of the night.

Her eyes finally find his and Ceraphina lets out a shriek of excitement, "Daddy!"

Coriolanus can't help but grin at how cute she is, reaching out for him. Soarynn is quick to quiet down their child, bouncing her up and down for a moment. She looks beautiful as always, with her hair pinned up while wearing a green dress, flowy and flattering.

He feels so bad about dragging her into this at the last minute but as President of Panem, it's important that his family is always seen by his side.

Soarynn gives him a small smile before nodding at everyone who stood up the moment she stepped into the room, silently telling them to sit down again. They do and several men let out sighs of relief as if an ounce of kindness from Soarynn can save them from a lifetime of wrath from their employer.

Soarynn takes her seat next to Eudora, to the immediate right of the podium and Ceraphina immediately reaches out for Eudora, most likely to touch her eyelashes which have always fascinated their daughter since the day she was born.

Eudora who claims to not like children gives her hand a little squeeze before she turns to look up at Coriolanus and give him a nod to go ahead. It's time.

The room falls silent once again and the nation's anthem begins to play, the cameras begin to roll and Coriolanus begins to speak directly to the camera, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"Over the course of the past six weeks, rebels have been wreaking havoc in the Districts, disrupting production and challenging those who are above them." He eyes his advisors who are nearly on the edge of their seats. "But I am here to put an end to these foolish attempts to disrupt what we know to be a great nation, rich with resources that are so gladly provided to the citizens of the Capitol."

Ceraphina tugs on Soarynn's dress, already tired of sitting still while her father talks.

"Starting today, all working District citizens will be given four additional hours of work to make up for lost production time. Those who have been detained for inciting riots will be executed."

A few eyes widen at his words but Coriolanus means every bit of them. If they let these rebels live, they'll spread this ideology to other people until the Capitol is left with Districts full of rebels and roaches.

"Let me be clear, we do not tolerate rebels in Panem, we will not ever tolerate rebels in Panem. This way of thinking will get you nowhere, it will only harm those you wish to help. We are a great nation that will rise together out of the ashes that these rebels have so foolishly created. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."

The camera cuts off and Coriolanus is met with words of praise from every man in the room.

"Excellent speech sir."

"They won't dare to try and cross us now."

"Wonderfully said Mr. President."

He'd kill all of them right now if there weren't ladies present.

"Tonight we'll have a meeting to discuss further plans," he tells them, "eight o'clock." Then at nine o'clock, he'll start hiring new men to take their places.

He steps down from the podium and is greeted by Ceraphina beaming up at him, a big smile on her sweet little face. "Daddy!" Coriolanus grins down at her, unable to ignore her sweet nature, "Hello my darling, were you sleeping with your mother before you two arrived?"

Soarynn sighs and brushes a stray curl out from Ceraphina's face, "We were having very pleasant dreams before we found out that you'd be addressing the nation and threatening to execute half of it if things didn’t start to shape up.”

Eudora hums and gives him a sharp poke, “I don’t believe I mentioned anything about executions in my speech,” she hisses but Coriolanus ignores her, taking Ceraphina into his hold and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She thinks the world of her father, even if he is sometimes a heartless man, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“Sometimes we have to do hard things,” he tells both women, blowing a raspberry against Ceraphina’s cheek which makes her tumble into a fit of laughter, “Daddy no!”

Soarynn watches the sweet sight with a small smile on her lips but he can tell she’s still exhausted, probably more so after hearing that speech, “We’re having lunch if you’d like to join us,” he offers, already knowing she’ll likely decline.

Soarynn shakes her head and rests her hand on the side of his face, a gesture she’s done at least a thousand times to comfort him in times of stress, “I wish we could darling, but we’re both rather tired today, aren’t we Ceraphina?”

“No Mommy,” Ceraphina says with a shake of her head, curls bouncing, “lunch with Daddy.”

Coriolanus presses another kiss to his daughter's cheek before handing her back over to his wife, "Next time my darling," he promises Ceraphina, "you'd be terribly bored anyway."

Ceraphina pouts but doesn't cry, at two years old, she's already quite well behaved and Coriolanus has Soarynn to thank for that. She's been quite involved in raising their daughter, causing her to be oh-so-sweet and polite to all she comes across, just like Soarynn.

Soarynn hums, brushing back Ceraphina's curls, "He's right darling, we'll have much more fun upstairs." Ceraphina doesn't look too convinced but Coriolanus is already being pulled in another direction by one of his trusted advisors, Quintus Heavensbee, someone who will not be fired tonight.

"Actually, it might be good for people to see all three of you together," he suggests in a hushed whisper, eyeing Soarynn for a moment, "or all four of you." Coriolanus rests a hand on Soarynn's stomach, just starting to show signs of pregnancy at five months which has only led him to be more protective over her.

He's kept her away from the news and media as much as possible, wanting her to have a calm and quiet pregnancy with their second little girl but it seems that duty comes before desire sometimes.

Before he can suggest something else that doesn't involve the love of his life, Soarynn cuts in with that sweet smile of hers, known to calm down the most tense situations, "A few minutes in front of the cameras couldn't hurt darling," she says, "it's our job to speak directly to our people."

Coriolanus bites the inside of his cheek, sometimes he wishes she weren't so selflessly devoted to this country and its well-being. From the beginning, Soarynn has always been the perfect First Lady, speaking at events, shaking important hands, and always knowing just what to say.

"Five minutes," he decides, giving both Soarynn and Quintus a knowing look, "I still have a lunch to attend." He also doesn’t want Soarynn to exhaust herself but he keeps that to himself.

Quintus smiles, pleased that Coriolanus agreed to his suggestion so easily and Ceraphina smiles too, excited to be with her father for a little longer. "Daddy carry me," she reaches out for him again. He can hardly deny such a request and takes her from Soarynn, "Best manners Ceraphina," he reminds her as they make their way out of the room and down the hallway.

The reporters are still outside waiting for him once they walk through the side entrance, sticking their hands and cameras through the iron fence that surrounds the entirety of the President's Mansion.

Coriolanus rests one hand on Soarynn's lower back while the other holds Ceraphina to his hip. A group of Peacekeepers surround the Presidential Family while they walk to the front gates of the Mansion and Coriolanus hates every second of it. He wants Soarynn inside, away from all of this.

"Mr. President, how do you plan to follow through with your threats of executions?"

"President Snow, by how many weeks will you continue to increase the District's workload?"

"Mrs. Snow, what do you think of your husband's brutish threats towards those in the Districts?"

It's the last question that makes his nostrils flare so of course it's the one Soarynn chooses to answer. "I trust in my husband's ability to keep our country safe and under control," she answers in a calm tone, the same one she uses whenever Ceraphina gets fussy, "the Capitol wants everyone to stay safe and riots endanger everyone."

Quintus lets out a grunt of approval, even Coriolanus is impressed by her answer, short and to the point and above all, praising the Capitol. Ceraphina kicks her feet, bored already, "Mommy I want to go play!"

Coriolanus quickly quiets her down with a stern look, he can't afford to have her say something contradicting, "Mr. President, when can we be expecting your second child?" Perhaps Ceraphina's small outburst can help shift the conversation elsewhere, he wraps his arm around Soarynn's waist, pulling her into him.

"Our precious little girl will be born in four months," he says proudly, "we're overjoyed with healthy reports on her growth and can't wait to strengthen and expand our family."

Soarynn leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder and the cameras all start flashing, capturing the sweet moment between the President and First Lady.

"Do you have any names planned?"

Soarynn smiles up at him, "We have a few ideas," she says, "but we still have a while to go."

Ceraphina reaches out for her mother and Soarynn takes hold of her small hand, once again, causing the cameras to flash. "Thank you for your time gentlemen," Coriolanus says to the reporters, ready to go back inside, "we hope to see you again soon."

He wishes he could banish anyone from waiting outside of his home, desperate for a blurry photograph of him or his family but he can only do so much before raising concerns about his harsh behavior. Threatening to execute any rebels certainly hasn't helped his case.

"Excellent job sir," Quintus commends him once they're all back inside, safe from the cameras and prying questions. Coriolanus hands Ceraphina back to Soarynn, straightening out his tie, "They're relentless with the questions," he mumbles, shaking his head, "and they're not even good questions."

Ceraphina giggles when Soarynn tickles under her chin, momentarily causing Coriolanus to forget about his stressful job, he wishes he could spend the rest of the day with his girls but he can't.

"Any news is good news," Quintus reminds him.

Coriolanus doesn't quite agree with that way of thinking but he doesn't say anything against it, instead, he presses a kiss to Soarynn's temple, "I'll see you tonight darling," he promises her.

He tries to have dinner with his family but it doesn't always happen, especially on days like today. But Soarynn understands that, giving his arm an encouraging squeeze, "Don't work too hard Coryo," she says softly, pulling at his heartstrings. If Soarynn had her way, they'd be nobodies, happily married and living a quiet life in his old penthouse apartment.

She's been so devoted to him and his dreams that she sacrificed her own dreams of raising a family out of the spotlight. A small price to pay for a lifetime of happiness with him but he recognizes all she's done for him.

"I'll try," is all he says, pinching Ceraphina's cheek, "be good for your mother sweetheart."

Watching them walk up the stairs feels like parting with a piece of his soul but he pushes that soft part of him away, right now he needs to do his job and be the cold, heartless man people know him to be.

It's better this way, safer this way.

꧁ ꧂

Later that night after firing every man who caused him strife today, Coriolanus sits in his bedroom on the sofa by the fireplace. Soarynn is in the bathroom getting ready for bed and he's got a newspaper in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

It's the perfect way to end the night.

Eudora threw the newspaper on his desk right before she left for the night. Fresh off the presses from their impromptu family interview this afternoon after he addressed and threatened the entire nation.

'President Snow is a Family Man' the headline reads.

He smiles at the photograph on the front page, Soarynn pressed to his side and Ceraphina on the other, holding each other's hands in a loving manner while Soarynn looks up at him so adoringly. He couldn't have planned it better himself.

He reads a few of the lines written about what Soarynn said, calling Coriolanus a President who puts his family first. Exactly. He's so glad the reporters can see it that way.

He’s more than pleased with how today turned out. He had been angry at first, angry at the men who made him look bad due to their own incompetence but Soarynn’s sweet voice seems to be the cure for everything.

He peers into the bathroom and catches a glimpse of his glowing wife dressed merely in her underwear, a hand resting on her baby bump. He smiles to himself, in a few months their baby girl will be here and they’ll be a perfect family unit.

Soarynn has truly given him so much, endless support, two children in about two years and she’s stunning on top of all of that.

The press can say all they want about him and so can people in the Districts for that matter. At the end of the day, so long as he has Soarynn by his side, he’ll always be known as a man who puts family first.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @kickmybark @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf |

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nightlyrequiem · 9 hours ago

Note

Would it be possible to get Valeria with a homebody writer (specifically romance writer maybe) partner?

This is totalllly not self indulgent at all, but I feel like the scenario you write where she broke into the readers house (which I loved btw) and becomes her stowaway would probably be the only way they meet lol, it's also possible that she could see the writer in a coffeeshop somewhere and have a meet cute but that doesn't really seem like her style to me :(

Feel free to change this up in any way you want I'm just throwing my ideas out from my mind palace

Yeah, I feel like meeting Valeria would be a little difficult unless it was some kind of home invasion type of scenario. Meet Cutes aren't her style sadly

Tags/Warnings: Kidnapping, WLW, Reader Gets Knocked Around, Fangirl Valeria

Meet Cute

Human error is unavoidable, like misspelling a word or grammatical errors. Even with a proof-reader, things are bound to slip past notice. Mistakes will be made eventually, no matter how careful a person is. You're tossed to the cement floor harshly, pain blossoming in your ribs from the impact. The sac over your head prevents you from seeing anything. Your ears ring, making it impossible to make out the low muttering of male voices.

No one is truly aware of how quickly things can change. Having four walls and a door often provides one with a false sense of security. Of safety. You thought you were safe. You were a bit reclusive. Preferring to be inside where the variables of life are easier to control. Even in a city like Las Almas. The environment that night was perfect for writing. Dark and slightly stormy. You were curled up on your couch, laptop in your lap with inspiration flowing from your pores. The first draft for your latest sapphic romance novel was almost completed.

Without any warning your front door was kicked open. The locks proving to be completely useless. You screamed and fought as masked men stormed inside. However, it was a short-lived battle. One punch to the temple was all it took to take the fight from you.

You're not given any time to catch your breath or get your bearings. Your grabbed by rough hands and dragged somewhere else. You're lifted and placed into a chair, hands tied behind you. Footsteps fade as the men leave you bound and blind. The only sound now being your own breathing and the frantic beating of your heart.

Waiting is the worst part. The dread of what's to come will never compare to what will actually happen. You're never going to finish your book. The second in your series. Your readers will never get to know what happens to the two main leads. Maybe it's your writing that got you here. You had gotten death threats before. As well as other types. As was the risks of writing the things you do. The situation almost reminds you of the story you posted to the internet when you were too young to be on it. A flawlessly witty girl is kidnapped by a stereotypically masculine guy. They fall in love.

You doubt there will be any love here though. Love doesn't flourish where death and decay feast. Finally, you hear footsteps approaching. Firm and confident. The door slides open and people enter, the room becoming heavy with tension.

"You thought you'd get away with stealing, hm?" A woman asks. You frown. You don't recall stealing anything. "Thought you were smarter than me?"

The bag is ripped from your head, and you recoil at how bright the lights are. You blink at the sight of the visibly angry woman in front of you. Reeking of violence and danger. Maybe it's because of all the questionable romantic leads you've written but there's something alluring about her. Though her being attractive doesn't make you less frightened.

She almost looks as confused as you feel. Brows furrowed into a frown. She says your name, which doesn't bode well for you.

"... I didn't steal from you." You say softly. Hoping to pacify the situation. "At least not knowingly, if I did I can replace it or give it back." You promise. The woman doesn't respond, just continues to gawk at you.

The silent staring is beginning to get uncomfortable. The two men she brought with her exchange confused glances. Clearly something isn't going the way it should.

"You wrote Stardust." She says finally. Your face warms with embarrassment. You're proud of what you write but it still feels... weird to have people talk about it. You furrow your brows. You didn't think a woman that looks like her would be in your audience.

"... Yeah, I uh, did." You nod awkwardly.

She puts her gun back into its holster. "I have all your books." She says. Surprising you.

The woman turns to the men beside her.

"This isn't the right woman you fucking idiots! I even gave you a picture how did you mess up?" She hisses at them. You almost deflate with relief at those words. A mistake. A simple case of human error. "Get out." She snaps. The men nod and leave quickly. Ashamed or afraid that they messed up. She turns back to you with an appraising eye.

"... Do you like them?" You ask.

Her brows furrow. "What?"

"My books." You clarify nervously.

She walks behind you.

"One of my guilty pleasures is romance," She starts. "it's a nice escape from the grueling, bloody reality of my life."

"That's... nice." You reply. She didn't really answer your question.

"I'm picky though, I'll drop a book easily if the characters do something I think is stupid."

Oh. She's probably going to chastise you for writing idiots - which admittedly, you have. In some of your earlier books. The ropes loosen, freeing your hands.

"But I like the way you write people." She praises. "They're realistically stupid."

You bring your hands to your lap and inspect your wrists. The soft skin is a little red.

"Oh, thank you." You say, blinking gratefully. She walks back in front of you.

"This was a misunderstanding." She says, voice soft and placating. You look at her and wonder if this is a trick. You rise to your feet.

"All good." You smile. Though it's actually not all good. You're shaken. Your home was broken into and you were kidnapped. However, saying that might not bode over well.

"... So is Stardust getting a sequel?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

She has a very intense stare. You have to look away because staring into her dark brown eyes is starting to make you uncomfortable.

"I'm in the process of writing it, actually." You tell her. "Well, the draft."

She continues to stare at you. "Do you think you could add me into the book?"

You frown. "Yeah, sure I could do that." You nod reluctantly. This woman scares you and you'd hate to disappoint her.

"I shouldn't tell you my name, but I just love you and your writing so much," She admits. "I'm Valeria."

You nod.

"Valeria." You repeat. "Nice to meet you, I suppose."

Valeria nods and cracks a small smile. "Great. Why don't I take you home now then?" She says, herding you towards the door. You try to protest against that, not really wanting her to know where you live. Though considering her people had taken you from your home in the first place, she probably already knows. Your words fall on deaf ears. Valeria is determined to escort you home safely. Wanting to spend a little one on one time with her favourite author.

#valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x fem!reader #cod mw2 #valeria garza cod #modern warefare ii #cod mwii #cod x reader #valeria garza x you #cod

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project-lumen · 1 day ago

Text

》》 The LUMEN M-AHA-sterpost 《《

It was a-BAM time.

Hi hello there, fellow Life Series enjoyers! Arto, Pinkish and Kori here, live from our Game-Making Void bringing to you our comprehensive list of resources in one post for easier access and navigation!

Here you'll find our current status, some important links to other posts, as well as an overview of our tags and a handy F.A.Q. section :3

Without further ado, thank you so much, all info is under the cut!

》Status《

Date Format: [DD/MM/YY]

Current mission: [01/01/25-10/01/25] Accepting applications

Next up: [10/01/25] Reviewing applications

》Links《

First announcement: Applications

Meet the team!

Second announcement: Our official art guide

Essential info

Arto's lore scraps

》Tags!《

#projectLUMENasks : For every single one of the questions we have answered so far!

》F.A.Q.《

What is this?

Project LUMEN is an effort to bring the Life Series to life in a brand new way, in videogame form! A RPG of sorts with battle mechanics, interaction with npcs, our own unique spin in Watcher Lore, changing art styles and multiple endings with a bunch of mechanics we need to keep secret for now but we know you all will enjoy, at least we hope so.

Cool, how can I contribute?

We want LUMEN to be a game by the community for the community, a tribute to all the wonderful artists, writers and creatives of all kinds. And it is a HUGE project, as such, all help is appreciated. We plan to open applications from time to time to recruit people as passionate as us into our little team. But everyone can lend a hand if they so desire, all ideas, all likes, all reblogs, all comments, all art, is truly, genuinely appreciated. Project LUMEN is completely non-profit, a passion project turned group effort that we are willing to pour our heart into, and we want to be as transparent as possible with it.

How will development of the game itself go?

As for specifications, Kori is the one in charge of the coding department, we are going to use Unity and C# to program everything, Arto will manage music and Pinkish will be in charge of the Martyn and Ren section. But once we review our first batch of applications, we will contact our chosen ones with more details, either for character sprites, script or any other miscellaneous things. We will all be working together as a team, each contributing as much as they so desire.

We will then take to developing our early alpha build including our very first couple of chapters, and release it for playtesting, then we will take all the feedback and make the pertinent changes. We will improve the game and continue developing until we have an almost finished beta build that we will then publish for testing. Take all the criticism again to finally reveal our finished product. Releasing first on itch io and then hopefully ported into Newgrounds for mobile compatibility.

Is there a release date?

As of now, we'd rather not promise anything. But we are actively working on development, and we hope to, at the very least, have a playable alpha demo at the end of this year.

#trafficblr #mcytblrsource #projectlumen #mcytblr #life series #third life smp #last life smp #limited life #3rd life #double life #life series smp #wild life smp #traffic smp #wild life #secret life #third life #last life

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osakanone · 1 day ago

Note

I've been getting into gunpla and i'd like a rec since you know mecha. Are there any gunpla you recommend? I'd appreciate one that doesn't look like a dude as much as possible.

The closest i've gotten to that idea so far is a guarda/rever nova build from the 30 minute missions line because of the two scorpian arms.

May I suggest the Wodom Pod?

Its fairly simple to build, very cheap and readily available.

If you want to straddle the "a guy thing" in your mentality and challenge it a little, also good is the Aegis specifically its transformation mode as its primary mode (like all humanoid MS) is intended for generalized combat and front-line logistical work (hence the hands).

If not, Hildolfr is a fun one. He bridges the space between early mobilesuits in minovsky signals displacement warfare and was used by a starship cannon pilot, requiring a lot of manual skill to aim well!

The Xamel is also really good though only provided you've got skills to bring the best out of the kit with scribing and painting. He's a heavy launch platform hovercraft designed for opening vollies with a high powered mortar grenade system via coordinates coming from other units, with legs designed for hit and run skirmishes so he can make his get-away after providing the opening strikes and fire-support during the mop-up phase of an attack.

Not gunpla, and a bit more advanced is Variable Infinity's Armored Core Aaliyah. You're probably gonna need some glue for this as smaller parts fall off. Its extremely detailed, and very "not a guy" despite being humanoid.

youtube

It uses a spherical particle field of highly radioactive and toxicparticles to protect and cool itself, and is capable of absurd mobility.

Quite a pain in the ass to work with, the design itself is utterly sublime and a spectacle to look at and I fell in love with it circa 2007 with Armored Core 4. Sadly, it isn't anywhere near as posable as most Gunpla due to how "un-guy-like" its body design is. These are the concessions we make cool appearances like this.

A substantially easier build (and much closer to Gunpla) is bandai's 30 minute mission 30MM Armored CORE Ⅵ Fires of Rubicon - BALAM Industries BD-011 MELANDER Liger Tail

I'm a huge sucker for 4-legged mecha since they're about as far from "an guy" as you can get. They're also super affordable right now if you can find a stockist who isn't a scalper.

Also while not Gunpla, if you have advanced skills, Gunhed is also very good though it requires a lot of extra work since the plastic provided with this kit is more of a raw material you need to do work to, to achieve the look and hide the seams akin to more traditional model kits. Gunhed's role is to invade gigantic sprawling synthetic superstructures and wipe out unmanned weapons.

Though likely not to your tastes, my own personal favourite of the year has actually been the Lfrith Ur. I don't usually go for chunkier designs but it has that delightful "chubby girl in a swimsuit" energy despite being a very intense and scary weapon that scratches some strange itch in my brain that I find deeply pleasing.

It is likewise, also very cheap -- and if you get two of them, its very easy to mod them together into a single 4-legged machine with double loadout (very cool, and probably bringing it more in like with your preference -- I wish I still had photos: I'm currently out of the country and my "big database of cool research files" is at home and wouldn't search well from two continents away)

Also Zowort heavy from the same line if you do the same quad-leg/tetrapod adaption looks amazing. I have a huge soft-spot for unusual legs, if its not clear.

I hope this provides some food for thought. If you have a clearer idea of the kind of kit you want, or what your needs are, let me know and I can provide more suggestions if you'd like.

Happy modelling!!

#.AskOsaka #mecha #gunpla #gundam #gunhed #armored core

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inkpetrichor · 2 days ago

Text

Muse | Azumane Asahi x f!reader

2.- Touches. masterlist here<3

cw. a little angsty, but veeery fuffly<3, use of y/n, mentions of gossip, mentions of scars, anxiety, asahi and his fear of failure, shy asahi and y/n wc. 4.4k an. thank you so much for all the support on the prologue and first chapter! i love you all, please let me know if you'd like me to start a taglist. i poured my heart and soul on this one, hope you enjoy it<3

"So, Azumane. Have you thought about which university you would like to apply to?"

Asahi's already tense shoulders tensed even more as the counselor's words echoed in the small office. It smelled as if the window hadn't been opened in a while. The air was thick with dust, and he could feel it clinging to his throat as he struggled to find the right response. Sweat slicked his palms, and he wiped them against his pants, though it did little to stop the dampness.

He knew this conversation was inevitable—it had been looming ever since he left the volleyball club in March and avoided filling out the university preference forms handed out since his second year. His nervous smile wavered as he averted his gaze, focusing instead on the hand resting on his knee, clenched a little tighter than he realized.

What could he say? The truth? That he had no idea what he wanted to do, that the sheer number of possibilities felt more like a prison than a privilege? His indecision was a vicious cycle. The fear of making the wrong choice paralyzed him, feeding into the terror of disappointing his parents. And that fear only made every option feel more impossible than the last.

He was stuck. Paralyzed. A prisoner of his own indecision.

Ever since he left the volleyball club, the weight of his insecurities had only grown. That iron wall he’d failed to overcome now loomed over every aspect of his life. It wasn’t just about spiking anymore; it symbolized every failure, every fear, every time he wasn’t good enough. It was a constant, suffocating reminder of his limits.

In his mind, he told himself it was okay. That he just needed time. That he’d figure it out eventually. But the deadlines and expectations didn’t wait. The pressure mounted with each passing day, the iron wall growing taller the closer he got to it.

The counselor’s voice brought him back to the suffocating reality of the moment.

“Azumane?”

“O-oh. Right... I... haven’t really made a decision yet,” he finally managed to stammer out, his voice barely audible.

The counselor’s sigh was heavy with disappointment, and it only made Asahi’s muscles tighten further. He knew he had to decide, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. Everything felt overwhelming—the deadlines, the expectations, the weight of it all. And ever since Sugawara and the first years had begged him to come back to the club, things had only grown more complicated. Now there was another choice to make, another possible failure to avoid. Another thing he wanted to do but was too afraid to attempt.

Which is why he had accepted his fate when Ukai had “forced” him to participate in the practice match against the Neighborhood Association. Though “forced” wasn’t quite the right word—he hadn’t resisted much because, deep down, he wanted it. He wanted to play again, to feel the adrenaline of spiking the ball, to be with his friends on the court. A small, tentative hope began to grow inside him after that day. Even if it was just a small step forward, he felt like could face his fears. Stepping back onto that court had reminded him of how much he truly loved volleyball. No amount of fear or failure could erase that. No iron wall could make that feeling go away.

But there was another thing that terrified him just as much as the iron wall: you.

Not because you were intimidating. On the contrary, being with you brought him a rare sense of calm. Your presence was comforting, your voice soothing. But his heart—his big, dumb heart—had to complicate things. It had to beat faster whenever you smiled at him, had to yearn for something more than friendship. The fear of rejection intertwined with his fear of failure, creating an overwhelming cocktail of anxiety.

In his mind, there was no way you saw him as anything more than just a classmate—or maybe, if he was lucky, a friend.

Yet, despite his fears, there were moments that gave him hope. The way your eyes seemed to sparkle when you looked at him. The soft blush that sometimes dusted your cheeks when he spoke. The little giggles he managed to draw from you. Those fleeting moments made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, you felt the same.

It wasn’t like taking that first step wasn’t hard—it was. It wasn’t as simple as saying, “I’m no longer afraid,” and then magically fixing his life and making all the choices life expected of him. He knew this. But there were choices to make, and they wouldn’t just go away. Maybe risking wasn’t so scary. Maybe not everything had to be a possible disappointment.

Maybe, if he kept pushing like this, eventually he’d have the guts to ask you on a date. Or at least ask for your number. Eventually, he’d have the courage to tell you how beautiful your smile was or how cute you looked when you were completely absorbed in a book, too focused to notice a strand of hair falling onto your face, too focused to realize how flustered it made him when you absentmindedly brushed it behind your ear again. That small, insignificant gesture set his heart racing at a dangerous pace every time.

Eventually, he’d have the guts to do it himself—to gently brush your cheek with his finger, feel the soft skin under his touch, and tuck that strand of hair behind your ear. How would you react? Would you look up at him and smile? Would you be embarrassed?

He’d tell you how calm and warm your voice made him feel when you spoke to him. Maybe he’d have the guts to ask you to call him by his first name—or even muster the courage to call you by yours. Just imagining it made the butterflies in his stomach take flight, their wings fluttering at an almost unbearable speed.

“Good morning, Azumane-san.”

Your cheerful voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. He practically jumped in his seat, causing you to stifle a giggle behind your hand. The sound sent his heart racing, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“S-sorry. Did I interrupt your thoughts?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“N-no...” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, yeah... but it’s no problem. Good morning to you too.”

I was thinking about you, he thought, but this is way better.

You smiled, sitting on the desk in front of him and turning your chair to face him. It was a warm, knowing smile that made his heart stutter.

“You play very well,” you said.

His mind immediately went to the practice match you had watched. He gave you an embarrassed smile, rubbing his neck again.

“Ah, that... Yeah... I guess...”

“No, I mean it,” you insisted, your eyes lighting up with sincerity. “It was amazing to see you play. To see everyone play, really.” Your expression shifted as you suddenly remembered something. “Oh! Is the little ginger one alright? His name... Shoyo-kun! Is he okay? He took one of your spikes face-first yesterday.”

“R-right, you saw that.” His cheeks warmed further, but he smiled. “He’s okay. He got right up after that. I think he was just... distracted.”

The image of Hinata flashed in Asahi’s mind—a ball of determination and energy that reminded him of the person he once aspired to be. Seeing Hinata when he first joined the team had been a whirlwind of emotions: awe, guilt, and a strange sense of responsibility. Awe at Hinata’s explossive energy. Guilt because Asahi recognized the hesitation in Hinata’s eyes when they first met—the way his own height and title as ace must have loomed over the younger player like a shadow.

That same guilt resurfaced during the match, confirmed by Hinata and Kageyama's conversation. It brought back memories of Asahi’s own struggles as a first-year. But Hinata was different—fierce in a way Asahi had never been.

Hinata’s admiration left him feeling like a fraud. How could he call himself the ace when he didn’t even believe he deserved the title?

The weight of those thoughts pressed down on him, but a gentle poke to his cheek broke through the fog. Startled, Asahi’s wide eyes darted from his extended right hand to you, who now sat perched on the edge of his desk, your elbow resting near his arm, chin cradled in your hand. Your gaze was steady, curious, and just a little too close for his already racing heart.

Heat flared across both of your faces, and you withdrew your hand immediately, looking flustered.

“S-sorry! I don’t know why I did that…” You glanced away, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

Asahi’s first instinct was to reassure you, though his own face was a deep shade of red. “N-no. It’s okay… I got distracted.”

“You looked… sad,” you murmured, still avoiding his gaze.

“Did I?” He blinked, his tone apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s okay. Sorry for… poking you.” You finally met his eyes, though your cheeks were still tinged pink.

I don’t mind it. Actually, please touch me more. The words hovered at the edge of his thoughts, bold and yearning. But of course, he couldn’t say that. Instead, he offered a soft reassurance. “No, no, I don’t mind it.”

Your eyes widened, surprise and something else—hope?—dancing within them. “You really don’t?”

He nodded, watching as relief softened your features, followed by a hesitant, almost bashful smile.

“I’m glad,” you said, your voice quieter now, as though the moment had become too fragile to risk breaking.

As the quiet murmur of your conversation faded, the previously empty classroom began to fill with the soft shuffle of students entering. The scrape of chairs against the floor and the low hum of chatter reminded you both that the sanctuary of this moment was fleeting. But for those fleeting seconds, the world outside the bubble of your shared space didn’t matter. Asahi’s heart thudded in his chest, not with the usual anxiety but with something gentler this time.

You noticed the lingering glances from a few classmates as they passed you by, their curious gazes flitting between you and Asahi. The faint sting of their unspoken thoughts burned in the back of your mind. Gossip would spread; you knew it. You weren’t naïve. People talked about him—his imposing stature and reserved demeanor made him a magnet for rumors. People talked about you, too, for entirely different reasons. Now they’d talk about the two of you together.

The thought wiped the faint smile from your lips. The light in your eyes dimmed, replaced by the weight of worry. You couldn’t shake the feeling that being near you might tarnish Asahi’s already misunderstood reputation. The idea hurt more than the rumors ever could.

The change in you demeanor didn’t escape Asahi’s notice.

“Well, Azumane-san, it was nice talking to you,” you said, your tone lighter than you felt. “I should really get to my seat now.” You stood quickly, adjusting the chair with a soft scrape against the floor, but before you could retreat, a warm, calloused hand gently wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

Your eyes widened, flicking down to his hand and then back up to his face, concern, surprise, and urgency all colliding in your expression. His grip was incredibly soft, barely there, yet it held you firmly, as if the command in his voice alone was enough to root you in place. For a moment, your body didn’t feel like your own; it simply obeyed, the magic of his touch and tone enough to make you think, Oh, I’m waiting—I’ll wait here forever.

Your gaze darted around the classroom, landing briefly on the curious eyes of your classmates. He must have noticed too because he let go just as quickly, his cheeks flushing a soft rose as he scratched at his cheek with an embarassed gesture.

“Ah. Sorry,” he mumbled.

You shook your head slightly, trying to reassure him, though no words left your lips, still stunned by the unexpected moment. Instead, your heart raced, its rhythm almost drowning out his next words.

“Ukai-san… do you have a phone?”

“Huh? Oh. I do.”

“Can I… have your number?”

You nodded, hoping you didn’t look too eager, though internally, your heart raced in a way that felt almost deafening. Asahi stumbled over his next words, his voice shy yet earnest. “W-well, I enjoy talking to you. I’d like to talk to you more.”

The sincerity in his voice sent warmth flooding through your chest. You nodded, fumbling to exchange contact information while silently willing your hands not to shake. The classroom filled further, the background hum of voices growing louder, but all you could focus on was Asahi’s soft smile as he looked at his phone, storing your number like it was a treasure.

As you returned to your desk, clutching your phone tightly, you whispered to yourself, “It’s just a number. Calm down.” Yet the quickened beat of your heart betrayed you.

But the whispers from around the room were harder to ignore. Witnesses to your exchange chattered quietly, their eyes darting between you and Asahi. You had grown used to the murmurs, used to the way people always seemed to find something to say. But this—this was different. Now their focus wasn’t just on you. It was on him, too.

The thought of him getting dragged into it, of his reputation being affected by simply associating with you… it was enough to dull the smile that had lingered on your lips since your conversation.

Asahi noticed. He always noticed.

And he could hear them, too—his name and yours weaving through the chatter like threads in a web. But while he dismissed the gossip about himself without a second thought, the cruel murmurs about you struck a deeper chord.

He didn’t believe them at first. Couldn’t. But the little details—the long sleeves you never rolled up, even under the scortching summer sun, even in gym class, the understanding glances from the gym teacher that painted a picture that aligned too closely with the rumors.

And it angered him. How could people take something so personal, so painful, and twist it into entertainment? The idea disgusted him, but more than that, it hurt to think you carried such a burden silently.

If he were to ask, would you share it with him?

When class ended, he expected you to leave for the library, your usual escape. Instead, you surprised him, standing at his desk with your usual smile carefully back in place.

“Library?” you asked, a small but meaningful invitation.

His face lit up in quiet relief, and he nodded, following you out of the classroom. As you walked, he found himself watching you more than he should—the way your hair moved with each step, the way the sunlight streaming through the hallway windows seemed to cast a golden veil over your features. It was mesmerizing.

The library was quieter than usual, the morning sun filtering through tall windows, casting soft, golden streaks over the wooden tables. You settled into your usual spot, pulling out a sketchbook and pencil. Asahi watched you for a moment before sitting next to you, his large frame seeming out of place in the delicate tranquility of the space.

“I didn’t know you did art,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice soft and curious.

You smiled, glancing up briefly. “Well, I didn’t know you did volleyball.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s fair. I… quit for a while.”

The way your brow furrowed, even as your pencil moved across the page, told him you were listening.

“Why did you quit?”

“I think… I lost my confidence,” he admitted, his voice low.

Your pencil paused. You looked up at him, your gaze steady but gentle. “Why?"

He hesitated. "I messed up during a very important match. I got blocked. Over and over. My team trusted me, and I let them down.”

Asahi’s eyes dropped to his right hand, his thumb brushing over his palm absentmindedly. You noticed the way his expression clouded, his shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of his memory.

"Is that why you do that?" you said softly, pulling him back. When he looked at you, you were also staring at his hand. "You look at your hand like it committed a crime. Is it because of that?"

He blinked, surprised by your observation. “I… I guess so,” he admitted.

Your heart ached at the sadness in his voice. You reached out hesitantly for his hand, your fingers brushing against his before gently folding them into a fist.

“Your hand isn’t guilty of any crimes, nor is it your enemy,” you said softly. “It’s your tool when you spike. It’s a part of you that you should love, not a reminder of everything you think makes you less.”

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at your hand holding his. His heart pounded, caught somewhere between the comfort of your words and the intoxicating closeness of your touch.

“You’re right,” he whispered, a small, hesitant smile forming on his lips. “But it’s not always a bad thing. It also reminds me how it feels on my hand when I spike. The pride I feel when I land a point.”

“I like that better,” you said, your smile soft and warm. “That’s more rooted in reality and less in what your brain tells you about yourself.”

Asahi felt his cheeks heat up again. You were killing him. It was unfair. Your kindness, your touch, your smile. It had to mean something, right? He wasn’t just imagining this connection, wasn’t just lost in his own wishful thinking… right?

You noticed his eyes flicker from your face to where your hands were still connected. For a moment, you mistook his bashfulness for discomfort. But you missed the subtle, almost imperceptible hint of disappointment in his gaze when you let go and returned to your sketch.

"Sorry," you mumbled, embarrassed. "That was rude of me. I shouldn't judge. I don't treat myself that well either..."

You shook your head, the weight of your words settling in, but Asahi’s soft chuckle eased the tension in the air, offering a small reassurance.

"It's okay," he said, his voice gentle. "You were right. It’s not very nice." He lifted his hand, examining it with a quiet smile. "I should be nicer to this hand."

"Especially if you want your revenge one day," you suggested, half-joking.

Especially if I want you to hold it one day. The thought lingered in his mind, though he kept it to himself.

Asahi watched you sketch, his eyes wandering to the way you pulled down your sleeves and held them in place with your fingers every now and then. The graphite clung to the fabric as it inevitably brushed against the paper, but you didn’t seem to mind the mess. You never let your sleeves roll up far enough for your skin to show. A faint sadness crept into him. He tried to push it down, to keep his thoughts at bay, but the question gnawed at him.

"Ukai-san... Can I ask you something? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, but... is it true? What people say about your arms?"

Your pencil stilled. The look in your eyes, the way you tugged your sleeves tighter, instantly made him regret his words. You looked hurt, scared, for just a moment. But after a long breath, you closed your eyes, steadying yourself before continuing your work, only a little slower now.

"Of course. People talk, after all..." you whispered, almost as if to convince yourself.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t expected this conversation to come up. It was only a matter of time. You knew, deep down, that if someone got close enough, it would eventually surface. But how to begin? How to explain it without making him uncomfortable, without pushing him away? What if he—

"I never believed them... at first."

There was a short silence.

"And what if they’re true?" you asked, looking up at him, your voice a little more defensive than you intended. The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and as soon as you saw his surprised expression, you immediately averted your gaze, feeling the sting of vulnerability. But his stare remained, warm, unwavering, and you could almost feel it on the side of your face. There was an uncomfortable urgency to run away in your chest, the urge to escape, but you knew you couldn’t.

"What if I do have scars... What if I did that to myself? Would you still want to be my friend?" You set down your pencil and finally met his eyes again, bracing yourself for the pity or disgust that might be there. But instead, all you found was sadness—not pity, but a sadness that seemed distant.

"What if?" he replied, his voice soft, shrugging slightly. "You’re not a bad person just because... just because you hurt yourself."

You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to say something, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you went back to your sketch.

"Are you sure you don’t care about what people say about you if you hang out with me?"

"I know about rumors. I couldn’t care less about them. I want to be your friend."

The warmth spread across your cheeks, and as silence settled between you, he shifted topics to break the awkwardness.

"That sketch is pretty. Is that a cat?" His tone was lighter now.

You chuckled softly, understanding his strategy. You pushed the sketchbook toward him, offering a better view.

"And a raven," you added, smiling. "My cousin ah—your coach," you corrected yourself "He told me you guys are having a match with Nekoma soon. I heard from my grandpa that there's a long rivalry between the teams." You shook your head with a smile as you shaded the wings of the raven, which stood defiantly against a much larger calico cat. "It's all I can think about lately. The idea of a raven fighting cats is kind of romantic, don’t you think? Like a battle out of a Ghibli movie..."

Asahi’s mind wandered back to something Kageyama had once said to him as he studied the solitary raven in your drawing.

"You don’t win alone... That’s why there are six other players on the court."

Without thinking, he reached for your pencil, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he took it from your hand. You watched as he drew five more birds, their shapes quickly forming behind the almost-complete raven.

"Ravens," he corrected softly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Plural."

"Plural. Right," you agreed, taking the pencil back and adding definition to his lines.

"Exactly. No one is alone..." he said, and there was a weight in his words, a depth that made you pause. His eyes held something more than mere words—a kind of determination, as if they held a message you weren’t yet ready to hear.

"Right... Thank you," you said quietly, feeling the weight of those simple words. There was silence in your shared gaze. Then, softly, you added, "They’re old, by the way... I don’t... Do that anymore. I’ve been clean for a long time."

"I believe you..."

You took a moment to admire his contribution to your sketch. Despite being rough, his birds were proportional and well-formed. You couldn’t help but smile.

"Have you done art before, Azumane-san?"

"Uh? N-no... Why?"

"Your ravens are pretty. You might have a talent for design."

"W-well, yours is prettier..."

"W-well, I—"

You couldn't finish the sentence. Your cheeks warmed as you both turned away, the tension between you thickening, though neither of you knew exactly why.

As the minutes ticked by, the quiet between you settled into something comfortable, almost sacred. The soft scratch of your pencil against paper was occasionally punctuated by the sound of a turning page from Asahi’s book. The golden light of the sun spilled through the window, catching the edges of his hair and making him look impossibly warm, like he belonged in a painting himself.

You glanced up at him, watching as his lips moved slightly while reading, an unintentional habit of his you found endearing. You quickly looked back down at your sketch when he shifted in his seat, heart leaping at the thought of being caught staring.

But then, his voice broke the silence.

“You know,” he said softly, closing his book and resting his hands on the table, “I don’t think people give enough credit to how strong ravens really are.”

You paused your sketching, tilting your head in curiosity. “How so?”

“They're resilient. They survive in places most birds wouldn’t. They’re clever, they adapt, and they look out for their own.” His voice grew quieter, shy, as if embarrassed by the weight of his own words. “I guess… I just think that’s... admirable.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt your chest tighten, warmth spreading through your limbs like sunlight. He wasn’t just talking about ravens, and you knew it.

You took a moment to finish shading the last of the wings on the lead raven in your drawing, pressing the pencil down just enough to make the lines bold and sure. Then, without looking up, you slid the sketchbook across the table toward him again, your heart racing.

“Here,” you said softly. “It’s yours.”

His eyes widened in surprise, his hand hesitating above the drawing. “W-What? No, I-I can’t—”

“You can,” you insisted, cutting him off with a small, nervous smile. “Call it a thank-you.”

His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He glanced down at the sketch again, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered above the paper. “F-For what?” he finally managed, voice barely audible.

“For reminding me I’m not alone.”

His head shot up at that, his expression startled and his face an even deeper shade of red. You glanced away, your own cheeks burning. His mouth opened as if to say something, but he quickly shut it again, looking utterly overwhelmed.

After a moment, though, he seemed to gather enough courage to move. Slowly—almost hesitantly—his hand reached across the table. When his fingers brushed yours, it was so tentative you almost didn’t feel it.

“Th-Thank you,” he stammered, his voice soft and shaky. “For… um… trusting me. You didn't have to tell me about... yeah. I appreciate it.”

His eyes met yours briefly before darting back to the sketch. He ducked his head slightly, a shy, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips. The sight made your heart ache in the best way.

In that quiet moment, you both knew something had shifted—fragile, unspoken, but undeniably real.

The space between you seemed to shrink, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that was impossible to ignore. This growing intimacy—the quiet exchanges, the unspoken understanding—wrapped around the two of you like the sunlight streaming through the library’s windows. You could feel your heart swelling, the invisible walls you had built around yourself slowly crumbling under his touch. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the urge to run away.

Unbeknownst to you, Asahi felt the same pull. Neither of you realized just how deep the connection was growing, how quietly, almost imperceptibly, you were falling for each other.

tags. @strxnged♡

Next chapter↪ (coming soon!)

#asahi azumane #asahi x reader #haikyuu #hq fanfic #hq x reader #asahi azumane fluff #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #hq

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