#just as long as love was still there. present and unwavering. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedensworld · 10 days ago

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How Love Letter Works | LJh

Pairing: Producer-Idol Jihoon! x Producer Reader!

Genre: fluff, crush to lovers au!

Summary: Jihoon watched you grown, from a trainee to a co-producer. So, a love confession would be the last thing he expected.

Jihoon was the co-producer for your debut project. For six intense months, he observed you and the other trainees with a sharp, discerning eye. From the very beginning, he was certain you would make it into the debut line. It was like watching a reflection of his younger self — the grit, the passion, the unwavering determination. Every week during your progress presentations, he saw it more clearly. This one’s different, he thought. This one’s special.

You were destined to debut in Pledis’s new girl group. No one could convince him otherwise. He could already picture it — you shining on stage, a star in the making.

That’s why the news hit him so hard. It came when he was in the middle of a world tour, just a month before the official debut announcement. The call came from Soonyoung, his teammate, who shared his belief in you. Jihoon could still hear the disappointment in Soonyoung’s voice as he delivered the news.

"Y/n didn’t make it."

At first, Jihoon didn’t believe it. No, that’s impossible. He didn’t even think before calling Bumzu, the main producer for the project. His voice was sharp, urgent. "What happened?" he demanded. "She was supposed to debut. We all saw it."

On the other end of the line, Bumzu sighed. "We fought for her, Jihoon. We really did. But the executives had other plans."

Other plans? Jihoon’s chest tightened with frustration. His grip on the phone grew tense. "Then what was the point of all of this? What was the point of that project if the decision was already made?"

The room around him fell silent. His members stopped what they were doing, eyes wide with surprise. For the first time in a long time, they saw him lose his composure. Jihoon was known for being calm, collected, and focused. But this? This was something else.

The call ended, but the bitterness lingered. He told himself it would be the last time he ever saw potential like yours — raw, undeniable, and destined for greatness. It was a rare thing to witness, and losing it felt like a personal defeat.

Time moved on. Tours, albums, and schedules blurred together. Three years passed in what felt like a flash. Jihoon was still at the heart of the industry, a powerhouse behind the scenes and on stage.

But then, something unexpected happened.

One morning, during a production team meeting, the Team Leader stood at the front of the room, introducing a new producer. Jihoon barely glanced up at first, focused on his notes.

"Everyone, please welcome our newest producer, Ji Y/N."

The name struck him like a jolt of electricity. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes narrowing in disbelief. And there you were. Standing at the front of the room with the same fire in your eyes that he remembered from three years ago. But this time, you weren’t a trainee. You weren’t just potential. You were standing on equal ground.

His heart swelled with something between pride and awe. She made it after all, he thought. Not in the way anyone had expected, but perhaps in a way that was even better.

Because now, you were the one calling the shots.

You were the main producer for the very group that had debuted without you. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone, least of all Jihoon. Sometimes, as he watched you from across the studio, he wondered if there was any bitterness left in you. Did it still hurt? he wondered. You were supposed to be with them — on stage, in the spotlight. But here you were, behind the glass, calling the shots.

If there was resentment, you never showed it. You were focused, sharp, and commanding in every session, your presence undeniable. The idols who had once been your fellow trainees now hung on your every word, adjusting their notes and vocals the moment you gave feedback. You had become the kind of leader that even Jihoon had to respect.

It was during one of these sessions that Bumzu, ever playful, leaned back in his chair after listening to the final notes of your demo. His eyebrows lifted in exaggerated surprise.

"Is it even possible to create something like this?" he teased, shooting you a look of mock disbelief.

Jihoon glanced up from his notebook, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He clapped his hands slowly, his eyes glinting with pride and amusement.

Caught off guard, you burst into laughter, cheeks heating up. You tugged your hoodie over your face, as if that could somehow hide you from the praise. "Ah, stop it!" you groaned, voice muffled under the fabric.

But neither Bumzu nor Jihoon stopped. They kept clapping, grinning like they'd just witnessed something legendary.

"Don’t be shy now, Y/n," Bumzu called out, eyes crinkling with mischief. "A genius should never hide."

Jihoon leaned back, still watching you with that quiet, thoughtful gaze. You were no longer the trainee fighting for a spot on the debut line. You were a producer, a creator, and a force that couldn’t be ignored. If there was ever any bitterness in her, she turned it into something greater, he thought, his smirk softening into something warmer.

Pride was a strange feeling for him, but at that moment, he felt it all the same.

"I’ll leave the lyrics to Jihoon. I trust him," Bumzu said with a playful grin, tapping Jihoon on the shoulder before stretching his arms and heading for the door.

"Don’t let us down, genius," Bumzu added over his shoulder, his teasing tone echoing through the studio as the door clicked shut behind him.

You shifted in your seat, glancing at Jihoon with a hint of hesitation. "Sorry for bothering you with this," you said, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of your hoodie. It wasn’t easy for you to ask for help, but for this project, you’d made an exception. Jihoon’s lyricism had always been something you admired, and you knew he could bring out the soul of the song in ways few others could.

Jihoon tilted his head, eyes crinkling in gentle amusement. "Don’t mention it," he said, his voice calm but sincere. "I’m happy I can help."

He reached for a stack of papers on the table, tapping them into a neat pile before holding them out to you. "Let’s start with this," he said, sliding the freshly revised lyrics toward you.

You leaned forward, eyes scanning the words with quiet intensity. Each line felt like it had weight, every phrase deliberate. There were subtle changes — words swapped for stronger imagery, rhythms that hit with more precision. You recognized his touch immediately.

"These are... really good," you admitted, glancing at him with a look of awe. "It feels like it hits harder now."

Jihoon shrugged, but you didn’t miss the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That’s the goal," he replied, tapping his pen against the edge of the table. His gaze shifted toward you, eyes steady but kind. "But if anything feels off, we can rework it. I want it to feel yours."

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard for a moment. You nodded, warmth blooming quietly in your chest. "Then let’s make it ours," you said with a small smile, lifting the paper as if it were something precious.

"But how did you even think of this?" you asked, eyes still fixed on the lyrics in front of you. Awe colored your voice as you traced the words with your fingertips. "I really like the theme — love letter. It’s so perfect."

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen thoughtfully against the table. "Flutter," he said simply, his gaze distant like he was replaying a memory. "When I heard the demo for the first time, it felt like that... like the feeling you get when you read a love letter."

His words hung in the air for a moment, soft but powerful. It was the kind of thing that lingered in your mind, making you pause just to feel it a little longer.

But then, as if catching himself, Jihoon shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, brushing away the atmosphere he had just created — as if he wasn’t the one who had built it in the first place. "Anyway, it’s nothing deep," he said with a small, self-conscious chuckle.

You glanced at him, catching the faint smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t just a random idea — that much was obvious. There was something familiar in the way he spoke about it, like he was remembering something personal.

His gaze flickered briefly to the side, his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on the table. Flutter, he’d said. The same feeling that stirred in him every time he’d read the love letters he’d received years ago. Letters he could still recall, word for word.

You tilted your head, watching him with quiet curiosity. "It’s not nothing, you know," you said softly. "You can feel it in the lyrics. It’s real."

Jihoon glanced at you, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than usual. Then, with a faint shrug, he looked back at the paper. "If it feels real, then we’re on the right track," he muttered, but the small smile that stayed on his face told you that, maybe, he was feeling that same flutter all over again.

You heard it — fluttering. You weren’t sure what Jihoon was implying, but everything about it seemed to point to the theme: Love Letter.

Back at your home studio, you sat in your chair, the lyrics you’d revised with Jihoon resting in your hands. Your eyes traced each word, but your mind was somewhere else. You leaned back with a heavy sigh, letting the weight of everything settle over you. How did we get here? You and Jihoon — now equals. It felt surreal. Time had flown faster than you realized.

Memories crept in like old songs on replay. You remembered him during your trainee days — strict but attentive. He’d been one of the hardest people to impress, and somehow, that made you work even harder. You poured everything into every performance, every evaluation, every moment. Not just for yourself, but for him. To make him see you. To be seen by him.

That feeling... it should have disappeared once you stepped into this building as a producer. You were no longer a trainee chasing approval. You were his peer now. But somehow, it lingered. It always lingered.

Your hand drifted toward your desk, fingers brushing over a familiar object. A letter. The paper was worn, its edges soft from age, a faint coffee stain marking one corner. It had been with you for years — a quiet reminder of something you never quite let go of. You’d taken care of it like it was precious. Like your feelings for him. Feelings that never faded, no matter how much you told yourself they would.

Your fingers traced the edges of the letter, and your heart thudded louder in your chest. It had been like this since earlier — ever since Jihoon mentioned it.

"Flutter. Like the feeling you get when you read a love letter."

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart, which was already unsteady around him, felt even more chaotic now. It had been this way for years. Back then, when you were just a trainee, it had been worse. You’d poured all those wild, uncontrollable feelings into letters. Handwritten confessions only meant for him.

How many had you written? How many had you left behind, hoping, wishing, praying he would notice? You always knew he would. He’s Jihoon, after all. He noticed everything.

He noticed when you were in pain during the monthly evaluations, his sharp gaze catching the smallest wince. He noticed when you had a cold during recording, quietly leaving a warm drink on the table near you. He even noticed when you cut your hair, commenting on it so casually like it was nothing, but it had stayed with you for weeks.

Of course, he’d notice a love letter.

And you’d been so careful. Leaving them just where you knew he would find them — near the practice room where he passed by, tucked on the edge of the table in the recording studio. He’d see them. He had to have seen them.

But did he read them?

Your eyes flickered back to the lyrics in your hand.

"Flutter. Like the feeling you get when you read a love letter."

Your fingers tightened around the paper as your heart pounded harder. Did he read them?

And if he did... did he know they were from you?

You put the letter back in its place. He’ll never know.

He’d never know about any of it — not the words you’d carefully written, not the feelings you’d poured into every stroke of your pen, and certainly not about the last letter. The one you never sent.

You had been so sure. So sure. You thought you’d make it into the debut line. Everyone did. That’s why you prepared that final letter — the one that would reveal your identity, the one that would tell him everything. After the announcement, you planned to hand it to him yourself. No more hiding behind anonymous words. No more waiting.

But reality had other plans.

The news hit you like a storm you hadn’t seen coming. They didn’t debut you. They said you were too old to debut.

Too old.

The words echoed in your mind, hollow and cutting. You’d spent years giving everything to this dream, only for it to be reduced to two cold, dismissive words.

They didn’t stop there, though. No, they had another plan. They offered you a contract — not as an idol, but as a producer. The group’s producer. They mentioned how much they liked the song you’d composed during the project and said they wanted to release it as part of the group’s debut album.

But you were too angry to listen. Too hurt to consider it. You walked away.

For a while, you told yourself that walking away was your only option. You told yourself you had every right to be angry, that you’d been wronged. Unfair didn’t even begin to describe it. You’d fought so hard, only to be told that you weren’t enough. It was a wound too deep for logic to mend.

But wounds don’t stay open forever. Time has its way of softening even the sharpest edges.

Eventually, you realized something important — there was nothing you could do to change the past. No amount of anger or regret would make them call your name as part of that debut lineup.

When they reached out to you again, it wasn’t an apology, but it was an offer. A chance.

This time, you considered it. Not for them. Not for their approval. For you.

You accepted the role as the group’s producer.

And with it, you walked into that building again — older, wiser, and stronger than you’d ever been. No longer chasing someone else’s dream, but building your own.

Jihoon glanced away from the computer screen as the sound of the door opening caught his attention. His eyes softened at the sight of you walking in, balancing a plastic bag in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other. You’d texted him earlier, saying you’d bring something as a sign of gratitude for his help with the lyrics.

"You really didn’t have to do this," Jihoon said, getting up from his chair and settling on the couch across from you.

"I know," you replied with a grin, pulling out the contents of the bag. Cans of Coke, takeout food, snacks, and the coffees you’d promised. "But Bumzu oppa’s coming later, and I figured it’d be nice to have something for all of us."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, watching as you neatly arranged everything on the table.

It was time to play the final demo — the one you’d be submitting to the production team. This was the moment that all the effort had been building up to. Jihoon and Bumzu had both contributed to it, so they were eager to give it one last listen.

"Should we play it?" Jihoon asked, looking over at you.

"Already sent it to you," you replied, tapping your phone with a small smile.

Jihoon pulled it up and hit play. The room filled with the melody you’d spent weeks perfecting. He listened intently, his eyes focused but his face honest, reacting naturally to every detail. His nose scrunched up whenever a particularly "cool" part played — a habit you’d noticed over time.

"It's your voice, huh?" he teased, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "It's gonna be tough to direct them to sing it like you."

You laughed, half-embarrassed, half-flattered. "Well, they’ll just have to try their best, won’t they?"

When the song reached its bridge, Jihoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He nodded along, eyes flickering with something close to pride. "Let me be honest with you," he said as he cracked open a can of Coke, "you’re really good at writing."

Your cheeks warmed as you popped a piece of food into your mouth, trying to downplay your smile. "Coming from an amazing lyricist like you, oppa, that means a lot. Thank you."

Jihoon shook his head, chuckling softly. "No, I’m serious. When you suggested that line — 'tearing all the tears as the ink, they won't be flowing when you’re with me' — I swear, I felt like I was sitting next to Kahlil Gibran."

Your eyes widened in shock, and you immediately waved him off, face flushing. "No way, don’t say that! You’re exaggerating!" you protested, but the laughter that escaped you betrayed how happy the compliment made you feel.

Just then, the door swung open, and Bumzu entered, already bopping his head to the rhythm of the demo still playing. He grinned as his eyes landed on the spread of food on the table.

"Are we having a feast or what?" he asked, rubbing his hands together as he walked in.

"Don’t get too comfortable," Jihoon warned, shaking his head as he took a sip of his Coke.

But Bumzu had other plans. His eyes lit up mischievously as he pulled out his phone. "I’m ordering alcohol!" he declared with far too much enthusiasm.

"You’re not serious," Jihoon sighed, already feeling the weight of the night ahead.

But judging by the grin on Bumzu's face, it was too late to stop him.

Jihoon glanced at you, a resigned smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like it’s gonna be a long day."

"Or a long night," you added with a playful grin, taking another sip of your coffee.

Jihoon sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the empty spot where Bumzu had been just a few minutes ago. That hyung… he thought, his frustration barely contained.

Bumzu had a well-known habit of disappearing whenever he got too drunk. He’d leave behind everything — his wallet, his coat, his phone, sometimes even his shoes — and vanish faster than anyone could react. By the time they noticed, it was too late to call him back. It was almost like a magic trick. But this time, he’d left more than his belongings. He’d left you.

Jihoon glanced over at the studio couch, where you lay sprawled out, humming a familiar tune. It took him a second to recognize it, but then it clicked — it was a song you’d sung during your trainee days. He remembered it vividly because he’d been one of the monitors back then. You’d poured so much heart into that performance, and he could still picture you on that small stage, eyes fierce with determination. Seeing you like this now, eyes hazy and limbs limp, made him feel strangely nostalgic.

“Y/n, you need to go home,” he said, keeping his tone gentle but firm as he pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, searching for someone who might know your address. If he could get ahold of them, he’d call a cab and have them send you home.

“Don’t wanna,” you mumbled, turning your face into the cushions. Your voice was muffled, but the stubbornness was clear.

Jihoon exhaled a soft laugh. It was his first time seeing you drunk, and honestly, it wasn’t too different from how you acted when you were exhausted from practice. Stubborn, a little pouty, but somehow still cute. The only difference now was that you didn’t seem to recognize who was in front of you.

“I already ordered a cab,” he said patiently, crouching down to meet your eye level. “When it gets here, make sure you tell the driver your address, okay?”

You blinked at him, squinting as if trying to identify him through a fog. “Who… are you again?”

Jihoon sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. Here we go again.

“It’s me, Jihoon,” he said, reaching out to pull you into a sitting position. “Come on, let’s head down to the lobby. I’ll find someone to help me get you in the cab.”

You didn’t resist, though your body was like a ragdoll in his hands. Your legs wobbled like jelly, and he had to wrap his arm firmly around your waist to steady you. You leaned into him more than necessary, head resting on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You sound like Jihoon oppa…” you mumbled, voice slurred but still clear enough for him to catch.

Jihoon snorted. “That’s because I am Jihoon.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling back just far enough to look at him with wide, incredulous eyes. “No way! Jihoon oppa’s too busy to be here.” You squinted at him, face scrunched in deep suspicion. “He’s busy. All the time.”

Jihoon shook his head, thoroughly amused. “You know I’m standing right here, right?”

You ignored him completely, eyes distant as if you were lost in your own world. “He’s busy,” you continued softly, like you were talking to yourself. “He’s hardworking. I like him…”

Jihoon froze.

His grip on you stayed firm, but his feet stopped moving.

What did you just say?

He blinked, waiting to see if you’d repeat it.

You didn’t notice. You just kept talking, gaze unfocused, voice as light as a feather drifting in the air. “He’s emotionally intelligent too… His songs are beautiful. Just like his personality.” You sighed dreamily, leaning on him a little more as your eyes fluttered closed. “I like him.”

Jihoon’s heart did something strange — a sharp thud followed by an odd, weightless feeling in his chest.

Did you… just say you like me?

He stared at you, his brain struggling to keep up with what he’d just heard. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t even know what to say.

Suddenly, the elevator doors at the end of the hallway slid open, revealing Soonyoung. His wide, curious eyes zeroed in on the sight of Jihoon half-holding, half-carrying you down the hall.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Soonyoung said, stepping out with a dramatic point in Jihoon’s direction. “What is this? You got her drunk? You don’t even drink!”

“Please,” Jihoon muttered, already feeling the headache coming on.

“What happened to her?” Soonyoung asked, stepping closer, his expression twisting with mock suspicion. “Don’t tell me you two—”

“It was Bumzu hyung,” Jihoon cut in, glaring at him. “He disappeared like he always does. Left everything behind, including her.” He adjusted his grip on you, trying to keep you upright.

Soonyoung tilted his head, eyeing you both like he was still trying to piece it all together. Then he grinned, mischief practically radiating from him. “Well, well, well,” he teased, his grin only growing wider. “Need help, Romeo?”

Jihoon shot him a look that could freeze fire. “Don’t start.”

“Fine, fine,” Soonyoung said with a laugh, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’ll help you get her to the cab.”

With Soonyoung’s help, Jihoon managed to get you into the back seat of the cab. The driver asked for your address, but Jihoon glanced at you, still half-asleep, lips barely moving as you mumbled something incoherent.

“I’ll send it to him,” Jihoon said, already pulling out his phone to text the driver the address.

“You sure you don’t want a ride back, Jihoon-ah?” Soonyoung offered, leaning his arm on the open car door. “I can drop you off.”

“Nah,” Jihoon said, still glancing at you as the driver confirmed the address. “I need to walk.”

“Pfft, walk? You sound like an old man,” Soonyoung teased, slapping Jihoon’s back.

“Go home, bye,” Jihoon grumbled, waving him off.

Once the cab drove away, Jihoon stood still for a moment, letting the cool night air wash over him.

I like him.

Her words echoed in his mind, circling like a melody on repeat. He rubbed his hands together slowly, eyes on the sidewalk ahead of him.

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and started walking, his breath coming out in small clouds in the cold air. No one else was around, and the only sound was the soft crunch of his sneakers on the pavement.

His heart thudded in his chest, steadier now but still louder than usual.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He walked slowly, taking his time. He needed the fresh air, sure. But more than that, he needed time to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop replaying your voice in his mind.

I like him.

The next morning, you sent Jihoon a text.

"Thank you for getting me home safely, oppa."

You didn’t remember much from that night, only flashes of you leaning on someone and the faint scent of his familiar cologne. Since you’d heard Bumzu vanished early as usual, it had to be Jihoon who took care of you. Still, knowing how busy he was, you didn’t expect a reply. Instead, you quickly busied yourself with work, pushing the lingering embarrassment aside.

A few days later, you were knee-deep in packing boxes. You were preparing to move to a new apartment, one closer to the company, which would make commuting easier. With help from a couple of friends, the packing went faster than expected. They chatted and teased you as you sorted through your things.

“Hey, what’s this?” one of your friends asked, reaching for a small, worn-out envelope sitting on the corner of your desk.

Your heart jumped in panic. You rushed over, snatching it before she could take a closer look. “Ah, it’s nothing,” you said quickly, slipping it into your bag.

“Suspicious~” she sang, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“It’s nothing important,” you insisted, shoving it deep into your bag.

Your phone buzzed on the table, drawing you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Jihoon.

"Any update on your latest song?"

You quickly typed a reply.

"Not yet, but I’m sure they’ll accept it soon. They’ve been slow lately."

The production team was notorious for taking their time, so you weren’t too worried. Besides, you were currently caught up in another project with a different artist, and following up with the production team wasn’t your priority.

Just as you were about to put your phone away, another text from Jihoon popped up.

"I want to discuss a song with you. Are you free now?"

You glanced at the mess of boxes around you and snapped a quick photo.

"I’m moving out!"

This time, Jihoon didn’t text back. He called.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the screen. He’s calling me? Jihoon rarely called, even when it was urgent. Curious, you picked up.

“Hello?” you answered.

“You’re moving? To where?” His voice was clear and steady, but there was an undertone of surprise.

You explained your new place, telling him it was just a short walk from the company. It was more convenient and would save you time commuting to work.

“That’s great,” Jihoon said, his tone sounding warmer than usual. “I live around that area too.”

“Really?” you asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah, we’ll be neighbors,” he said with a chuckle.

For some reason, the thought of living close to him made you feel oddly self-conscious.

“By the way,” you added, feeling a bit braver now, “how did you know my address that night? I don’t remember giving it to you. I’m so sorry for the trouble!”

You cringed as you recalled the fuzzy details of that night. The idea of him seeing you in a drunken, messy state made you want to disappear. He doesn't even drink, and I was a whole disaster.

His soft laughter rumbled through the phone, and you felt your face heat up.

“I got it from HR,” he admitted, still chuckling. “I basically terrorized him until he gave it to me since you wouldn’t say a word.”

You gasped in shock, both at his method and at the mental image of Jihoon pestering HR. “You did what?!”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t break any rules… I think,” he teased, his voice laced with mischief. “I had to make sure you got home safely.”

Your chest warmed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you for that,” you said softly.

“Don’t mention it,” Jihoon replied, his voice quieter now, like he’d tilted his head against the phone.

After a brief pause, you brought up the song. “About the song you wanted to discuss, I can stop by your studio tonight if that works for you.”

“Not necessary,” Jihoon said firmly. “I should be the one going to your studio. I’m the one asking for help.”

A laugh escaped you. This guy and his principles…

“Alright,” you agreed. “I’ll be at the company around 8. I’ll text you when I’m there.”

“Got it,” he replied. “See you then.”

The call ended, but the lingering warmth from his voice stayed with you. You glanced at the boxes scattered around the room and then at your bag — the one with that letter hidden inside.

Jihoon wasn’t sure when it started. At first, it was subtle — small changes that no one, not even he, noticed. It might have been the day you casually explained your creative process to him.

“You do what?” he asked, his brows raised in mild disbelief.

“I create a mind map,” you explained as you scribbled on a large whiteboard, drawing lines to connect scattered concepts and ideas. “Then, I gather samples that match the vibe. It helps me stay focused when I start composing the beat.”

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you with quiet fascination. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the logic behind it — it’s just that he’d never bother to do it. He’d always gone straight into producing, trusting his instincts to guide him. But the way you did it… it was methodical yet creative, disciplined yet free.

“There’s always a reason why you’re a genius,” you muttered, focused on sketching another connection on the board.

He blinked, surprised by your words, and then chuckled softly. “You mean because I’m lazy?”

You nodded, grinning at him from behind the whiteboard. “Exactly.”

For some reason, that moment stuck with him.

A week later, Seungkwan walked into Jihoon's studio with a cup of iced Americano for him — only to freeze in shock. Jihoon was standing at the whiteboard. Jihoon. At a whiteboard.

“What… is this?” Seungkwan asked, his eyes squinting like he was seeing an illusion.

“Mind mapping,” Jihoon replied casually, drawing another circle on the board and labeling it "Bridge Vibe — Sentimental, but not cheesy.”

Seungkwan gawked at him. “Who are you? And what have you done to Lee Jihoon?”

Jihoon just smirked and said nothing.

But that wasn’t all. Slowly but surely, the changes started piling up.

One day, Seungcheol walked past Jihoon’s studio and did a double-take. Jihoon was… eating dessert? A strawberry shortcake.

“Jihoon, you good?” Seungcheol asked, leaning on the doorframe, arms folded.

“Hmm?” Jihoon didn’t even glance up, scooping up another bite of cake while scrolling through his phone. “Yeah, why?”

“Dessert. You’re eating dessert.” Seungcheol’s voice was filled with suspicion, like he was trying to uncover a secret mission.

Jihoon raised a brow, slowly lifting his gaze from his phone. “And?”

“And you don’t eat dessert.”

“People change, hyung,” Jihoon muttered, stuffing another bite into his mouth.

“People change, but this much?” Seungcheol muttered to himself as he walked away, still glancing back every few steps like he’d just seen a cat bark.

The biggest shock, however, came when Jihoon suddenly registered for a shooting practice course. Yes, shooting. With a real gun.

Jeonghan was the first to hear about it. “You’re lying,” he deadpanned as he sipped his coffee in the practice room.

“Swear on my solo album,” Seungkwan replied, eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m serious. Jihoon-hyung signed up for it. I even saw the receipt.”

“Why?” Joshua asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Seungkwan exclaimed, waving his arms like a detective on a dramatic reveal. “Jihoon. With a gun. Do you know how dangerous that is for us? He already has that death glare.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Jeonghan muttered, rubbing his temple. “The quiet ones are the scariest.”

When Jihoon casually walked into practice later, everyone’s eyes were on him. It wasn’t unusual for him to receive attention, but this time it was different. They were looking at him like he was a time bomb.

“What?” Jihoon asked, his eyes darting between them.

“Are you going through something?” Jeonghan asked cautiously, stepping forward like he was about to have a serious intervention.

“Do we need to talk, hyung?” Seungkwan chimed in, his voice filled with the kind of concern, reserve for someone about to shave their head or move to another country.

Jihoon gave them both a blank stare. “No.”

“Then why are you suddenly into guns?”

“Hobby.”

The room went silent.

“Since when do you pick up hobbies?” Seungkwan whispered dramatically.

Jihoon ignored them, walking straight to his spot in the practice room. He put down his bag and pulled out his phone. But as he scrolled, he caught himself smiling. He thought of you showing him how to gather "inspiration" from unusual places. "Do something new. It'll help you create." That’s what you’d told him once. He didn’t think much of it then, but somehow, it got to him.

The changes didn’t stop.

Some days, he’d leave his studio just to walk to a nearby cafe. Normally, he’d stay locked in his workspace for hours, only emerging to grab a quick meal. But these days, he’d grab a coffee, pick up your favorite dessert, and drop it off at your studio.

“Brought you this,” he’d say, setting it down on your desk like it was no big deal.

“Thanks, oppa!” you’d chirp, smiling brightly. He’d linger for a moment, watching you open it with childlike excitement. But before you could say anything else, he’d wave it off like it was no big deal. “Alright, I’m going back.”

It became a routine. Occasionally, he'd sit with you for a bit. Not as a co-producer, but as a friend. He’d watch as you flipped through manhwa on your tablet, eyes focused but relaxed.

“What’s that?” he asked once, tilting his head.

“A new series,” you replied, not even looking away. “You’d like it. It's about a musician who time-travels to fix his regrets.”

Jihoon raised a brow, interest piqued. “Sounds cheesy.”

“It’s not. The writer knows their stuff,” you said, eyes still glued to the screen.

He glanced at it once, intending to leave. But then he sat down. One episode turned into two. Before he knew it, you were both huddled on the couch, scrolling through each new chapter together.

“Next chapter’s locked,” you muttered, annoyed.

“Here,” Jihoon said, tapping his phone. “I’ll unlock it.”

You looked up, wide-eyed. “Oppa, did you just buy coins for a manhwa?”

He blinked, realization dawning on him. “...Yeah.”

The two of you stared at each other. Then, laughter. It echoed in the studio like bells, crisp and light.

“You’re not yourself lately, oppa.” you teased, nudging his side.

He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not.”

Jihoon didn’t notice stares or whispered theories. He was too busy trying to figure out when he’d started picking up your habits. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but somehow, those little details had wormed their way into his life. The desserts, the manhwa breaks, the habit of sketching ideas before starting a track — they’d all become part of his process.

But it wasn’t just that.

He liked the way your voice sounded when you explained your reasoning for a certain sample choice. He liked how you hummed unconsciously when you were in the zone. He liked that you talked to him as a person, not just as "Woozi"

He... liked you.

But that was a realization he wasn’t quite ready to face yet.

Weeks later, Jihoon found himself staring at you. You were in the recording booth, headphones on, singing one of his demos meant for another female artist. The glow of the studio lights softened your features, and your focused expression drew him in more than it should have. His music engineer called his name, snapping him out of his thoughts, but Jihoon's eyes lingered on you for a moment longer. You glanced up through the glass, catching his gaze, and he quickly looked away, hoping you hadn't noticed.

"Are you okay, oppa? You seem... distracted," your voice crackled through the intercom, gentle but curious.

Jihoon leaned forward, pressing the talk button, masking his flustered state with a calm tone. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired. How about trying that line once more, Y/n?"

You nodded, adjusting your headphones and taking a breath before singing again. Your voice flowed smoothly, each note perfectly placed, your delivery effortless but full of heart. Jihoon leaned back in his chair, arms folded, eyes locked on you as you sang. It was a flawless take, but his mind wasn’t on the technicalities anymore.

He used to feel nothing but pride when hearing your voice — pride in your technique, your breathing, the way you controlled every note with precision. You’d always had that spark, even as a trainee, and he'd seen it from the beginning. Every time he heard you sing, he'd felt it — pride. Just pride.

But now, there was something more.

His chest felt warmer than it should have. The rise and fall of your voice, the slight quiver at the end of a sustained note, the way your eyes stayed focused on the lyrics in front of you — it all felt personal. Intimate. Like you were singing to him, just him, even though it wasn’t even a love song.

His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. What is this feeling? It wasn’t pride, at least not the kind he was used to. This was something else entirely, something that crept in without permission. His heart felt oddly light, yet unsteady, like it was tiptoeing on a fragile edge.

He glanced at the music engineer, pretending to focus on the control board. But in reality, his mind was stuck on you — your voice, your presence, and that inexplicable warmth spreading in his chest.

Why do I feel like this?

The song ended. You glanced at him, your head tilted, waiting for feedback. He pressed the button again, his voice coming out steadier than he expected. "That was perfect. Let’s keep that take."

"Okay, oppa." You smiled, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

His heart did something strange. Something unfamiliar.

Fluttering?

No, that couldn’t be it. It shouldn’t be it. But as you removed your headphones, flashing him one last smile before stepping out of the booth, he knew it was too late to deny it.

He wasn't just proud of you anymore.

He was falling for you.

You found yourself in a whirlwind of confusion as your phone buzzed non-stop with notifications. At first, you thought it was some group chat chaos, but it didn't take long to realize it was something much bigger. Your social media follower count had shot up drastically, and it wasn’t slowing down. Annoyed but curious, you muted the notifications and scrolled through the mentions.

One message from a friend caught your eye. It was a link to a short clip from the HYBE Producing Camp Documentary — the event you attended a month ago. It had been a major industry event featuring global producers collaborating with HYBE's own producers and idol-composers. You’d thought nothing of it at the time, just another chance to grow and network. But apparently, that one clip of you had gone viral.

"The Pretty Producer of Sheice."

That was the title plastered across multiple posts and video edits. Clips of you talking, working on a beat, or simply smiling in the background had been cut and edited with captions praising your visuals and youthful look. Comments flooded in.

"She’s so pretty, why isn’t she in the group??"

"She looks younger than some of producers."

"Wait, she's a main producer? Are you kidding me? Goals."

You froze. It wasn’t exactly bad attention, but it felt... off. Too much. Too fast. You immediately put your account on private, heart racing as you reviewed your posts. Thankfully, it was all clean — just travel shots, song credits, and random hangouts with friends. Still, it felt like someone had opened a window into your private life without warning.

The teasing started the moment you walked into the studio.

"Ah, look who's here. The Pretty Producer of Sheice has arrived!" Bumzu announced with a grin as soon as you sat down.

You rolled your eyes, unpacking your laptop. "Don’t start, oppa."

"Oh, but why not? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime title. ‘The Pretty Producer of Sheice’ — it even sounds like a K-drama," he teased, leaning in with a playful smirk. "You should print it on your business card."

You tried to brush it off, but the more you ignored him, the worse it got. Bumzu was relentless when he sensed weakness.

"Honestly, if they’d just put you in the group, you’d have been the visual and the main vocal. What a waste, huh?"

That comment hit deeper than he probably intended. Your eyes lowered, fingers fiddling with the corner of your notepad. The words came out before you could stop them.

"I'm sorry… I didn’t debut," you muttered, your voice quieter than usual.

The shift in mood was immediate. Bumzu blinked, his teasing smile fading into surprise.

"Ah… I didn’t mean it like that," he said, his tone full of regret. "I crossed the line. I’m sorry."

You shook your head quickly, your chest tightening. "No, it’s not you. I should’ve worked harder back then."

Bumzu stared at you for a moment, his jaw tensing like he wanted to argue. He let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s not on you. None of that was on you."

You didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything to say. The past was the past, and no amount of "what ifs" would change it. But guilt was a stubborn companion, one that didn’t leave just because someone told it to.

Bumzu glanced toward the door, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the conversation. He wasn’t good with serious moments like this, but he cared. You knew that much.

"I’m heading out for a sec," he muttered, walking toward the hall.

As he opened the door, he nearly bumped into Jihoon, who was holding a plastic bag in one hand and his phone in the other. His eyes darted between Bumzu and the room behind him.

"Oh, hyung? Wanna join us for lunch?" Jihoon raised the bag with a light smile, oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere.

Bumzu put a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder, stopping him. "Don’t go in there yet. Give it ten minutes."

Jihoon tilted his head, confused. "Why?"

"Just… trust me." Bumzu gave him a pat on the back before walking off.

Jihoon frowned, glancing toward the studio door, but he didn’t go in. Instead, he leaned against the wall, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly as he waited. Ten minutes never felt so long.

You pulled your hoodie over your head the moment Jihoon stepped into the studio. Quick and quiet, you shoved the crumpled tissues from the table to the farthest corner, like they could disappear if you just pushed hard enough. You coughed—loud and deliberate—rubbing your nose to sell the act before glancing at him.

"Hey, oppa," you greeted, forcing a casual smile.

Jihoon paused in the doorway, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you. His gaze lingered on your face longer than usual, like he could see through every little move you’d made to hide yourself.

"You caught a cold?" he asked, stepping further in.

You nodded, still rubbing your nose. "Yeah, but don’t worry, it’s not contagious." You tried to sound convincing, but your voice cracked a little at the end.

Jihoon shrugged, pulling out the food he’d brought along. The faint aroma of warm soup and rice filled the room as he set it on the table. "Should’ve told me. I would’ve gotten you some porridge."

He glanced at you once more before unwrapping the utensils, eyes still cautious, still watchful. You knew that look. Jihoon wasn't the type to press you for answers, but he wasn't clueless either.

"What's up with you and Bumzu hyung?" he asked casually, opening the lid of his soup.

"Nothing serious. Just… song stuff," you mumbled, hoping that would be enough.

Jihoon paused, side-eyeing you as he stirred the soup with his spoon. "Hyung told me to wait outside for ten minutes."

Your eyes twitched, knowing exactly where this was going.

"And I waited," he continued flatly, tilting his head toward you. "So, what's wrong?"

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your hoodie sleeves. It was stupid, you thought. No reason to make a big deal out of it. But Jihoon was still staring at you like he had all day to wait.

"He joked about me debuting with Sheice," you finally admitted, eyes locked on the food in front of you. "It was just a joke, but it kind of… crossed the line, I guess."

Jihoon hummed, lips pursed in thought. "Yeah, I could see how that'd be awkward," he said, nodding slowly.

"It’s not like it really bothers me anymore," you said, more to convince yourself than him. "But sometimes I think… maybe he still feels guilty about it. I don’t want him to think he failed me or something. He did everything he could."

Jihoon set his spoon down and leaned back, his eyes on you again. They weren’t sharp this time, just steady. Calm.

"Do you think he still sees you that way?" Jihoon asked.

"I don’t know." You exhaled slowly, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. "But sometimes, I feel like people still do. Like, they pity me because I didn’t debut. I don't want that." You glanced at him then, something raw in your eyes. "Do you feel sorry for me, oppa?"

Jihoon blinked once, twice, like it was the dumbest question he'd ever heard. He snorted, picking up his spoon again.

"Why would I pity you?" he said simply. "You’re an amazing composer. If anything, I should pity myself for having to compete with you."

That startled a laugh out of you, soft but real. "Compete? With me?"

"Yeah." He raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. "Look at how fast you’ve grown. If we compare how long we’ve both been in the industry, you’re catching up to me too fast."

A grin tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through your chest. "Then, thank you, sunbae," you said with a playful bow, calling him the title of a senior in the industry.

Jihoon waved it off, shaking his head like it physically hurt him. "Don’t do that. Just eat before it gets cold."

You chuckled, grabbing a spoon and opening your own container. The steam hit your face, warm and comforting. You stirred it a little before taking a small sip, sighing at the familiar taste.

"By the way," Jihoon said suddenly, his voice casual but steady. "Debut or no debut, you would’ve been great either way."

You glanced up, caught off guard.

He met your gaze, eyes clear and sure. "You’re too good to be held back by something like that. You're already doing amazing things now."

His words sat in the air for a moment, slow and deliberate, like they were meant to be heard, remembered, and tucked away. Your face felt hot, and it wasn't from the steam rising from the soup.

"Thank you, oppa," you muttered, hiding behind another spoonful of rice.

Jihoon tilted his head, watching you for a second longer before returning to his food. "No need to thank me. Just the truth."

But you kept your head down, eating quietly as your heart thudded a little louder than it should have.

Your heart pounded harder with each second, panic settling deep in your chest. You couldn't find it — the letter. The letter that held years of feelings and the one thing you swore you'd never let anyone see.

Your hands tore through your bag for the third time, fingers digging into every pocket, but it wasn’t there. Your breathing quickened. Think. Think. Where did you last have it? Your mind replayed the past few days in flashes.

I put it in my bag, didn’t I?

Your heart felt like it might burst out of your chest. You stood, pacing back and forth in your small apartment before you made a decision. The company. It has to be there.

The moment you stepped into the quiet, dimly lit company building, you felt the weight of the silence pressing on you. It was nearly 3 a.m., the kind of hour where ghosts of mistakes haunted you the loudest. Every creak of your footsteps echoed down the halls as you retraced your daily route. Your eyes scanned the floors like you were searching for a dropped contact lens, desperate for any sign of the letter.

Where could it be?

Panic rose higher. If anyone finds it… You didn’t even want to finish the thought. It wasn’t just your name on that letter. It had his name too.

You stopped walking, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your heart clench. You knew exactly whose name was scrawled inside that letter. Lee Jihoon.

A confession letter. The one you wrote years ago as a trainee but never had the courage to give him. Somehow, instead of throwing it away like a normal, rational person, you kept it like it was some kind of sentimental treasure. A reminder of those fleeting moments when you believed in things like "what if."

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. Okay. Think. Where did you take your bag?

Your eyes shot open.

His studio.

Your stomach twisted into a knot. The worst possible place for a lost love letter. If Jihoon found it... No, no, no. Your feet spun you around, and you half-ran, half-speed-walked straight to his studio. The hallway stretched longer than usual, each step filled with growing dread.

Please be unlocked. Please be unlocked.

When you finally arrived, you tried the handle. It didn’t budge. Locked. It meant you couldn’t search, but it also meant he might be the one to find it. You pressed your forehead against the cool metal of the door, closing your eyes as you mumbled, "Why did I have to keep that stupid letter?"

You stayed there for a moment, face buried in your hands. It was too much. If he read it, if he knew you’d been crushing on him for years, you’d never be able to face him again. Forget quitting the company—you'd have to leave the country.

You went home that night but didn’t sleep. Your mind was a constant loop of what ifs and he’s going to find it. You called in sick the next day, and the day after that too. You were too paralyzed with embarrassment to step foot into the company. You lay in bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, hoping, praying that no one would text you with "OMG, did you write this?" or "You dropped something important, lol."

But there was silence. No texts from Jihoon. No invites for lunch. No coffee requests. No random desserts dropped off at your studio.

That’s not like him.

Your heart sank.

Was he avoiding you? Did he already find it?

You buried your face in a pillow, letting out a groan so loud it echoed in your small apartment. Why am I like this? You scolded yourself, biting your lip as you tried not to spiral further.

You should’ve burned it. The day they told you that you wouldn’t debut, you should’ve set it on fire and watched it turn to ash. But no, you kept it like a fool, like a keepsake of dreams that were never meant to be.

Tears of frustration pricked at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and let your mind drift to the past, to the day you met Lee Jihoon for the first time.

He wasn’t like the other producers. Everyone knew him as the genius behind Seventeen’s hits, but he didn’t carry himself like someone with that much success. He was humble. He'd visit the trainees during evaluations and offer advice, not just on vocals but on mental strength too. "Don’t be too hard on yourself. Progress isn’t always fast, but it’s still progress," he’d said once, looking right at you.

You remembered that moment too vividly. His eyes were sharp but kind, his tone firm but gentle. He never talked down to any of you, never made anyone feel small. He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t owe anyone his time. But he did it anyway.

That’s when it started, you realized. That’s when I started falling for him.

You had tried to crush it—tried to leave it behind when you left the trainee life. But love, it seemed, was a stubborn thing. It stayed with you. It followed you into every recording session, every lunch break where he'd pop in with a "What are you eating today?" It lingered in every glance you stole at him when he got too caught up in work to notice anyone else was watching.

And now, after all that, he might know.

You let out another groan, curling into a ball on your bed. Please, please, please, don't let him find it. Don't let him know.

But as you lay there, face buried in the blanket, your phone buzzed. You ignored it at first, too emotionally exhausted to care. It buzzed again. You reached out, grabbed it, and squinted at the screen.

It was from Jihoon.

"You feeling better?"

Your heart stopped for a beat. Then, it kicked up double-time.

Is he asking just because I haven’t been in? you wondered. Or is this about the letter?

You stared at the message like it might explode. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, second-guessing every response you could possibly send. Should you pretend nothing was wrong? Should you ask him directly?

Finally, you typed back,

"Yeah, just needed a break. Thanks for checking in."

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen, waiting, dreading, hoping he wouldn’t bring it up. But seconds later, his reply popped up.

"Okay. Come eat with me tomorrow."

Your heart jumped. Does that mean he didn’t find it?

Or worse—did it mean he did find it and was waiting for you to confess?

You flopped back onto the bed, phone on your chest, staring blankly at the ceiling. No sleep for you tonight, that was for sure.

“I saw it.”

Jihoon’s words hit you like a bolt of lightning. You froze, your body stiffening as you sat on the couch. Your eyes darted to him, heart thudding so loud it echoed in your ears. He saw it?

“Y-You did?!” you blurted, sitting up so fast you nearly gave him a heart attack. His eyes widened in surprise at your sudden outburst. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction from you.

Jihoon watched you with mild confusion as you rubbed your face aggressively, letting out a muffled groan that sounded oddly like a character from an anime. Your face was flushed, a deep red spreading across your cheeks, and you refused to meet his eyes.

"You okay? You look kinda… flustered," he asked, leaning forward slightly, his eyes scanning you like you might be running a fever.

You sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly shouted, "I am!" Your hands shot into the air in a dramatic fist-pumping motion.

He blinked at you, entirely thrown off by your antics.

"When did you see it?" you asked in a rush, your voice laced with nerves.

"This morning," he replied casually, watching for your reaction.

You groaned like the world was crumbling around you, burying your face in your hands as you muttered something incoherent. Your words came out so fast and garbled that he could barely understand you. It was like you were speaking in fast-forward while trying to sink into the couch cushions to disappear.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered, peeking out from behind your hands, only to bury yourself back in. "I have no courage to face you. I should've burned it. I should've burned it."

Jihoon blinked in confusion, tilting his head. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

You lifted your head, your eyes wide with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Don’t act like you don’t know! You saw it! I sent you so many letters before! How could you tell me not to worry after you saw it?!”

“…Letters?” Jihoon leaned back, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. His head tilted as if he was trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces.

He was about to mention your viraled video from the producing camp month ago. He saw it this morning.

"Yes, the letters!" you said, your voice higher than usual. "The ones I used to leave near the bathroom! I sent them for you, Jihoon! For you!"

His eyes squinted as if his brain had finally caught up. Slowly, his eyes widened. "Wait. You were the one sending those letters?"

You didn’t answer, but the silence was all he needed. His gaze shifted to his desk, and then, like a lightbulb switching on, his expression changed. His eyes darted to the small box on his shelf—the one filled with old, unopened envelopes he’d kept for years.

“These?” he asked, walking to the desk and pulling out the box. He lifted it, glancing between you and the letters as realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Your eyes widened in horror, your breath caught in your throat. "You kept them?!"

He turned toward you, his lips twitching with something between shock and disbelief. “You mean… these letters were from you?” He opened the box, pulling out one of the older letters, his fingers carefully brushing over the familiar handwriting. He could almost hear your voice in his head now, realizing that the tone of the letters, the way certain phrases were written—it was you. It had always been you.

Jihoon looked back at you, his voice soft with wonder. “All this time… you were the one sending these?”

You buried your face in your hands, your whole body curling into the couch like a ball. Your ears burned red, and you muttered, “Yes, yes, it was me, okay? I’m sorry. I was young and stupid. I thought it was cute back then.” Your voice cracked with embarrassment. “I thought I could be bold through paper, but I couldn’t say a single thing to your face.”

Jihoon blinked, his gaze softening as he stared at you. Her? he thought to himself. All those letters he used to read when he was exhausted, those kind words that gave him strength when he was burnt out. The sender was you. You.

He placed the box on the table and picked up the envelope you'd pulled from under the couch earlier—the one that had started this whole mess, when you realized he wasn't talking about the letter then you had searched for it around his studio. His fingers moved to open it, his eyes darting to you for permission.

You saw his intent and bolted upright. "Wait, don't read that one!" You reached for it, but he quickly lifted it out of reach, his eyes narrowing playfully.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement now.

"Because!" you yelled, grabbing for it as he lifted it higher. "It's different from the others! Just give it back!"

"Different how?" he teased, still holding it above his head like he was holding candy away from a child. “More heartfelt? More honest?”

“Oppa!” you pleaded, standing on your toes, your hands gripping his arm in desperation.

But it was too late. He had already opened the envelope and pulled out the neatly folded letter. His eyes scanned the page, his playful smirk slowly disappearing with each line he read. His lips parted as his eyes moved slowly across the words, soaking in every single confession, every single feeling you'd buried in the ink.

I’ve liked you since the first day I saw you. I’ve tried to stop, I really did, but you kept being kind. You kept being you.

His heart pounded. His fingers tightened around the paper. His throat felt dry.

If you’re reading this, I’m either braver than I’ve ever been or the most cowardly I’ve ever felt. Because I never had the courage to tell you to your face. So this letter is my last attempt. I’m sorry it took me so long.

Jihoon swallowed the lump in his throat. His heart felt too big for his chest, like it might burst from the sheer weight of what he’d just read.

He looked at you. You stood there, eyes squeezed shut, looking like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. You were biting your lip, your face still stained red with embarrassment.

"All this time…” he whispered, his eyes never leaving you. “You’ve liked me since then?"

You didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t breathe. You just stood there, eyes squeezed shut like a kid waiting for the storm to pass.

“Do you still like me now?” he asked softly, stepping toward you. His voice was so gentle it barely registered at first. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t mocking. It was… sincere.

Your eyes slowly opened, and you looked up at him, lips parting in surprise.

He took another step toward you, now close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. His eyes searched yours for an answer. “Do you still like me?”

You bit your lip, eyes darting to the side. You’d come this far—might as well jump off the cliff now.

“…Yes,” you whispered. Your eyes flickered back to him like you were bracing for rejection. “I still do.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Silence hung in the air, heavy but not uncomfortable. Jihoon’s gaze softened, his lips tugging into a small, thoughtful smile.

"You're such an idiot," he said with a small laugh, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

Your heart stopped. "Excuse me?!"

"I mean, you could’ve just told me," he said, taking another step forward, so close you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “You think I’m scary or something?”

“Back then, yes!” you blurted, cheeks heating up. “You are Woozi of Seventeen! You were the genius idol-producer. Who was I supposed to be?”

His eyes searched yours like he was seeing you for the first time. “You were you,” he said, his voice so soft it made your breath hitch. His gaze flickered to your lips for a second, then back to your eyes. “And you’re still you.”

He lifted the letter slightly. "Do you want me to burn this?"

You nodded weakly, still not trusting yourself to speak.

"Too bad," he said, tucking it into his pocket.

"Hey—!"

"I’m keeping it," he said firmly, his eyes locking on yours. "I’m keeping all of them."

This time, it was Jihoon’s face that turned a little red. His gaze dropped, but his smile lingered.

“Call it my treasure.”

The recording studio buzzed with quiet excitement as the final track of Seventeen’s upcoming album played through the speakers. It was a masterpiece—a blend of styles and sounds that showcased every member’s unique color. But there was something else everyone noticed.

Your name.

There it was, listed as a contributor on almost every track. It wasn’t the first time you’d worked on Seventeen’s albums, but this was different. Your involvement was undeniable, and the members couldn’t resist poking fun at Jihoon for it.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, his grin wide as ever. “Looks like you don’t need Bumzu hyung anymore, huh?” His voice was full of mischief, his eyes locked on Jihoon.

“I need him!” Jihoon shot back, sitting up straight, his eyes darting toward Bumzu as if to prove his point. “Don’t twist it, Mingyu.”

But it was too late. That one comment had already ignited a chain reaction.

“Yeah, right,” Seungkwan snorted from across the room, his legs kicked up on the armrest of the couch. “Hyung’s been acting brand new ever since she started showing up in the credits.” He made air quotes around she as if it wasn’t already clear who he meant.

“Next thing you know, Jihoon will start writing love songs,” Joshua teased, his smile too innocent to be trustworthy.

“Check the tracklist,” Jeonghan chimed in, scrolling on his phone with a knowing smirk. “He already did.”

The room erupted into laughter. Even Seokmin, who was trying to stay professional, ended up doubling over, clutching his stomach.

Jihoon’s ears turned red almost instantly, and he pressed his back against the couch, arms crossed, sinking as low as possible. “Y’all are so annoying.”

“Oh, we’re annoying?” Soonyoung cackled, standing up to point an accusatory finger at him. “You’ve been humming that one hook for weeks, and I thought it was just some random melody. But nope! Turns out it’s a love letter disguised as a chorus!”

“Shut up.” Jihoon threw a pillow at him, but Soonyoung dodged it with ease, his laughter only getting louder.

Mingyu, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned forward on the table, resting his chin in his hands like he was about to spill some tea. “I mean, it makes sense now. Y’know, after that news.”

Everyone knew exactly what that was.

It had been months since Soonyoung made his now-infamous declaration in their group chat. He sent a long written-text claimed it by TigerNews, complete with a dramatic “🔥BREAKING NEWS🔥” articles in their group chat.

Soonyoung had 'officially announced' the relationship with a fake headline that read, 'Seventeen’s Woozi and Rising Producer Y/N Confirm Relationship in Exclusive Interview with TigerNews' — complete with dramatic quotes and a grainy, zoomed-in photo of you two at the company cafe.

The chat had gone wild. Memes were shared. Jokes were made. No one was spared.

“Congratulations, Romeo and Juliet!”

Minghao had typed with so many heart emojis it made the whole chat lag.

“Don’t embarrass them, hyung.”

Seungkwan had written right after, only to follow up with,

“Actually, never mind. EMBARRASS THEM.”

Needless to say, the teasing had been relentless ever since.

“Honestly,” Jeonghan drawled, flipping his phone like it was nothing, “this whole time, I was suspicious. My detective work was getting exhausting.”

“Detective work?” Seokmin scoffed. “You were just being nosy.”

“And I was right,” Jeonghan fired back, tossing a gummy bear into his mouth with a triumphant grin.

Back in the present, Bumzu leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes locked on Jihoon. Unlike the others, his teasing had a sharper edge. "He actually does need me," Bumzu said with a grin so sly it could cut glass.

“See?” Jihoon pointed at him like Bumzu was his last lifeline. “Exactly!”

But Bumzu wasn’t done. “He needs me to make sure he keeps his hands to himself.”

The entire room went silent for half a second before absolute chaos broke loose. Seungkwan’s scream echoed like an airhorn. Mingyu banged on the table, his laughter so loud it could be heard in the hallway. Soonyoung was on the floor, rolling around like he’d just seen the funniest thing of his life.

“NOOOO—!” Jihoon’s face burned bright red, his hands flying up to cover his eyes. He sank so low into the couch it looked like he was trying to disappear into the cushions. "I'M LEAVING!" he declared, attempting to get up, but Mingyu shoved him back down.

“Stay right there, hyung.” Mingyu grinned like a cat that just cornered a mouse. “We’re not done.”

Jeonghan leaned in, his eyes practically glittering with mischief. “So tell me, Jihoon, how long have you been ‘needing’ Bumzu hyung's supervision?”

“SHUT. UP.” Jihoon threw his second pillow, but Jeonghan caught it with one hand like it was nothing.

“Ohoho, look at him!” Seokmin gasped, pointing like he’d seen a rare species in the wild. “Look at his face! Redder than a cherry!”

Bumzu leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know, if you just admitted it, they’d probably leave you alone.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Jihoon shot back, glaring at him with the intensity of a supernova.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bumzu laughed, tossing a piece of candy into his mouth. “But it’s still funny.”

For the next few minutes, the teasing didn’t let up. Everyone had something to say, whether it was about your name in the credits or Jihoon’s ‘secret’ love songs. They teased him about how much you were in his head, how his melodies were sounding “suspiciously romantic” lately, and how even his synth choices had more "color" than before.

Jihoon sat there, his face a permanent shade of red, trying not to combust. He leaned back against the couch, tilting his head up toward the ceiling, eyes closed like he was begging the universe to end his suffering.

"How am I supposed to survive this in the future?" he muttered to himself.

Bumzu clapped him on the shoulder, his grin far too wide. "Oh, buddy, this is just the beginning."

"Please stop," Jihoon groaned. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Nah,” Bumzu said, shaking his head. “I’m on her side now.”

The room burst into chaos once again, and Jihoon could only bury his face in his hands, wondering how he’d survive the next album.

The end.

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docdudo · 23 days ago

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Familiar 141 - Young Witch!Reader (Part 3)

You looked up at the cabin looming before you, its structure crafted from beautiful dark pine wood. The windows were adorned with extravagant details, and the doors, oversized and imposing, seemed designed for beings much larger than ordinary humans.

Well, maybe because, yeah, they weren't humans. Familiars would be offended if you ever compared them to humans.

Then again, so would witches.

You think.

Who would have guessed that such a grand and beautiful construction was hidden in the forest you’ve been exploring since you were old enough to walk?

It was clearly made with love and dedication too...

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Gaz smiled smugly, crossing his arms as he looked up at the place with you. "It’s been here since the 1800s. Of course, we’ve been updating and remodeling it for quite some time now."

You prefered not to think too hard about that date.

"Right..." You mumble, a little unsure what else to say, trying to avoid looking at his face for too long. His yellow, shining eyes made you a bit nervous.

You didn't even notice that your hand automatically went to stratch at the gold bands around your wrist, only jumping a bit in alarm as your small hand was grabbed by a much bigger one.

"Ey, wee lassie! No scratching, don't wanna ye hurting!" Soap smiled big even as he scolded you, making you frown a little at him.

"Right..." You grunted a bit more annoyed now, pulling your hand away from his quickly.

Soap barely reacted when you yanked your hand away from his, still smiling like an eager pup. He was leaning close, his wide stance unwavering, as if the thought of being even a moment away from you was unbearable.

Clingy...

Then again, weren’t Familiars usually like this? God, you wished you’d been born into a proper Coven, with real teachings about being a witch.

But nooooooo...

Instead, all you had were the itty bitty pieces of information your grandfather had about them and their life style. Sure, it was a lot of knowledge about witches for a human to have, but it wasn't enough.

You didn't know how they did it, really. Were your grandfather right about young witches never going outside the Coven? Like, never?

You doubt it that they were just being kidnapped left and right by solitary Familiars, so it had to be true, right...?

"What'cha ye thinking so hard about it, lass?" Soap questioned, inspecting your face closely, smile still present on his face.

"How to get away from you." You snarked quietly, a small frown tugging at your lips—though it looked suspiciously close to a pout. Not that it was intentional; your face just did that when you glared at someone.

"Aawww, lassie…" He crooned, a satisfied grin spreading across his face, his sharp smile making his eyes squint dangerously.

You trembled, instinctively stepping back at his reaction, your mind screaming 'danger' for a few panicked seconds. You’d grown bolder without the two scariest-looking Familiars around, momentarily forgetting the truth: no matter how they appeared, they were still ancient and dangerous. And goddamn, was his reaction terrifying…

"Tav." Gaz hissed, approaching you two with an annoyed look, immediatly slapping the back of Soap's head. "Baby witch, remember?"

"Tsc..." He grumbled at the hit, but immediatly softened as his eyes went back to you. "Sorry, mo leanbh... 'm not dangerous, not for you, never for you..." He crooned slightly, kneeling in front of you easily. "Would never hurt ma witch..."

You could only nod stiffly, still on edge about his behavior. Their behavior. Ever since you woke up a few hours ago, your emotions had been swinging wildly—mad, angry, annoyed… then terrified, scared, hesitant…

You wanted to go home.

Oh, God, please, don't cry again... you don't want to cry again, you're better than that....

Gaz and Soap watched your face for a few moments, quickly noticing your bubbling emotions once again. The cat Familiar immediately dropped to his knees beside Soap, intent on calming you down before you could get worked up again.

"It's okay, kid... you're okay, we would never hurt you, Soap was right..." Gaz soothes, voice quiet and gentle, big hands hovering above your arms, unsure if he should touch you or not.

"I know..." You raspy, a weird mix between emotional and annoyed. "Wanna... wanna go home...."

"Aw, lassie..." Soap murmurs, much more tamed now, one hand carefully touching your limp arm, trying to comfort you.

"......where did you even lived, hon'?" Gaz frowns a little as he asks, like he was thinking this over for the first time now. "You are not part of a Coven, right?"

"I..." That makes you hesitate a little, also frowning as you try to explain your situation. "I'm not... part of a Coven.... I... I, like, lived with my... grandfather close to the forest entrance... near the south part..."

"Gran'father?" Soap repeats, face immediatly scrunching in strong distaste.

"W-Wha-, what's with your reaction??" You question, eyes going a little wide as you take a step back, now frowning more than ever, almost glaring even. "It's my grandfather...!"

"Witches don't have gran'fathers." Soap grunts back, clearly annoyed but holding back so he wouldn't scare you again.

"Well—!" You caught yourself, suddenly remembering the dangerous creatures you were speaking to, taking a small breath to try and calm down a little. "W-Well, I do..." You murmur, quieter, but still annoyed.

"Soap, stop provoking her." Gaz sighs, shaking his head slightly. At least you don't look like you would cry now; good thing Soap has a way to always make everyone annoyed at him. "We'll take this to Price and Ghost, have a proper conversation..."

Soap grunted softly but nodded obediently, taking your small hand in his and bringing it closer, gently rubbing his face against the smooth palm with his eyes closed. Gaz studied you for a moment, but when he saw you standing still, just looking mildly annoyed, he smiled slightly.

Gentle little Witch. No mature Witch would let a Familiar have their way like that. Were all baby witches this cute? They lacked the danger and wild nature of older witches, making them seem so soft.

"C'mon lassie, we need to have a good, long chat, uhm?" Soap murmured, getting back up to his feet, not letting go of your small hand.

"Why...?" You almost whined, keeping your voice quiet, but still letting your displeasure obvious.

"Because some baby 'ere never had proper teachings," Soap smiled humorously, tugging you along with Gaz immediately closing in beside you, smilling gently down at you.

"Let's go get Price and Ghost, sweetheart."

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pinspec · 28 days ago

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i’ve absolutely loved the way vi’s appearance has been modified throughout this season.

in act 1, she retains her season 1 look, which could be seen as symbolic of an enduring self image of someone who must be unyielding and unchanging, i.e. someone who can protect zaun. this strength was borne of anger and grief surrounding the loss of her family, and her unchanged appearance makes clear that this vision of who vi believes herself to be still prevails. she becomes an enforcer after the attack on the memorial—not because she forsakes zaun, but because she believes she can’t protect anyone from jinx without the badge.

this is also the same hair she had when she first met and worked with caitlyn. we get the impression that she wants to be the same tough fighter who can keep them both afloat, but considering that vi seems most vulnerable in the presence of caitlyn—who causes her to suffer by persuading her to become an enforcer—we know this is futile. this theme is present during their first kiss, where vi almost buckles while caitlyn stands up straight.

then after caitlyn’s betrayal, a drastic change to her appearance occurs. she dyes her hair black and applies black eyeshadow, even black paint, to her face. she paints on a defensive facade to hide how vulnerable she is and her misery over making the wrong choice again and again and again. she tries to seem dangerous by making her rage visible but only ends up making her pain visible. hints of pink show through at the ends of her hair.

then jinx asks her to help her save vander, to overcome her lasting hatred for the hope of reuniting their family, and she actually does. she makes herself vulnerable again, and is rewarded by an unreal reconnection with jinx in the serene surroundings of viktor’s commune. she feels a flicker of hope that they might save their father. vi has the chance to forge a self-image that is not related to loss, and she seeks her younger self: the person who would put herself in harm’s way for her sister without a second thought.

then she bumps into caitlyn, who describes her as “an angry oil slick”. vi doesn’t respond with anger as she usually would—she just lets caitlyn see her. “don’t sugarcoat it, cupcake.” her dyed hair and shadowed eyes become a metamorphic signal. i believe caitlyn senses vi’s changing relationship with anger and is pushed to confront her own. she leaves her vendetta behind and defects.

in episode 8, vi’s hair is reverting back to pink and growing longer.

she goes to a locked up, grieving jinx and immediately opens her cage. vi’s transformation is almost complete; she has overcome the rage that made her reject powder all those years ago and replaced it with the desire to hold her sister even if her sister won’t hold her back.

succumbing to the loss of isha and vander, jinx traps vi in the cell and leaves, but it doesn’t matter. vi has become a force of love, not rage. caitlyn finds her, and reveals that she met vi halfway and allowed her to free jinx. caitlyn, too, has let go of her revenge motive. unlike vi, caitlyn’s appearance hasn’t changed, but she still expresses—through actions, not words—that she won’t let her anger control her any longer. she finally affirms her loyalty to vi. now on the same page, they kiss for a second time.

by the end of the finale, some remnants of vi’s transformation remain: her dark eyeshadow, her longer hair. she has come to terms with the things which she allowed to haunt her for a long time, but she must still learn what to do with her grief. she leans on caitlyn’s shoulder and accepts her support. interestingly, a physical change has at last found caitlyn, who wears an eye patch. after losing her mother at the start of the season she tried to remain unchanged and unwavering, but came to the realisation that her obsessive, grief-fuelled anger was obscuring her vision. her eye patch represents both an altered worldview and a newfound vulnerability; her skilled sharpshooting will definitely be impeded.

arcane teaches its characters that sometimes being vulnerable is not the same as being weak, and that attaining emotional clear-sightedness is a turning point on the path to self actualisation.

#arcane #caitvi #piltover’s finest #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman #jinx arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane analysis #arcane discussion #arcane stills

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emily--prentiss · 2 months ago

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I LOVE YOU, ALWAYS FOREVER

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

cw: mentions of pregnancy/childbirth, no use of Y/N, just pure fluff and love

a/n: I’ve caught the writing bug again! after so long not writing anything, I now can’t seem to stop. anyway, please enjoy this short fic of aaron just being absolutely smitten with his girls <3

word count: 1.2k

You hadn’t thought it was possible to love him more.

From the moment he’d first asked you on a date - uncharacteristically timid, stumbling over his words, so unlike the fearless leader you’d come to idolise and respect since joining the team all those years ago - he’d treated you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky yourself.

He wasn’t overly affectionate in public, but you didn’t mind. You were well aware that he had an image to uphold. When you were alone, however, he showered you with affection. It was overwhelming at first, and you’d felt undeserving, not used to being in a relationship with someone that adored you, that loved you completely, that respected you all the more. But as time wore on, you’d become accustomed to these little romantic gestures that, even now, had your cheeks tinting a light pink, butterflies forming in your stomach, and a smile that you tried (and failed) to suppress tugging at your lips.

On the nights where you were apart, back when you were still living in your own apartment, he formed small, affectionate habits. He’d send a text to check you were home safe, following a date or a long day at the office. He’d have flowers delivered regularly, bright bouquets waiting on your doorstep when you returned home from a gruelling case, always accompanied by the sweetest, handwritten note (you had a shoebox full of them tucked away in your closet, a physical reminder of his love for you). He’d call you as you settled into bed, his voice gentle over the phone as he was wished you sweet dreams, told you how much he missed you, how he couldn’t wait to see you again.

When you moved in with him, just a few short months before he proposed, his gestures changed in tandem with your relationship. If he had to be at the office early, you’d wake to a note left atop his pillow, hastily written messages of love and adoration ensuring a beautiful start to your day. After a particularly difficult case, he’d usher you into the bathroom the moment you got home. He’d run you a bath, help you ease into the water, and disappear into the kitchen to cook you one of your favourite meals while you allowed the hot water and bubbles to melt away your troubles.

On your wedding day, he’d allowed himself to be less reserved. The moment he saw you, as you began your descent down the aisle, he was consumed by emotions, his beautiful eyes shining with unshed tears. He’d leaned into you as you took his hand, matching smiles on your faces, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear, telling you just how beautiful he thought you’d looked. He seemed unable to resist touching you after that initial contact. At any given moment, his hand was pressed to the small of your back, or his fingers were intertwined with your own, or his lips were pressing tender kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. Though he kept reminding you of his love for you throughout the day, whispering it into your skin, you could feel it through those small gestures, too.

He held you close to him as you danced together for the first time as man and wife. His eyes were on you the entire time as the pair of you moved effortlessly around the dance floor, surrounded by your loved ones, his ever present smile unwavering. During his speech, you’d cried tears of happiness, so overwhelmed by the life he’d given you, the joy he made you feel every day.

He loved you wholly, and you didn’t think you could love him more.

That was, until the first time you saw him hold your daughter.

It had been gruelling, the birth. Long. Tiring. Aaron had been by your side constantly. He held your hand, wiped the sweat from your brow, and told you over and over how proud he was of you.

And the smile that had consumed him, all teeth and dimples as your daughter had come kicking and screaming into the world, left you breathless.

He was smitten from the moment he laid eyes on her. Had waited for your subtle nod of assent before he left your side to be with her while the nurses weighed her and cleaned her up, unable to take his eyes off of her for a moment. When she was placed in your arms for the first time, he’d wrapped his arms around the two of you as a choked noise left you, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. And although you weren’t alone in the room, midwife and nurses alike still floating around, it felt as though the world had shrunk to just the three of you - husband, wife, child.

He whispered against your cheek how perfect, how beautiful she was. Just like her mother. You’d scoffed then, partly because you’d always been unable to accept a compliment, mostly because you were certain you were anything but beautiful in that moment. Your hair most definitely resembled a birds nest, your lips were chapped and dry, and the sweat had dried uncomfortable onto your skin. But as you’d looked up at him and found his gaze settled on you for the briefest of moments before he’d leant forward to press a gentle, loving kiss to your lips, you thought perhaps he’d truly meant it.

Aaron didn’t hold the baby - Ivy, you’d settled on fairly quickly - until the three of you were finally alone. Though he’d refused to stray far, he knew how important those initial moments of bonding were between you and your tiny speck of a baby, so had refrained for as long as possible. But after a while, you’d looked over at where he stood towered over your bed, eyes roving over the baby as if trying to memorise every tiny detail of her little body. When you’d finally caught his eye, you’d tilted your head in a silent invitation that he join the two of you on the bed, a small laugh bubbling out of you at how quickly he shuffled in beside you. The baby was transferred into his awaiting arms, and as you curled yourself into his side as best as you could, you felt your breath catch in your throat at the sight of them.

Ivy, who was already a little small for her age, appeared even more so as she nestled into her father’s chest. The palm of one of his hands encompassed her back, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her through the blanket she was wrapped up in. The baby had grizzled as she’d been moved from her mother’s arms to her father’s. But as Aaron whispered into her ear how much he already loved her - something he’d done to you countless times over the years - she settled, as if she knew she was safe. Protected by the first man to ever love her.

And as the three of you rested in comfortable silence, you felt it again.

That love for him, a love that already felt all encompassing, growing even more.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #cm fic #cm fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff

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wystiix · 3 months ago

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"love is sour grapes"

❥ pairing: arlecchino x fem!reader ❥ synopsis: It's a rainy night and you're snoozing. Arlecchino just watches over you while thinking about your time together, and how far you both had come. ❥ cw: n/a ❥ additional tags: second pov perspective, reader is not traveler ❥ word count: 804 ❥ notes: hi hi so like ya i haven't played her story quest, but i wanted to write this dedicated to my bae (vel)!! i hope this isn't too inaccurate.. erm yeah. i was cooking this shit at 2am in the morning so take what you get. ❥ taglist: @honkai-freak (for u bbg) @mikashisus @tragedy-of-commons

According to the books, love is an intense feeling of deep affection. It is often portrayed as a positive feeling, from the butterflies fluttering in your stomach to the overall warmth that spreads throughout your entire being.

It can elevate you to the heights of bliss. At the same time, it can cut deeply enough to leave scars.

Arlecchino has experienced the latter. Her heart, if it still could be called that, had long been hardened like stone. What is love, if not a knife carefully pressed to her heart? She had avoided it for so long. The thought, the concept itself—it never dawned upon her.

Yet, here she was.

You slept soundly, snuggling in the sheets as you took off to the land of nod. Arlecchino simply observed you on the other side of the bed, watching your chest rise and fall to the sound of pouring rain outside.

How would one describe such a complex feeling? Why did she feel all tingly whenever she thought of you?

She leaned in and brushed a few strands of your hair to the side, showing your peaceful, sleeping face. A slight prickle met her fingers and a warmth seeped through her chest as a result. There it was again.

It was almost hard to fathom—and pathetic—that people would go to any lengths for the sake of their beloved. However, now she understood. Now that you were here, she’d willingly hurl herself into a pit of barbed wires if you desired.

The faint warmth of your body coaxed her closer, unable to pull her gaze away from yours. Her eyes traced over your sleeping form, memorising the shape of your face that she so adored. She felt so… alive. Alive in a way that almost scared her.

What does it truly mean to deserve love? Is it something that must be earned like a hard-earned gift, or does it simply come to you?

Honestly, she wasn't sure herself. She didn't know why you had chosen… her out of all the people in Teyvat. Arlecchino didn't have to work for your love, no? She had already earned it according to you.

Deserving. That word left a bitter taste in her mouth. What did she do to deserve this peace, this unwavering affection? What did she do to deserve you at all? Nothing, she thought. And yet, you still chose her. Despite the amount of blood stains she had and the rough calluses on her hands, you still intertwined your fingers with hers, bringing them to your lips and pressing a tender kiss on each one.

Is love a blessing or a burden?

It was like a sour grape, once thought too sharp to swallow. Though, the grape turned out to be much sweeter than expected the more she chewed.

Perhaps, she'd be willing to bite the pain as well.

She scooted closer to you, her breath warm against your skin as she gently brushed her fingertips across your face. You stirred in your sleep, instinctively reaching out for her warmth, and she let you find her.

Silence enveloped the dark room as Arlecchino lay there, staring up at the ceiling. The rain pattering against the window mirrored the steady beat of your heart, grounding her in the present at this very moment. She stroked your hair lovingly, relishing the softness of it.

Soft, like fragile threads of silk. Her mind raced. That leaves her to ponder: what if she hurt you? What if the same hands of a Harbinger that had caused so much pain to others couldn’t hold you as gently as they should?

“I don’t deserve you.”

You didn’t seem to hear her. She felt you shift slightly once again, a soft mumble escaping your lips as your hand blindly reached out and curled around her fingers. Her fingers grazed your cheek again, gentler than the first touch as if she feared you’d slip away if she wasn’t careful. She pressed a fleeting kiss on your hair.

Arlecchino wanted to say so many things to you. How thankful she really was for someone to walk into her life.

She swallowed hard.

“Even then, I'm quite content it was you, I…” she paused, processing her thoughts.

The words were foreign on her tongue. She'd never spoken them before. However, the truth radiated from within.

“I love you.”

The words slipped out, softer than she intended, but they felt right. They didn't have a bitter, sour aftertaste to it. It rolled off her tongue so, so easily. She wasn’t sure if you heard. If you didn’t… perhaps that was for the best.

She didn't deserve you. She never would.

But with the way you held onto her like an anchor, she knew one thing for certain—she would never let go of the one she cherished ever again.

#banner: @celeyunn #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino x female reader #genshin x reader #☆ wystys ink #—stellaronhvnters.

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natsaffection · 4 months ago

Note

heyyy so i have this idea and i think no one can write it like you so yeah.

forced marriage between Natasha and reader in the present time. they both don't like each other because of this situation yk but with time they come around each other.

i know this is a really classic one but I've been thinking about this for a long time and sending a request to you seemed like a good idea considering your beautiful writing. but of course it's okay if you don't want to write it! hope you're having a good day!!! (or night idk😭😭) 💗

I see you. | N.R

Warnings: Forced Marriage for a Mission, a lot of arguments, Drinking, mentioned of sex while beeing drunk (both)

Word count: 6,7k

A/n: I hope it makes sense. I thought for a long time about how best to implement this scenario and found this solution to be the most plausible..(The beginning takes place before the invasion of Loki)

Natasha sat stiffly, her gaze sharp and unforgiving, fixed on the man sitting across from her. Nick leaned back in his chair, his one good eye studying her with an intensity that matched her own. “So, what’s this about, Fury?” Natasha’s voice was as cold as the steel walls surrounding them in the underground briefing room of the Avengers headquarters. She had been urgently summoned, pulled out of a mission briefing that had been weeks in the making, and the weight of this interruption hung heavy in the air.

Fury exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming on the edge of the sleek metal table. The silence stretched just long enough that Natasha’s patience nearly snapped. “It’s about alliances.” he finally said, his tone measured, as if he was still deciding how much to reveal. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we had our alliances sorted out. Stark has the tech, Banner is working on the gamma projects, and I’m ready to handle the intel with Rogers. What’s missing?”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward, his hands tightly clasped together as if preparing for what he was about to say. “What’s missing is political stability. The kind that can’t be bought with technology or power. We need trust, and that’s in short supply these days.”

“Trust?” Natasha scoffed. “From whom? What aren’t you telling me?” He met her gaze, unwavering. “There’s a situation with Y/n.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. The name struck a nerve. You were no stranger in her world. Known for your diplomatic skills and sharp intellect, you were a key figure in international negotiations, often brokering deals that kept the world from chaos. You weren’t just a diplomat, you were a force, wielding influence in ways even Natasha respected. But that didn’t explain why you were the subject of this mysterious meeting.

“And what does that have to do with us?” Natasha asked, her voice low and laced with suspicion. Fury’s next words fell like a hammer. “You’re going to marry her.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. Natasha stared at Fury, waiting for the punchline to a joke that never came. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me right, Romanoff." Fury replied, his tone unyielding. “This marriage is the only way to secure the alliance we need. Your influence can grant us access to certain..resources and information that we desperately need. This goes beyond SHIELD, it’s about global security.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you think a forced marriage is magically going to solve all these problems?”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy.” Fury admitted. “But this isn’t about love or personal happiness. It’s about necessity. We need a visible, undeniable alliance, something that other nations and organizations can see and recognize as a commitment. A marriage between you and Y/L/N would achieve that.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. She was a soldier, a spy, a warrior..she had never allowed anyone to dictate the terms of her life, let alone something as personal as marriage. The very idea was repugnant to her, and yet..Fury’s expression told her this wasn’t just an idea, it was an order. The stakes were high, as they always were in her line of work, but this felt different. This felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

“And what makes you think she’ll agree to this?” Natasha asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She wasn’t ready to show more emotion than necessary. “She’s already agreed.” Fury said, and Natasha felt the ground shift beneath her feet. “She understands how important this alliance is. She’s as reluctant as you are, but she knows what’s at stake.”

Natasha let that sink in for a moment. She didn’t know you well, but she knew of you, respected you even. You were someone who didn’t back down easily, who saw through lies and acted on your convictions. If you had agreed, then the situation was worse than Natasha had thought.

“And if I refuse?” she asked, though she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it. Fury’s expression hardened. “You won’t refuse. You’re too smart for that, Natasha. You know what’s at stake. You’ve always done what was necessary.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her mind racing. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want to be tied down by something as archaic as marriage, especially not to someone she barely knew. But Fury was right. She had always done what was necessary, no matter the cost. And this, it seemed, was just another mission, one that would require all her skills to navigate.

“Fine..” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to play the happy housewife.” Fury almost smiled, but it was a cold, thin smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Natasha’s mind raced as she left the cold, sterile briefing room. Fury’s words echoed in her ears, a reminder that her life was no longer entirely her own. As she walked through the corridors of the SHIELD headquarters, her footsteps echoed ominously, each step bringing her closer to a fate she hadn’t chosen.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Fury again:

Meeting with Y/N in conference room in five minutes. Be there.

No time to think, no time to prepare. Typical. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before heading to the designated room. Natasha arrived at the conference room a few minutes early. The room was empty, the lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the table. It felt oddly impersonal, a stark contrast to the gravity of what was about to be discussed. She stood by the window, staring out at the headquarters’ grounds, trying to gather her thoughts.

The door opened behind her, and Natasha turned as you entered the room. You were dressed in a tailored suit, exuding the same sovereign confidence that had made you a respected figure in the diplomatic world. But there was something else in your eyes. A hint of irritation, maybe even anger. Clearly, you weren’t any happier about this situation than she was.

“Natasha.” you greeted her with a curt nod, your voice cool and distant. “Y/n.” Natasha replied just as coolly. She crossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill, her eyes narrowing as she studied the person in front of her. “So, I guess we’re getting married.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Looks that way. Not that either of us had a choice.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And whose fault is that? If you and your people hadn’t been so secretive, we might not be in this mess.” Your face hardened, a flicker of anger crossing your features. “Oh, please. Don’t act like SHIELD is any better. You’re all about secrets and manipulation. This marriage is just another one of your little games.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed further. “You think I want this? To be tied to someone I barely know, just to fulfill a political agenda? Don’t kid yourself.”

“Kid myself?” You scoffed and took a step closer, your voice rising. “Do you think it’s any easier for me? Being forced to marry the Black Widow, of all people? I know your reputation, Natasha. You’re a manipulator, a killer. This is the last thing I wanted.” Natasha’s jaw clenched, her anger boiling up. “And what about you? You’re no saint either, Y/n. You’ve played your games, made your deals behind closed doors, pulled strings to get what you want. Don’t pretend you’re any better.”

Anger flashed in your eyes. “At least I don’t hide behind a mask of false righteousness. I do what needs to be done for the greater good, just like you. But don’t mistake necessity for desire. I have no interest in playing house with someone who doesn’t even know what trust means.”

Natasha felt a sharp sting of anger mixed with something else, something she didn’t want to name. “Trust? That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve built your career on deception. And now you expect me to believe you’re the victim here?” You stepped closer, your voice low and sharp. “I don’t care what you believe. We’re both victims of this situation, but if you think I’m just going to roll over for you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Natasha’s anger flared again, her voice turning icy. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not here to make you happy. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We’ll play the part when necessary, but other than that, stay out of my way.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other, only inches apart, the tension crackling between them like a live wire. Finally, Natasha turned away, breaking the tense silence. She moved to the table and sat down, forcing herself to focus. “Let’s talk logistics. The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we can get it over with.”

You took a deep breath, regaining your composure, and sat down across from her. “Agreed. But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Natasha shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I have an apartment in Brooklyn. It’s secure, and there’s enough space for both of us without stepping on each other’s toes. We can start moving your things tomorrow.” Your eyes narrowed. “Brooklyn? How convenient for you. Always need to have the home-field advantage, don’t you?”

Natasha offered a crooked smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m practical. It’s close to headquarters, and it’s safe. Unless you have a better suggestion?” Your lips pressed into a thin line, clearly dissatisfied but unwilling to argue further. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play the obedient spouse. I need my space, my own office, my own schedule.”

“Fine.” Natasha responded sharply. “I don’t want you around me all the time anyway. We’ll do what’s necessary to make this look real, public appearances, a few shared events, then back to our own lives.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “And what about the media? They’re going to follow us everywhere, looking for any crack in the facade.”

Natasha waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll handle it. Stick to the script, and we won’t have any problems. There’s no need to make this more complicated than it needs to be.” You remained unconvinced. “You’re acting like this is so simple. But we both know there’s nothing simple about this.”

Natasha’s eyes hardened. “We don’t have a choice, Y/n. We do this because we have to, not because we want to.” Your jaw clenched, your voice turning icy. “Believe me, Natasha, the last thing I want is for this to work. But I’ll do what needs to be done. Just don’t expect anything more from me.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your mutual dislike hanging heavy in the air. This was going to be a nightmare..

In this silent moment, an agent came in with a pile of paper stuff. He sensed the tension immediately and just put it on the table and quickly left the room.

Thebtable was now filled with details on how your upcoming marriage would be presented to the world. It was an intricately crafted plan, covering everything from the official story of how you met to the timeline of your relationship and your behavior in public. Every detail had been meticulously planned by SHIELD’s PR team to ensure that the marriage appeared genuine.

You flipped through the pages with a grim expression, your fingers gripping the edges of the paper as if you wanted to tear them apart. “This is ridiculous..” you muttered, not bothering to hide your frustration. “They expect us to memorize a script? Like we’re actors playing a part?”

Natasha, sitting across from you, “That’s exactly what we are.” she said coolly. “This isn’t a real marriage, remember? We’re playing a role for the public.”

You shot her a sharp look. “I’m well aware. But this..” you gestured contemptuously at the file “is insulting. ‘Shared interest in global politics and mutual respect for each other’s abilities’? Really?” You read the lines aloud, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re acting like we’re two diplomats who fell in love over a discussion on trade agreements.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Would you prefer they invent a fairy tale romance? At least this version is believable. It’s not like we have a real story to fall back on.”

You slammed the file shut with a loud bang that echoed in the small room. “We wouldn’t need to make anything up if we weren’t being forced into this situation.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “No one’s forcing you to stay. If you have a better solution, by all means, let me know.”

You sighed in frustration, rubbing your temples. “You know as well as I do that there isn’t one! Fury made sure of that.” Natasha watched you silently for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Then we make the best of it. We memorize the script, play the show, and get it over with.”

You looked up at her, your eyes flashing with anger. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re used to lying, aren’t you? Playing different roles, lying to people’s faces. But this..this isn’t just another mission, Natasha. This is our lives.”

Natasha's eyes hardened at the accusation. "You think I don't know that? You think I enjoy being paraded around like a puppet? I've spent my entire life fighting for control over my own decisions, and now I'm being told who I have to marry. So don't act like you're the only one angry about this." Your lips pressed into a thin line, your anger momentarily softened by a flicker of understanding. "Then why are you so calm? Why aren't you angrier?"

Natasha exhaled slowly, working to keep her emotions in check. "Because anger won't change anything. We're stuck in this, whether we like it or not. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can figure out how to deal with it." You stared at her for a long moment, your expression softening just a little. "So we learn the script, smile for the cameras, and pretend we don’t hate each other?"

Natasha leaned forward slightly, her voice low and controlled. "Yes, we pretend we don't hate each other. But we have to make it believable. People will be watching us closely, if they sense something is off, the whole show falls apart. That means we need to know each other, at least enough to sell the act."

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident on your face. "And how do you suggest we do that? Some getting-to-know-you games? Maybe ‘Two Truths and a Lie’?" Natasha gave a humorless smile. "We start with the basics. We go through the script and fill in the gaps with real information. What's your favorite food? What do you do in your spare time? What’s your biggest pet peeve? Things that couples know about each other."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, clearly not thrilled with the idea. "Fine. But don't expect me to share my deepest secrets."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She opened the file again and flipped to a page titled *Personal Details*. "It says here that you enjoy hiking and reading. Is that accurate, or did they make it up?" You rolled your eyes. "It's true. I like hiking when I have the time, and I read a lot, mostly history and politics, but they don't need to know that in detail."

Natasha nodded, making a mental note. "Good. We can work with that. Mine says I'm into physical fitness and strategy games." She paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. "Is there anything else we should add?" You looked at her thoughtfully before replying. "You like ballet, right? I read that somewhere." Natasha blinked, surprised by this observation. "Yes, that's true. Not many people know that."

"Well, it’s part of who you are.." you said, your tone less confrontational now. "We could use that." Natasha nodded, slightly impressed by this small concession. "Good. We'll add it to the list." You continued to go through the script, exchanging brief, factual information about yourselves, preferences, dislikes and childhood memories that could be used to support your fake story. But every answer was tinged with tension, each of you holding something back, building walls around yourselves.

After nearly an hour of discussion, you closed the file with a sigh and rubbed the back of your neck. "This is going to be a disaster." Natasha leaned back and crossed her arms. "Not if we're careful. We stick to the plan, stay on script, and give them no reason to doubt us."

You met her gaze, your expression weary but determined. "I just don't know how long we can keep this up. People will expect us to act like we actually care."

"We don't have to care." Natasha said, her voice cold and distant. "We just have to pretend we do." You shook your head, frustration evident in your voice. "And what happens if we slip up? If one of us says something off-script? We can't be perfect all the time."

"We won't slip up." Natasha said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're both professionals. We've been in situations far more stressful than this. We'll manage." You stared at her for a moment, searching her face for a crack in her ironclad facade. "You really believe that, don't you? That we can just fake our way through this lie without any consequences?"

Natasha's gaze remained unchanged, unyielding. "I believe we don't have a choice." The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your situation pressing down on both of you. This wasn't just about memorizing lines or putting on a good show, it was about maintaining a facade that could crumble at any moment, exposing you both to public scrutiny and potential danger. Finally, you stood up, your movements stiff with unresolved tension. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" Natasha stood as well, her posture mirroring yours. "Yes. We will."

The days passed in a blurred whirl of public appearances, each one a carefully staged performance that only deepened the rift between you and Natasha. Every event, every gesture, every word was meticulously planned, yet the underlying tension between you was impossible to ignore. The first major event you attended as a married couple was a high-profile gala, the kind of glittering affair where the rich and powerful gathered under chandeliers to sip champagne and discuss global affairs. Natasha had attended similar events countless times before, but never under these circumstances.

You wore an elegant black evening gown that accentuated your every movement, while Natasha was dressed in a sharp suit. As you walked into the ballroom, her hand rested lightly on your back, a gesture meant to appear familiar, but to you, it felt like a shackle. "Ready to charm the masses?" she murmured with a sarcastic edge as you entered the room.

The night was a marathon of forced smiles and carefully calculated interactions. You moved through the crowd like seasoned professionals, your hand never leaving Natasha's back as you met with diplomats and high society, maintaining the facade of a loving couple. But beneath the surface, Natasha could feel your simmering anger, mirroring her own. At one point in the evening, as you were cornered by a particularly nosy journalist, Natasha's patience was put to the test. The journalist smiled broadly and inquisitively as she fired off questions about your supposed whirlwind romance.

"How did you two meet?" the journalist asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Natasha suppressed an eye roll, but her voice remained smooth and warm as she responded. "We met at a diplomatic conference. We were both there on separate missions, but we kept running into each other. Things developed from there."

You seamlessly picked up the conversation, though your smile was a bit too stiff. "It didn’t take long for us to realize how much we had in common. After that, everything just fell into place naturally." The journalist seemed satisfied with the answer but continued to probe. "And when did you know it was love?"

You hesitated, your smile faltering for a split second before you recovered. "It wasn't just one moment. It was a lot of little things that made us realize we couldn’t imagine our lives without each other." Natasha forced herself to smile at you, her fingers lightly brushing your arm in a gesture meant to appear affectionate. "Yes, it was all those little moments that made it clear."

As the journalist moved on, Natasha could feel the tension in your posture, your hand pressing a little more firmly against her back, as if you were reminding her of your shared discomfort. "That was close.." you muttered as you both retreated to a quieter corner of the room. "We handled it." Natasha replied curtly, her voice barely above a whisper. "That’s what we do."

The rest of the night proceeded in much the same way, the two of you moving through the room, presenting the perfect image of a loving couple. But every touch, every smile, every word was carefully calculated, and by the time you finally left the gala, Natasha felt as if she were about to snap from the strain.

The ride back to your shared apartment was suffocatingly silent. The driver, a SHIELD agent, wisely kept his eyes on the road, leaving you both to your thoughts. When you arrived 'home', you immediately went to the kitchen to pour yourself a stiff drink. Natasha followed you, already on edge, her patience worn thin by the constant charade.

You turned to her, your expression hard. "You're really good at this, you know that? At pretending. It’s almost like it’s second nature to you." Natasha tensed as she heard the accusation in your words. "I had to be good at it. It's my job."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Your job. Right. I guess that's what happens when you're trained to be a spy from childhood. You learn to play whatever role is required." The words hit a sore spot, and Natasha's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful, Y/n. You don't know what you're talking about."

You took a step closer, your voice dropping to a near growl. "Don't I? You’ve spent your whole life being prepared for this, haven’t you? To lie, to manipulate, to make people believe whatever you want them to. This whole marriage..this whole act..probably means nothing to you."

Natasha felt her anger flare, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy lying about every aspect of my life, pretending to be someone I’m not?" You didn’t back down, your eyes burning with frustration. "But you're damn good at it, aren’t you? Must be all those years in that room. They made you the perfect little actress."

That was the breaking point for Natasha. Her eyes flashed with anger as she stepped forward and closed the distance between you. "You have no idea what the Red Room did to me. What it took from me. So don’t you dare try to twist that into some kind of compliment!" You stood your ground, your own anger flaring in response. "I’m not giving you a compliment, Natasha. I’m saying it’s terrifying how easily you slip into these roles. How convincing you are at pretending to care."

Natasha's breathing quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. "You think I want to be convincing, huh? You think I want to be good at this? I’ve spent my entire life fighting to break free of what the Red Room made me, and now I’m stuck in another damn role..and it’s with you."

Your jaw tightened, your anger now tinged with something that looked like guilt. "Maybe it’s not just a role for you. Maybe you don’t even know who you are when you’re not on a mission." The words cut deep, and for a moment, Natasha didn’t know how to respond. But the anger was too strong, too raw to let go. "You don’t know anything about me. Nothing about what I’ve been through, what I’ve had to do to survive."

You both stood there, staring each other down, the air between you crackling with fury and unspoken pain. Natasha's chest heaved with the force of her emotions, her mind a whirlwind of anger and hurt that she could barely keep in check. You set your glass down with a sharp clink, your face tight with suppressed frustration. "You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know you. But it sure as hell feels like you’re more comfortable in this lie than I am."

Natasha turned away, her hands trembling with the effort to contain her rage. "Go to bed, Y/n." You didn’t respond, simply turning on your heel and leaving the room, your footsteps echoing through the apartment. Natasha waited until she heard the door to your shared bedroom close before she finally let out a shaky breath. She was too good at pretending, far too good. And that was the problem. Because despite all her skills, all the years of training and missions, this felt different. It felt personal in a way she hadn’t anticipated, and your words had struck a nerve deep within her.

As Natasha stood alone in the kitchen, she couldn’t shake the feeling that you had seen through her facade in a way no one else ever had. The truth was, this marriage, this charade, was wearing her down in ways she hadn’t expected. And the more time she spent around you, the harder it became to maintain the mask she had worn for so long. She wanted to dismiss your words as just another argument, another clash of wills between two people who were forced into a situation neither wanted. But the truth was, you had hit on something she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. With a heavy sigh, she finally turned off the lights and headed to bed, her mind still racing. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up, but she knew one thing for certain. Whatever this was between the two of you, it was far from over.

The days that followed were intense, with both Natasha and you deeply immersed in your respective missions. Despite the tension between you, you had found a certain rhythm, maintaining your cover as a married couple while focusing on the tasks at hand. Your partnership was more functional than personal, efficient, strategic, and devoid of unnecessary emotional entanglements.

But that all changed when Loki appeared.

When chaos erupted in New York, the two of you were thrown right into the conflict, working side by side with the newly formed Avengers. The stakes were higher than ever, and there was no room for mistakes. You fought shoulder to shoulder, defeating Chitauri soldiers and securing key positions as you tried to save the city from destruction.

It was during one of those intense moments, after Natasha's confrontation with Loki, that everything changed. Loki had made it a point to bring up Natasha's past, the "red" in her ledger, the sins she had committed, the people she had hurt. He taunted her with names and events that Natasha had long tried to forget, using her guilt as a weapon to break her. The words were meant to destroy her, to make her doubt her worth, and they hit harder than any physical blow. But Natasha, the eternal professional, pressed on, using her pain as fuel to outmaneuver Loki and secure the information they needed. But the damage was done. The conversation with Loki had revealed more about Natasha’s past than she ever wanted anyone, especially you, to know.

After the battle, when the Avengers had won and the immediate threat had passed, Natasha returned to the SHIELD Helicarrier. The city was still in chaos, but the focus had shifted to recovery and rebuilding. Natasha was exhausted, both physically and mentally, the weight of Loki's words hanging over her like a dark cloud.

You had always had a keen sense for people, always quick to pick up on the smallest changes in mood or behavior. It was one of the reasons you were so good at your job. But now that sharp intuition was focused on Natasha, and it made her feel exposed in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

After debriefing with Fury, Natasha retreated to the quiet of your shared apartment, hoping to find a moment of peace. She had barely sat down on the edge of the bed when she heard the door open behind her.

“Natasha?” Your voice was soft, cautious, as you entered the room. Natasha didn’t turn around, but she could feel your probing gaze on her.

“What is it, Y/n?” Natasha’s tone was curt. She was too tired for this conversation, too drained to face another confrontation. You hesitated, the silence between you stretched out. “I..wanted to talk to you.” Natasha closed her eyes, bracing herself for another argument. “About what?”

“About Loki.” you said, your voice carefully measured. "We need to talk about what he said." Natasha’s muscles tensed, her back straightening as she tried to suppress the rising wave of fear in her chest. “I’m fine, Y/n. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s the point, Natasha.” you continued, taking a few steps closer. “I am worried. I know I’ve pushed you before, teased you about your past, but I didn’t..I didn’t realize it was something so serious.” Natasha’s jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever. “I’ve already told you, my past is none of your concern.”

“But it is, Natasha!” Your voice was firmer now, the frustration evident. “We’re supposed to be partners, and I feel like I don’t know you at all.” Natasha finally turned to face you, her eyes narrowing as she stood. “You don’t know me, Y/n. And that’s how it’s supposed to be. I didn’t ask for your sympathy, and I don’t need your pity.”

Your expression hardened, but there was a flicker of pain in your eyes. “This isn’t about pity, and you know it. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “That I’ve done things I’m not proud of? That my past is full of blood and darkness you can’t even imagine?” You flinched at the sharpness in her voice, but you didn’t back down. “You’re right. I don’t know everything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I’m trying to apologize, Natasha. For pushing you, for not realizing.”

Natasha stared at you, her anger battling with something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. “Why? So you can feel better? So you can feel like you’ve done the right thing?” Your eyes flashed with frustration. “No, damn it! I’m doing this because I care about you. Because, despite everything, I don’t want to keep fighting against you! Its draining..”

For a moment, you stood facing each other, the air between you charged with tension. Natasha felt her defenses beginning to crumble, the walls she had built around herself starting to give way under the weight of your words. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the fight drained out of her. “You want to know the truth?"

Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on her knees as if she needed to hold herself together. “The Red Room..it destroyed me. It took everything I was and made something else out of it. Something that had no choice, no control.” You sat down beside her, but you kept your distance, respecting the space she needed. “You didn’t have a choice, Natasha. You were a child.”

“That doesn’t change what I did ” Natasha said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “I killed people. Innocent people. And I..I enjoyed it, Y/n. Back then, I enjoyed it because that’s what they made me.” You reached out, placing your hand gently over hers, but you said nothing. You knew this was a moment where words couldn’t do much.

Her voice was soft and laced with pain. “The things I’ve done..the people I’ve hurt..you can’t just brush that aside. The Red Room wasn’t just training, it was torture, it was conditioning, it was turning little girls into weapons. I did terrible things because I was programmed to. Because I didn’t know any better.” She paused, as the memories came flooding back with painful clarity. “And even after I got out, even after I tried to make up for it, the past still haunts me. Loki knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to remind me of the monster I once was.”

You listened in silence, your heart aching at the pain in Natasha’s voice. “You’re not a monster, Natasha.” She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “That’s easy for you to say. But you didn’t see what I did. You didn’t live it.”

“No, I didn’t. But I’ve seen who you are now. I’ve seen how hard you fight to do the right thing, how much you sacrifice. That’s not the work of a monster. That’s someone trying to make things right.” Natasha turned to you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But what if it’s not enough? What if it doesn’t matter what I do, and I can never atone for what I’ve done?”

You took her hands in yours. “You don’t have to do it alone, Natasha. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha looked down at your hands, the warmth of your touch grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. For so long, she had believed that her past was something she had to face alone, that no one could understand the shadow that had shaped her. But in this moment, with you by her side, she realized that maybe, just maybe she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha whispered, her voice breaking. “For pushing you away.” You squeezed her hands gently. “I’m sorry too. For not seeing how much you were hurting.” You sat there for a long moment in silence, the weight of the past finally beginning to lift, replaced by something new..something fragile, but real. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was trust, and for now, that was enough.

The days after your late-night conversation were different, marked by an unspoken understanding that hadn’t been there before. Natasha and you continued with your missions, and the world was still recovering from the chaos of Loki’s attack, but something between you had shifted. Where there had once been tension and unspoken resentment, there was now a cautious, growing trust.

You moved around each other more easily, your conversations were less strained, your silences less heavy. The sharp edges of your interactions had softened, replaced by a tentative camaraderie that surprised you both. You weren’t friends yet, and certainly not lovers, but you were no longer just colleagues forced into a marriage of convenience. You were partners..genuine partners.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting mission, you returned to the Helicarrier and noticed the weariness weighing on Natasha. Her shoulders were slumped, and her usually sharp eyes were dulled with fatigue. But there was also something else, a lightness that hadn’t been there before, as if the burden she carried was now a little less heavy. “You look like you could use a break.” you said, your voice light but laced with concern. Natasha glanced at you, a small, tired smile playing on her lips. “You’re not wrong. This week has been hell.”

“More than usual.” you agreed. “How about we grab a drink? No talk about missions, just..a chance to unwind.” Natasha hesitated for a moment, her instinct to decline warring with the realization that maybe, just this once, she didn’t have to handle everything on her own. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

You headed to one of the quieter lounges on the Helicarrier, a small, dimly lit room where off-duty agents could relax. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it was private enough to talk without the weight of your roles hanging over you. You ordered a couple of drinks, and the two of you sat down at a small table near the window, through which the vast, dark night could be seen. For a while, you drank in silence, the easy silence between you a far cry from the tense moments of the past.

“You know..” you began after a while, swirling your drink in your glass, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About carrying this burden alone.” Natasha looked at you, her gaze steady but curious. “Yeah?”

“I’ve just..been thinking about how we’re supposed to be partners in this, but we’ve been so focused on keeping our walls up that we forgot what that really means." you said thoughtfully. “It’s not just about watching each other’s backs in a fight. It’s about being there for each other when things get tough, when the past tries to drag you down.”

Natasha nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I’m not used to that, you know. Letting someone in.”

“I figured..” you said with a small smile. “But you let me in, at least a little. And I want you to know that it meant something. It made me realize that maybe I haven’t been as fair to you as I could have been.” Natasha’s expression softened, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability in her eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/n. We were both just doing our jobs.”

“I know.” you replied. “But still, I’m sorry. For pushing you, for not seeing how much you’ve been through. I was so caught up in the mission and the cover that I didn’t take the time to really see you.” Natasha took a sip of her drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol ease the tension in her shoulders. “You see me now.” she said quietly. “And that’s more than I’ve let anyone do in a long time.”

You sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes, the atmosphere between you relaxed and open. Natasha realized that it was a relief not to have to be constantly on guard, not to have to keep everyone at a distance. “You know.." you said after a while, your tone lighter, “I’ve been thinking that when all this mess is over, we should take a break. Do something normal. I hear married couples go on vacations.” Natasha chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “I’m not sure we pass as a normal married couple.”

“Who said anything about normal?” you grinned. “We could do something out of the ordinary. Like..I don’t know, skydiving or rock climbing. Something that gets the adrenaline pumping without the life-and-death stakes.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “So you want us to jump out of a plane..for fun?”

You shrugged, a mischievous smile on your lips. “Why not? After everything we’ve been through, it might be nice to do something that gets the heart racing without our lives depending on it.” Natasha considered it for a moment, then smiled, a real smile, not the practiced one she used in public. “You know what? That actually doesn’t sound so bad.”

You clinked your glasses together, and as the evening wore on, you talked about everything and nothing. Trivial things like favorite foods and music, and deeper topics like your dreams and fears. The walls between you continued to crumble, and by the time you finally returned to your apartment, there was a new understanding between you. “Thank you, Y/n. For tonight.” You smiled back, your voice warm. “Anytime, Natasha. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah.” Natasha replied, the words feeling truer than ever before. “We are.” As you parted ways for the night, Natasha felt a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just the drink or the fact that she had survived another day, it was the knowledge that she wasn’t alone anymore. That for the first time in years, she had someone she could trust.

The following weeks were different. Natasha and you continued to work together, your partnership now stronger as the initial tension had eased. You were still far from being a typical married couple, but the foundation of trust you had begun to build made all the difference. One day, after a particularly successful mission, Fury called you both into his office. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a hint of something, perhaps approval in his gaze.

“You two have done good work.” Fury said, his voice even. “The mission was a success, and your cover held under pressure. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how this partnership would work, but you’ve exceeded expectations.”

Natasha glanced at you briefly, and you shared a small, knowing smile. “Thank you, sir.” Natasha replied. Fury nodded, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharpening. “That said, I’m not sure how much longer we can maintain the appearance of this marriage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Fury sighed, a rare sign of weariness passing over his face. “The situation has stabilized for now, but I have a feeling more trouble is on the horizon. You two have done your job well, but I’m giving you the option to dissolve the marriage if you think it’s the right move.”

Natasha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify, regret? Uncertainty? She looked at you, searching your face for a clue as to what you were thinking. You met her gaze, your expression thoughtful. “I think..we should talk about it. See where we both stand.”

Natasha nodded slowly, a strange mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out.” Fury watched you both for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Take your time." With that, he dismissed you, and you left the office in silence, the weight of the decision heavy on your minds.

As you walked through the corridors, Natasha felt a sense of unease rising in her stomach. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected to feel anything at the thought of ending the marriage. But now, the idea left a strange emptiness inside her. “So..” you said quietly as you reached your quarters, “what do you want to do?”

Natasha took a deep breath, turning to face you. “I don’t know." she admitted. “This started as a mission, as a cover. But now..I don’t know.” You nodded, your expression understanding. “I get it. It’s complicated.”

Natasha hesitated, then reached out and took your hand in hers. “But I know one thing. Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose what we’ve built. I don’t want to lose this..partnership.”

You stood there for a long moment, holding each other’s gaze, the air between you charged with unspoken possibilities. Finally, you smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat. "I have a good Idea where we can talk further.."

The lounge was quiet, with only the occasional murmur of conversations on the other side of the room. Natasha and you had had a few drinks again, the alcohol warming your bodies and loosening your tongues. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing easily between you in a way it hadn’t before. The heaviness of your earlier tensions had lifted, replaced by a comfortable, almost intimate atmosphere.

Natasha took another sip of her drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down her throat. She looked at you, watching as you swirled the last bit of your whiskey in your glass, your eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol. Your words slightly slurred, “I never thought we’d end up here. Not like this.”

Natasha laughed, her own voice tinged with the effects of the alcohol. “Yeah, me neither. This whole thing… was unexpected.” You leaned back in your chair, your gaze fixed on Natasha. “But..I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad we’re talking like this.” Natasha felt a warmth spread through her, one that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Me too.” she admitted, her voice softening. “It’s nice…not feeling alone.”

You smiled, a crooked, slightly drunken smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat as she felt a surge of emotions she wasn’t entirely ready to name. “You’re not alone, Natasha. Not anymore.” There was a charged moment between you, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of your shared experiences. The alcohol had lowered your defenses, leaving you both more vulnerable and open than you had been in a long time.

Natasha set her glass down, her fingers lightly brushing against yours on the table. The touch was electric, sending a shiver of awareness through her. She looked up and met your gaze, and in your eyes, she saw the same spark of attraction that she felt. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you growing more intense with each passing second. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned across the table, and your lips met Natasha’s in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she responded to the kiss, her lips moving against yours in a way that felt both familiar and completely new. The kiss was tentative at first, an exploration of boundaries, but it quickly deepened as the need for each other became overwhelming.

Without breaking the kiss, you stood and pulled Natasha up with you. Your hands found each other’s bodies, exploring, touching, as you made your way out of the lounge and down the corridor to a quarter. Your kisses grew hotter, more desperate, as you neared the room. You fumbled with the keycard, finally managing to open the door, and the two of you tumbled inside, your bodies pressed tightly together. As you finally made it to the bed, the rest of the world seemed to disappear. There was only the two of you, entwined with one another, your kisses hungry, your touches urgent. The alcohol had stripped away your inhibitions, leaving only the raw desire for each other.

The night passed in a blur of passionate moments and whispered names, your bodies intertwined as you lost yourselves completely in each other. The connection between you deepened with every touch, every kiss, until there was no distance left between you, no more walls to keep you apart. When you finally fell asleep, your bodies were still entwined, your breaths mingling as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep. The alcohol had done its job, lowering your defenses and bringing you together in a way neither of you had expected.

The first thing Natasha felt as she slowly woke up was the dull pounding in her head. She groaned softly, turning over and pulling the blanket tighter around herself, trying to block out the morning light seeping through the curtains. But as she moved, she realized something was off, something warm and solid was lying beside her. She froze, her senses suddenly sharp despite the hangover. Slowly, she opened one eye and was immediately met with the sight of you lying next to her, your face turned toward her, still fast asleep.

Natasha’s breath hitched as the events of the previous night came rushing back to her. The drinks, the laughter, the conversation that had unexpectedly turned personal..and then how you had ended up here, wrapped in each other’s arms. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to piece everything together. You had both been drunk, very drunk but that didn’t explain everything. How had you gone from reluctant partners in a forced marriage to this point? What had driven you to cross a line she hadn’t even realized you were approaching?

“shit." Natasha muttered quietly, careful not to disturb you as she tried to extricate herself from the sheets. But as she moved, you stirred beside her, your eyes slowly fluttering open. For a moment, you both simply stared at each other, your expressions mirroring the shock and confusion that Natasha was feeling. “Morning.” you finally said, your voice rough and uncertain.

“Morning.” Natasha echoed, her voice just as hesitant. There was a long, awkward silence as you both tried to process the situation. Natasha could see the same questions in your eyes that were running through her own mind: How had this happened? What did it mean? And where do you go from here?

“I..uh..did we…?” you began, clearly struggling to find the right words. Natasha’s cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded. “Yeah. I think we did.”

You rubbed your hand over your face, slowly sitting up as you tried to shake off the remnants of sleep and alcohol. “Okay, so…how did we end up here?” Natasha bit her lip, trying to recall the details. “We were talking..had a lot to drink. And then..I don’t know. One thing led to another, I guess.” She managed a small, ironic smile. “But at least we don’t have to invent any lies if someone asks us about our sex life now.”

You chuckled at her comment, and the tension in the room eased slightly. “True. It’s almost like we’ve fully embraced our roles now. Now that she's finished.” Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I guess we’re just overachievers.”

The laughter died down, and once again, the reality of your situation set in. Things had gotten personal in a way neither of you had anticipated. “So…what do we do now?” you asked, your tone more serious this time.

Natasha sighed, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around herself. “I don’t know. We could just pretend nothing happened, but… that feels like we’d be lying to ourselves.”

“Yeah, and we’ve done enough pretending to last a lifetime.” you agreed, your expression thoughtful. “But we also can’t ignore the fact that this all started as a mission. A mission where we were supposed to pretend to be in love, even though we didn’t really like each other.” Natasha nodded, the weight of that truth pressing down on her. “Right. And now we’ve crossed a line, and I don’t think we can just go back.”

You frowned, deep in thought. “But do we need to go back? I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, and… I don’t know. Maybe this was just..inevitable?” Natasha looked at you, searching your face for any hint of what you were really feeling. “Maybe. But now it’s complicated. We can’t just act like everything is the same as before.”

Your smile, “Hey, at least we’re dedicated to the mission, right?” Natasha laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. “Right. We’ve more than fulfilled our duties.”

You both laughed, the tension between you beginning to dissipate. The humor was a relief, a way to ease the confusion and discomfort that came with waking up in each other’s bed after what was supposed to be just another night of playing your roles. But as the laughter faded, the reality of your situation remained. You couldn’t just laugh your way out of this, you had to figure out what it meant for you.

“So…what do we do now?” you asked again, your tone more serious this time. Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to organize her thoughts. “We figure it out. No more lies, no more excuses. We take it one step at a time.” You nodded, your expression softening. “I can do that. One step at a time.”

Natasha felt a strange sense of relief at your words. This was new territory for both of you, but at least you didn’t have to navigate it alone. You had each other, and while it was still a complicated mess, it was something you could rely on. As you both got out of bed and began to dress, the weight of your new reality settled over you. This wasn’t going to be easy, but you were in it together, and for now, that was enough.

“Hey, Natasha?” you said as you pulled your shirt over your head. “Yeah?”

You paused for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “I know this isn’t what either of us expected, but..I’m glad we’re here." Natasha smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. “Me too, Y/n. Me too.”

As you left the room and stepped back into the world, you did so with a new understanding of each other. You had started as reluctant partners, forced together by a mission, but now…now there was something more. Something worth exploring, even if it was still messy and confusing. The mission had brought you together, but it was your shared experiences and growing bond that would keep you together. And as you walked side by side, ready to face whatever came next, you both knew that this was only the beginning of something new.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut

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sunny44 · 5 months ago

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Anxiety

Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader

Warning: panic attack, anxiety, English is not my first language and maybe more…

Summary: Lando has a panic attack because of the pressure of racing at home and Y/n helps him to calm down and show him that he’s good enough.

On the eve of the British Grand Prix, Lando was struggling with the pressure.

I stood outside Lando’s hotel room, my heart heavy with concern. The British Grand Prix always brought a special kind of pressure for him, performing in front of his home crowd, and I knew this race was weighing heavily on him. The door was slightly open since I was outside making a call, and I pushed it open gently, my eyes immediately finding Lando sitting by the window, a shadow of his usual self.

His eyes were distant, his body tense. I could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands gripped the armrests of the chair. Lando was lost in his thoughts, drowning in a sea of self-doubt and anxiety.

"Lando," I called softly, hoping to anchor him back to the present. There was no response. I moved closer, my concern growing with every step. When I reached him, I knelt down and placed a hand on his arm. He flinched, his eyes wide and filled with tears.

"Lando, it's me." I said, my voice steady but filled with worry. "Talk to me."

He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. Instead, a choked sob escaped his lips, and he buried his face in his hands. My heart ached for him. I had seen him face many challenges, but nothing pained me more than seeing him in this state.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. His body trembled against mine, and I could feel his ragged breaths on my neck. "It's okay," I whispered, my hand gently stroking his hair. "I'm here, Lando. You're not alone."

For what felt like an eternity, we stayed like that. I could feel the intensity of his anxiety attack, the way his muscles were taut with stress, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. I held him tighter, whispering soothing words, trying to ease the storm raging inside him.

Gradually, his breathing began to slow, and the tension in his body started to ebb away. I pulled back slightly, cupping his face in my hands. "Look at me, Lando," I said softly. His eyes met mine, and I saw the pain and fear that had consumed him.

"You are an incredible driver, but more importantly, you are an incredible person." I said, my voice firm and filled with love. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone. I love you for who you are, not for what you achieve on the track."

He shook his head, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "But what if I fail? What if I'm not good enough?"

"You are more than enough," I replied, my tone unwavering. "Success isn't measured just by wins or podiums. It's about passion, dedication, and being true to yourself. You've already achieved so much, and I'm so proud of you. But even if you never win another race, I'll still love you just as much."

My words seemed to pierce through the fog of his anxiety, bringing a clarity that he desperately needed. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight on his chest start to lift. "Thank you, babe." he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out." I replied with a smile, kissing his forehead. "We'll face everything together, one step at a time."

“Okay.” He smiled a bit and I kissed him.

“I’ll grab you some water.” As I was getting up, Lando hugged me tighter.

“Can we just stay like this a little bit more?” His voice was low.

“We can stay like this as long as you want.” He didn’t said anything but just by the way he started to play with my fingers I knew that he needed more time like this.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world outside the hotel room fading into irrelevance. The tension that had gripped Lando slowly gave way to a fragile calm. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my own.

Eventually, I felt him relax, the tightness in his muscles easing. I knew he was finding his center again, the overwhelming pressure starting to dissipate. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, a comforting motion that I knew helped him relax.

"Lando," I whispered softly, "I believe in you. Not just as a driver, but as the amazing person you are. Tomorrow, when you get on that track, remember that it's not about proving anything to anyone. It's about doing what you love and enjoying every moment of it."

He nodded slowly, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "You're right. I need to focus on the joy of racing, not just the results."

"Exactly," I said, smiling. "And no matter what happens, I'll be here, cheering you on, proud of you every step of the way."

He sighed, a sound of release and acceptance. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he repeated, his voice steadier now.

"You'll never have to find out," I replied, a playful glint in my eyes. "Besides, I still need to keep an eye on you to make sure you don't get into too much trouble."

He chuckled, the sound a welcome relief from the earlier tension. "I'll try to behave," he said, a hint of his usual mischief returning.

We stayed like that for a while longer, wrapped in each other's presence, finding strength and comfort in our love. Eventually, I pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "Are you ready to get some rest now?" I asked gently.

He nodded, his expression more at ease. "Yeah, I think I am. Thanks to you."

“How does a bath sound?” I asked him.

“Sounds very good.”

“I’ll prepare one for you and then we can get some rest.”

“Thank you.” He said and I went to the bathroom and prepared the bath.

I helped him get up, guiding him to the bathroom, I helped him get out of his clothes and the he get in the bathtub.

“Is I warm enough?”

“It’s perfect, just like you.” He said and I smiled at him. “Wanna join me?”

“I’ll love to.”

After some time in the tub we got out, got dressed in our pijamas and went straight to bed. He lay down, and I pulled the covers over him, and I laid on the other side and I think for the first time ever he was the little spoon.

“Wow, this is good.” He said getting cozier.

“What is good?”

“Being the little spoon.”

“I’ve told you many times but you never believed me.”

“Yeah, but usually I’m the one that protects you and not the other way around.” He said with his voice very low.

“I know baby, but sometimes you need to be the one that should be protected.” He didn’t said anything. “I'll stay awake until you fall asleep."

Lando reached out, taking my hand in his.

"I don't deserve you." he said softly.

"You deserve all the love and support in the world." I replied firmly. "And I'm here to give you just that."

He smiled, a genuine smile this time, and closed his eyes. I stayed behind him, holding his hand, watching as his breathing evened out and he drifted off to sleep.

As I stay there, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride and love for him. Lando was an extraordinary person, and I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, stronger than ever.

When I was sure he was asleep, I quietly moved and turned off the lights, leaving a small night light on. I kissed his forehead one last time. I held his hand and closed my eyes to get some sleep before the next day.

Tomorrow would be a new day, a new race, but tonight was about love and support, and in that, we had already won.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Luv u baby” tagged: @landonorris

486 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 8 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗨𝗡

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where the sun inside Matt fell in love with the moon inside Y/N; OR, 4 moments between sunshine Matt and grumpy Y/N.

WARNING: Mentions of blood and pain.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N has always been known for her serious expression and sarcastic humor. She had a cynical view of the world and seemed to find fault with almost everything around her. On the other hand, Matt was the complete opposite. His smile was like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, brightening up any room with his contagious positivity. It was as if he was determined to find the good in everything, no matter how dark it was.

The two were in the same class together at Boston high school, part of the same group of friends, which meant they did a lot of group work together, and it was precisely there where their contrasting personalities often collided. Y/N was meticulous and perfectionist in her work, while Matt preferred to approach topics with a more relaxed and laid-back attitude. This often put them at odds, but it also created an interesting dynamic.

One afternoon, during a school work meeting at the triplets' house, Y/N was particularly grumpy. She had faced a series of setbacks in her home and was on the verge of exploding. Matt, as always, tried to cheer her up with his light humor and unwavering optimism.

"You should relax a little." Matt murmured with a smile as his right hand worked quickly with his computer mouse, putting together the perfect slide for the presentation that would take place the next day, using Nick and Alahna's notes and research. "Not everything has to be so serious all the time."

Y/N rolled her eyes from her spot on the edge of Matt's bed, pushing the notebook that rested on her thighs roughly, feeling frustrated with his persistent attempt to lift her spirits. She knew he was just trying to help, but at that moment, all she wanted was some peace and quiet.

However, something inside her changed when she lifted her gaze to Matt's smiling face, who was still holding the mouse as he watched her from the corner of his eye. In that moment, the girl saw beyond the surface, beyond the facade of constant happiness. She saw the genuine kindness in his eyes, the compassion in his smile. And for the first time, something inside her crumbled, breaking the wall that had held firm for so many years.

A small smile began to form on Y/N's lips, almost imperceptible, but still present. It was a smile that lit up her entire face in a way never seen before and made her eyes shine with an inner light that had long been dormant.

Matt was surprised to see Y/N smiling, abandoning his task instantly and turning his face completely towards her, trying to make sure he was actually seeing that. It was as if he had witnessed something sacred, something few were lucky enough to see - maybe only him. The brunette was speechless, simply admiring the sight before him.

"What?" Y/N asked, noticing the look of shock on Matt's face, her smile fading almost automatically, giving way to her usual frown.

"It's just…" Matt began, struggling to find the right words. "It's the first time I've seen you actually smiling. And it's so pretty."

Y/N felt shy by the compliment but also inexplicably happy. She had never realized how her smile could affect someone so deeply, especially someone like Matt, who radiated joy wherever he went.

"You should smile more-"

"Shut up."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The night was calm when Matt returned from his hockey practice, but the mood inside the triplets' house was far from peaceful. He walked through his bedroom door with his shoulders hunched and his face pale, showing the anguish that consumed him inside and out.

Y/N, who was sitting on his bed reading a book while she waited for him - a habit created between them, and which his parents and brothers adored - looked up when hearing the door open. Upon seeing Matt, she immediately noticed something was wrong. Her heart sank while witnessing the boy's low stance.

"Matt? Hey, what happened?" She asked, setting the book aside and quickly standing up from her previous seat, walking towards him with a frown decorating her face.

Matt didn't respond right away. Instead, he broke down when his ears finally heard the voice he had waited for so many hours, tears flowing freely down his face. He was shaking, struggling to control his emotions as the weight of his feelings enveloped him like a dense fog.

"Hey pretty boy, breathe." Y/N ordered, pulling him into an awkward but loving hug. "It's okay. Just breathe."

Matt sniffed, trying to regain control of himself. He took a few deep breaths, following her instructions, before finally finding the voice to speak.

"It was at hockey practice." The brunette began, his voice wavering with crying and raw emotions. "One of the guys on the team... he said some horrible things to me about my performance, and I-" A sob interrupted his speech, his blue eyes closing tightly in an attempt to hold in the ugly sounds.

Y/N slowly pulled away, snaking her right hand from his bicep to his head, cupping his cheek gently, looking at his face for the first time that afternoon, her movements stopping suddenly.

The girl felt a wave of anger bubbling up inside her as she saw her boyfriend's face swollen and stained with blood in strategic spots, clearly having been punched by someone else. She clenched her left fist tightly, causing her fingers to take in a pale hue, her eyes flashing with contained fury as her chest tightened with the anguish she felt emanating from Matt's body.

"Who was it?" Y/N's firm and determined voice echoed through the room like thunder as her right hand gently turned his face from side to side, her hard eyes running over his injured skin. "Who said those things to you? No, even better. Who did this to you? I'll finish him off, I swear."

Matt's eyes widened instantly, surprised by her reaction. He knew Y/N could be tough when needed - all the time - but seeing her so determined to protect him left him speechless.

His cheeks took on a reddish hue, disguised by the blood and redness caused by crying, his lips pressed together in an attempt to contain a smile while his heart accelerated involuntarily, a small wince escaping his throat with the movement of his mouth.

"I'm fine, baby-"

"You're not, and after I'm done with whoever did this to you, he won't be fine either." Y/N interrupted him rudely, raising her eyebrows in an act of confrontation, as if she was confronting him to continue the lie.

"It's okay, sunshine. Just let it go. Please?" Matt's warm tongue escaped his lips, wetting them, while his blue eyes seemed to beg her to forget about the guy and focus on himself.

"Alright." The girl let out a loud, angry sigh, rolling her eyes as she stroked his blood-stained cheek gently. "Come on, let's take care of this."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The restaurant was busy that night, with lively conversation and laughter echoing off the walls. Y/N was sitting at a table next to Matt and his brothers, trying to enjoy the meal despite the crowd around them. However, her already dark mood was about to deepen even further.

As Y/N cut into her steak with an air of concentration, she noticed a man at the next table out of the corner of her eyes. He looked arrogant, a smug smile playing on his lips as he said horrible things about a girl to his table-mates. But it was when he looked in Y/N's direction that she felt a chill run down her spine.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Y/N felt a wave of discomfort spread through her. She couldn't explain why, but something about that guy made her nervous, his arrogant and sexist comments causing her body to scream, almost begging for her to do something.

Matt noticed the subtle change in Y/N's expression and followed her gaze to the next table, running his blue eyes over the unknown man's figure. He frowned, confused by the sudden intensity of Y/N's gaze, practically feeling her fury emanating from her body.

"What's wrong, beautiful?" Matt asked in an almost imperceptible whisper, leaning towards her and bringing his mouth closer to her ear, keeping his eyes on the table next to them. "Why don't we like him?"

Y/N blinked, surprised by Matt's direct question. She turned her head towards him slowly, frowning and running her eyes over his curious and playful expression, their noses almost touching with their proximity.

"You're so annoying, do you know that?" The girl asked in a cynical tone, raising her right eyebrow as she assessed him with her eyes.

"But you still love me." Matt replied quickly, as if he already had the answer on the tip of his tongue. A smirk grew on his lips as he draped his right arm over the back of the wooden chair his girlfriend sat on, caressing the skin of her exposed shoulder with his fingertips gently.

"Doesn't make you less annoying."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N was busy in the kitchen of the large room in her house that she shared with the triplets, preparing a special meal to welcome the boys' parents, Jimmy and Mary Lou, who were about to arrive for a visit in Los Angeles. She was determined to impress them with her cooking skills and make the couple's first day in the bustling city worth it.

While stirring a pan of sauce, Y/N heard footsteps approaching and soon Matt's figure left the small hall that led to their room and entered the kitchen with a beaming smile on his face, his feet taking him closer to his girl almost automatically.

"Hi sunshine, need help?" He asked, stepping forward to grab an apron and approach the stove, his blue eyes darting over all the ingredients laid out as his brain tried to process what she was making.

Y/N looked up at him, her face hardened with concentration as her right hand never stopped moving the spoon.

"No, thank you." The girl responded quickly, shaking her head and returning her gaze to the sauce below her. "I can do this on my own."

Matt frowned, ignoring her answer and rescuing a steak knife from the cutlery drawer, extending his free hand towards the still raw meat, ready to cut it into ideal sizes.

"Matt, I said I can do it myself." Y/N repeated slowly, as if she were speaking to a child, casting a furtive glance at him from the corner of her eye.

"I know you can, petal." The boy murmured softly, putting down the knife and raising his now free hand towards his girl, lightly pressing his warm palm against her still arm, caressing her skin. "But I want to be here with you to help in some way. It doesn't have to be everything or nothing."

Y/N sighed, feeling a little guilty about her own reaction. She didn't want to push Matt away, especially when he was just trying to be caring and helpful.

"Okay... I'm sorry." Her apology escaped in a barely there whisper, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a firm grip.

"What are we having for dinner today?" Chris's loud and excited voice echoed through the living room and kitchen as the boy climbed the stairs that led him from his room, interrupting the moment between the couple, eliciting a laugh from Matt and an eye roll from Y/N.

"None of your business."

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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mintsuwu · 9 months ago

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MORE SMILING CRITTERS FAMILY HEADCANONS WAHOO!! I do apologize in advance as this post will be shorter BUT THERE ARE MORE PICTURES!!!

Bubba Bubbaphant

Bubba Bubbaphant comes from a family deeply rooted in love, passion, and a sense of responsibility towards others. His mother was a botanist, brimming with a profound affection for plants, while his father embarked on adventurous explorations as a researcher. Despite their differing pursuits, they formed a tight-knit family unit where love and care flourished.

Sadly, his mother's life was cut short by a debilitating disease that drained her vitality, leaving an indelible mark on Bubba's heart. Witnessing her struggle ignited in him a fervent desire to become a doctor in the future, driven by the aspiration to alleviate suffering and potentially save lives, just as he had hoped to do for his mother.

But even after the profound loss, the relationship with his father remained strong, as the latter balances his adventurous spirit with unwavering dedication to his family. Despite the demands of his work, he cherishes every moment spent with Bubba, recognizing the importance of being present in his son's life. He carves out moments to spend quality time with him, sharing experiences and imparting valuable knowledge gained from his explorations as the young one shares information about the adventures he has with his friends

Mr. Bubbaphant embodies the essence of a true gentleman, extending kindness and assistance to those in need without hesitation. His demeanor and wisdom reflected the refinement and kindness instilled in his son, earning him a reputation as an absolute gentleman.

Their familial circle extends to Kickin'Chicken´s family, as he is friends with his mother, Clucketta, forging a close friendship between families. Recognizing the demands of parenthood, Mr. Bubbaphant would occasionally assist Clucketta by taking on babysitting duties, providing her with much-needed respite while her husband Rockin´ Rooster is away on his own endeavors.

Through their shared experiences and mutual respect, Bubba learns the value of compassion, friendship, and the importance of standing by those they care about.

BONUS: Kickin´ was the only one of the Smiling Critters who got to know Bubba´s mother before she passed away. And after her loss he made sure to be there to support his friend all the way just like the young elephant had done for him in the past.

Kickin'Chicken (Part ||)

Rockin'Rooster is a renowned singer in the Smiling Critters universe and the father of Kickin' Chicken. Despite his fame, Rockin' spends little time with his family, prioritizing his career over them.

Kickin' idolizes his father, despite his older sister Pecky harboring resentment towards him for his selfishness. Though Rockin' favors Pecky, hoping she'll continue his musical legacy, but she rejects his expectations. Instead, she enjoys music with her friends for fun as she even plays in a band with them, but she doesn't seek for fame or fortune. Rockin' later shifts his attention to Kickin', who adores his father but longs for more family connection. The young boy feels overwhelmed by his many younger siblings, as his father's absence is often filled with new additions to the family. But despite this, Kickin' loves his family deeply.

Clucketta, Kickin's mother, once shared Rockin's passion for music, but she now focuses on supporting her family. She sacrificed her own career as a dancer before moving to Jolly Valley (I still have to think of a name for the town though) in order to live a happy and peaceful life... Despite the family's imperfections. And though she no longer wears her Merry Charm, when she does, she keeps her pendant hidden as it makes her feel nostalgic of the times where she could pursue her passion for dancing.

BONUS: Adult Kickin' design! I like to imagine that he becomes some sort of dancing teacher in the future.

#fanart #oc #headcanon #poppy playtime #poppy playtime oc #smiling critters #the smiling critters #kickinchicken #bubba bubbaphant #family #smiling critters oc

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zyhkoo · 3 months ago

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☆ Birds of a feather

angst, jason x gn!reader, ‘doll’ being used

Jason can’t love you the way you do.

a/n: hi everyone! my friend help me with this one, give a round of applause to her! i shall do my requests soon, i’m just busy.

You loved Jason, the two of you have been glued to the hip for who knows when. You have been there since he was still Robin, and now as Red Hood. Your bond was unparalleled, a friendship strong enough to withstand any storm. The kind of connection one only dreams of finding.

Everyone who knew the two of you was acutely aware of your unshakeable bond. It was an almost tangible presence, as if the two of you were tethered together by an invisible force. You were rarely ever seen without the other, so much so that your names were often mentioned in the same breath.

Jason's emotional struggles with romance were a reality that you had come to accept. Despite the deep connection the two of you shared, he was plagued by an internal turmoil that made the prospect of a romantic relationship unattainable for him.

You, for your part, had come to understand and accept this aspect of his nature, recognizing that the bond between the two of you was not defined by romantic love, but by a deep, unwavering loyalty and friendship.

You longed for the comfort of knowing that Jason would always be by your side, even in the face of death itself. The thought of him staying with you until you were laid in the grave, dead and buried, and carried away in a casket, brought an intense sense of security and comfort. If Jason ever decided to leave, you knew that you wouldn't be far behind. It was always him for you, and there was nothing that could change that.

Jason, too, was acutely aware of your unwavering loyalty to him. Knowing that you would follow him to the ends of the earth, no matter what hardships or trials he faced. It was a knowledge that weighed heavily on him, knowing that your fate was intertwined with his own.

Your unshakeable devotion stirred within him a complex mix of emotions- pride in your loyalty, coupled with a pang of guilt. Pride because he knew you would always stick by his side, no matter the consequences.

Jason was acutely aware of how much your unrequited feelings for him were causing you pain. Despite his own internal struggles with romance, he recognized that your love for him was deep and unwavering. He knew how much it hurt you for him to not be able to return your romantic feelings, and he felt immense guilt for causing you such pain.

He often struggled with the knowledge that he could never give you what you desired the most from him, and this realization weighed heavily on his heart. It pained him to know that he could never fulfill the romantic hopes and dreams of the one person who meant the world to him.

The two of you were in a bookstore, surrounded by stacks of leather-bound volumes and the scent of aged paper. Jason was the one who introduced you to the world of books. He led you through the labyrinthine shelves, his fingers brushing against the spines of the books with a reverence that spoke of his deep connection to the written word. The two of you shared a comfortable silence, both finding solace in the pages that surrounded you.

You took several books on the shelves, placing them in the small shopping carts that they provided. “I got enough for the whole summer,” you said, turning to him. “What about you?” Jason shrugged and picked up a few books to add to the cart, “I’m not far behind.”

He picks up a book, it was about a loyal man who reunited with his dead wife. He stood there for a moment, holding the book in his hand and staring at the cover. This was a tale that typically ended on a happy note.

But his thoughts lingered on a different kind of ending, one that didn't necessarily have a happy ending. He thought about the two of you, your unwavering loyalty and how despite your devotion, there wasn't the same romantic element present. You noticed the melancholy expression that crossed his face, and you could sense that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

You approached him, and gently asked, "Is there something on your mind?”

He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he averted his gaze.

“It’s nothing, doll.” he responded, his voice trailing off as he absently flipped through the pages of the book in his hands.

You shrugged, not wanting to press him too much. You knew that Jason often preferred to keep his emotions and thoughts close to his chest, and trying to get him to open up could sometimes feel like pulling teeth. You busied yourself with the other books in the cart, trying to give him a moment to work through whatever was troubling him.

Eventually, the two of you arrived at his apartment, as he unlocked the door and ushered you inside, he felt a pang of unease in his chest. He needed to discuss something important with you.

“So, what are we doing? Movie night? Mario kart?” you said with a smile. Jason forced a smile in response, the tension in his chest tightening further. "Actually," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Something important."

A pit formed in your stomach, talk about what exactly? You placed your books down on the coffee table and looked back at his gaze. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jason took a deep breath before speaking again. "I've been having somethin’ lately, doll." he said, his voice quieter now. "About our friendship."

Your heart sank a little at his words, your mind immediately jumping to worst-case scenarios. He doesn't want to be friends anymore, you thought to yourself. He's pulling away, getting distant. Was he going to say what you were dreading to hear?

Jason noticed the look on your face and quickly spoke up again. "It's not anything bad," he hurried to reassure you. "I've been goin’ through some stuff. And I think we need to talk about where we stand." You relaxed slightly at his words, albeit a bit puzzled. You looked at him questioningly, silently encouraging him to continue.

"Our friendship is... important to me, doll." he sighed, meeting your gaze. "You're the most important person in my life. But I can't jus’ ignore fact that..." He paused, his sentence hanging in the air. Your mind raced with possibilities, trying to decipher what he was trying to say. You could feel the tension in the air, and your heart was pounding in your chest.

"I know how you feel about me," he said, "I know you want more."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. He knew. He had been aware this whole time, and he had said nothing. Your mind raced, a million thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

"I want to be honest with you," he continued, "And I don't want to hurt you. But I can't give you what you want. I can't give you that kind of love. It’s not something I can do."

Your heart ached at his words, the weight of them hitting you like a ton of bricks. You had hoped, deep down, that maybe he would reciprocate your feelings. But now, the reality was crushing your heart into pieces.

Jason's expression was one of guilt and remorse. "It hurts me too," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Seeing you wanting something from me that I can't give. It's like a constant knife in my chest, knowing that I can't make you happy the way you deserve." You held his hand “It’s okay,” you forced a smile “It’s okay if you don’t. My friendship with you, it's very important.”

Jason's grip on your hand tightened slightly. "You say that, but I know it's not true," he said, "I see the way you look at me doll, the way you longingly touch my hand or lean in closer. It's not just friendship for you, and deep down, we both know it."

Your heart clenched at his words. He was right, you couldn't deny it. But you didn't want to push him away or make him feel guilty for something he couldn't control. So, you just smiled again. "It's really okay," you repeated, trying to sound more convincing this time. "We'll... we'll make it work, right? Just us, as friends."

He knew that you were putting on a brave front for him, trying to downplay your own feelings in order to salvage the friendship. He wanted to say more, to try to explain the reasons behind his inability to reciprocate your feelings. But he knew that it would only make matters worse. So, he just squeezed your hand tighter, "Sure doll," he said softly. "Just us, as friends."

You softly chuckled “Doll,” you repeated “You never stopped calling me that.” Jason forced a smile, his heart aching at the familiarity of the nickname. It was one of the many reminders of your closeness, a testament to the deep bond you shared.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," he said. The irony of the nickname suddenly weighed heavily on him. Doll was a term of endearment, a term that typically invoked feelings of love. And yet here he was, the person who had never been able to feel those things for you, calling ypu ‘doll.’

"I probably should stop callin’ you that," he said quietly. "No," you said quickly, not wanting to cause more pain than either of you were already experiencing. "I like it. It's... comforting, coming from you."

"If you're sure," he said quietly. You smiled softly, trying to reassure him that it was genuinely alright. "Yeah, I'm sure," you said, your voice full of genuine affection. "It's our thing, right? Don't overthink it."

He wanted to believe that things could continue as they were between the two of you, that he could still hold onto the one person who meant more to him than anything else in the world. "Okay, doll," he said, his voice cracking slightly, "If that's what you want. We'll keep it our thing."

When you come back home, you quietly weep. You don't know what you’re crying for.

"I don’t think I could love him more..." you whispered to yourself between sobs. The depth of your feelings for him was overwhelming, but the fact that he didn't feel the same way left you feeling empty and defeated.

Your mind was swirling with conflicting thoughts. Part of you wanted to keep the relationship as it was, grateful for the intimacy and companionship you shared. Another part of you wrestled with the frustration and pain of a one-sided love. Each tear that fell felt like a small piece of your heart breaking, but you couldn't bring yourself to walk away. Despite the pain, Jason meant the world to you, and the thought of losing him was unbearable.

🦢 hello guys? did you cry? i didn’t haha, please like and reblog! discord server.

#౨ৎ blythe’s fics #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader oneshots #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd oneshots #jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd imagines #jason todd headcanons

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sturnioz · 18 days ago

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date night with fratboy!matt leaves confident!reader feeling a little territorial.

you've always been comfortable in your relationship — jealousy and possessiveness have never been a concern for you; there was no need. but tonight, as you sit across from him at the cosy little restaurant, the unexpected feelings simmer beneath the surface.

the waitress approaches your table for the fourth time tonight, her presence lingering a second too long as she asks about the meal. you're a woman, and you know the signs of flirting—those subtle gestures that are clear with intention.

normally, you would not bat an eye.

matt is a very attractive man, exuding that mysterious, quiet vibe and nonchalant attitude that draws people in. you can't blame them for being hooked—fuck, you were captivated by him too.

but tonight is so different.

it's that look on the waitress' face—the way her eyes sparkle, those lashes fluttering as she leans in close with a pretty smile, giggling as if matt just said something so unbelievably hilarious. it rings in your ears like a taunt.

then comes that moment when her hand lingers on his shoulder, a brief but unmissable touch, and a knot of unease tightens in your stomach. a surge of emotions floods you—jealousy, irritation, a fierce territorial feeling you didn't know you had.

it's unsettling as fuck.

matt isn't even giving her the time of day, which you should be grateful for, but your gaze is glued to her fingers brushing against his arm as she speaks in a tone that's low and inviting, acting as if you aren't sitting across from him.

irritation bubbles up inside you, hot and sharp, and you let out a empty laugh, running your tongue across your teeth as you stare at your untouched pasta, stabbing your fork into the plate with more force that necessary.

"baby.." you hear matt's voice break through your haze as the waitress walks away, his boot gently knocking against your heel to grab your attention. "y'good?"

"oh. great," you reply, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you force a smile. "i love watching other women touch you. so fun."

"y'know i don't give a fuck about her, right? not when i got you," matt reassures you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that almost breaks you; prodding your tongue against your cheek to fight the urge to smile. "i got my eye on you. just you."

"well, aren't you sweet for the reassurance," you say, your sarcasm softening into playful teasing, your irritation dully just a small bit. his grin widens, and he bites his fork, winking at you from across the table. "but still, it's disrespectful and... i'm uncomfortable."

"do y'wanna leave?" matt asks immediately as he sets down his fork, reaching for his wallet instead. "we can leave right now, baby. say the word 'n we'll go."

you think it's sweet, extremely sweet, the way he's willing to drop everything for you. but you're not the type of person to back down so quickly — even if it may be the best idea.

"no," you answer with a shake of your head. "we're on a date. i'm not letting anything or anyone ruin that."

although, you spoke way too soon, because in your peripheral vision, you spot the same waitress making her way back to your table, and a wave of irritation washes over you — gripping your fork tighter in your palm.

"wine?" her voice sounds vile in your ears, and you watch as she presents an expensive bottle in front of matt, a smile pretty smile on her face. "on the house, it's a specialty."

"i don't like wine," matt replies flatly, his gaze unwavering from you as he takes a slow sip out of his glass. you suppress the urge to laugh at the sight of the waitress' eyes narrowing slightly, her smile faltering.

"oh.. is there anything else i can get you?" her tone shifts a little, trying to regain control of the conversation again.

"i—"

"i like wine," you interrupt, placing your fork down and straightening up in your chair, holding out your hand expectantly. "i'll take it."

the waitress blinks and gives you a false smile, clutching the bottle tighter in her grasp. "it's a very expensive bottle, that'll cost—"

"is it not on the house?" you press, remembering her words from earlier that were directed towards your boyfriend.

"no," she smarmily smiles, a hint of condescension in her voice. "none of our bottles are."

"right... 'cos i'm almost positive you just told him—"

"no, you must've heard me wrong," her tone sharpens, and you can feel your jaw clenching. "sorry!"

you watch her walk off again, and you slowly turn your head towards matt with a look of disbelief. he meets your gaze, his expression mirroring your own, and he shakes his head lightly. his ringed fingers tap against the side of his glass, a subtle sign of his own frustration with everything that's going on.

as the evening goes on, you can feel your anger rising. each moment only fuels the fire witin you, and you lose your appetite as you push your fork aimlessly around your pasta, the once-steaming dish now cold and untouched—scraping your fork against the plate.

your eyes remain fixed on the waitress, who glides around the restaurant. she purposefully walks past your table time to time, and it feels so intentional — especially when her gaze lingers on matt with a pretty smile.

it infuriates you to watch her act as if you're invisible, her blatant disrespect getting on your nerves. how can she so openly flirt with a man who is clearly taken? you're not having it, not one bit.

the tension at your table is palpable, thick enough to slice through, but you're grateful that matt seems to try and help calm you down by rubbing his foot gently against your leg while his hand reaches across the table, locking your fingers together in a firm grip.

you take a deep breathe, trying to regain your composure as you glance back at matt, offering him a tight lipped smile and he responds by raising your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss that momentarily pushes aside your annoyance.

but just as the moment feels special, the waitress reappears yet again, but you're already snapping before she could even get the chance to open her mouth. you were done.

"what's your fucking problem?" you ask, your voice icy as you take your hand away from matt's, fixing her with a dark glare. "do you want to fuck my boyfriend or something?"

the waitress blinks, completely caught off guard, her confidence crumbling in an instant as she stutters, "e-excuse me?"

"there's clearly a reason why you won't leave us alone," you continue, tilting your head to the side, a smirk playing on your lips. "what? you think being you all smiley and batting your lashes is subtle, sweetheart?"

her face falters, and you can see the panic rising once she realises she's been called out. "i-i didn't—"

"and doing that in front of his girlfriend?" you let out a sharp laugh, pointing a talon nail at yourself before shaking your head. "please. if you think your little game is cute, it's not. it's fucking pathetic."

she stutters, glancing nervously at matt, clearly looking for some sort of rescue, but he's not even paying attention to her — his eyes are locked on you, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"i-i'm sorry..." she tries, but it comes out as an embarrassed whimper, the confidence she once had now completely shattered.

"i don't want to hear it." you cut her off, a careless flick of your hand silencing her. you can see her squirm under your gaze, the humiliation washing over her as she struggles to find the right words—mirroring a deer caught in headlights. "go."

with a another, final, dismissive wave of your hand, the waitress quickly scampers off, nearly colliding with another customer who pulls out their chair. the sight is comical, and you can't help but feel a rush of satisfaction watching her flee.

you poke your tongue against your cheek, turning back to matt, your heart still racing from the confrontation. you notice the way he's looking at you, and you purse your lips, feeling a twinge of guilt for making such a scene. "i'm... sorry. i just—she pushed me. she had to be put in her place."

"don't worry, baby," matt murmurs softly, his voice low and soothing as he reaches across the table to grasp your hand again, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles gently as a smirk settles on his lips. "i kinda liked it."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

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mmountseb · 8 months ago

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Your Shirt

Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex

Notes: haven’t wrote one in so long and decided to finally give it a go hope you like it

Your Shirt - Mason Mount fluff

As Mason lays beside Y/N in his bed, his heart swelled with a potent mixture of desire and pride as he gazed upon her wearing nothing but his England shirt, with his name proudly displayed on her back.

As much as she was from a different country she still felt the need to wear his country shirt with his name on her back

The fabric draped over her curves in a tantalizing display, accentuating her beauty and igniting a fierce sense of possessiveness within him.

He wanted her in a way they hadn’t been intimate yet

With each glance at her, Mason felt a surge of desire well up inside him, knowing that she had chosen to wear his shirt, a symbol of their connection and intimacy.

The sight of her wearing it filled him with a sense of validation and belonging, as if she had willingly wrapped herself in his identity, embracing all that he was.

It was the deeper, more profound sense of intimacy and trust that it represented.

In that moment, as they lay together in the quiet intimacy of their shared space, Mason felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the woman beside him, for her unwavering support and love.

As he reached out to trace the letters of his name on her back, Mason couldn't help but feel a surge of desire course through him, the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips sparking a fire within him that burned with a fierce intensity.

Their bodies pressed together in the quiet intimacy of their shared space, as much as he was supposed to be paying attention to the film she had picked he couldn’t help himself but letting his mind wander to how would it feel to have her ride him while wearing his name on her back

His mind was travelling to forbidden territory, fueled by the intoxicating sight of her wearing nothing but his England shirt.

With each gentle movement she made, the fabric of the shirt shifted against her skin, accentuating her curves and igniting a primal desire within him.

As he watched her, a vivid image began to form in his mind—a fantasy of Y/N pleasuring him while still wearing his shirt.

The thought alone sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, his body responding instinctively to the imagined sensation of her hands roaming his skin beneath the fabric.

Lost in the intensity of his desire, Mason couldn't help but hug her from behind while hiding his face on the curve of her neck and pulling her even closer enough to let her know that he was turned on

Y/N's innocent apology cut through Mason’s reverie, snapping him back to the present moment with a jolt.

He blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the realization of where his thoughts had taken him.

Y/N: "I'm sorry, Mase. I didn't mean to... you know, make you feel... turned on."

Her words were tentative, laced with a hint of uncertainty as she glanced at him, her cheeks tinged with a delicate blush.

Mason: "No babe it's not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for."

His voice came out a little too hastily, a touch of awkwardness coloring his tone as he tried to reassure her.

Mason: "I mean, it's just... you look really good in my shirt, and... well, I couldn't help but let my mind wander a bit."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at his candid admission, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she processed his words.

Y/N: "Oh, um... thank you. I guess I didn't realize the effect it would have on you." She said turning around to face him on his embrace

Mason: "Yeah, well... you have that effect on me, Y/N. You always have."

His words came out softer than he had intended, tinged with a vulnerability he hadn't planned on revealing.

But as he looked into Y/N's eyes, he knew that he couldn't hide the truth from her—that she had always held a power over him, a power that transcended words and boundaries.

Y/N's smile widened at his admission, a warmth spreading through her at the depth of his feelings

She felt bravely enough to bite her lips and take her hands to his hair.

Not before taking his hands further down on her body earning a gently tugging on her soft but cheek

Y/N: "You have that effect on me too”

In that moment, as they shared a knowing glance, Mason felt a sense of connection and understanding wash over him

He felt the need to pull her even closer even if it wasn’t physically possible anymore

As their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding and vulnerability, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension. In a surge of longing and desire, Mason leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from Y/N's.

With a whispered exhale, Y/N closed the remaining distance, her lips meeting his in a kiss that ignited a firestorm of passion between them.

Their mouths moved together with a fervent hunger, each touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through their veins.

His hands found their way to Y/N's waist, under the shirt, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, their bodies melding together in a primal dance of desire.

Y/N responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him, her heart racing with the intensity of their connection.

Their kiss was filled with an urgency born of longing and need, each touch a silent plea for more.

They lost themselves in the heat of the moment, the world falling away as they surrendered to the raw, unbridled passion that consumed them.

In that fleeting moment, as their lips met in a fervent embrace. There was no turning back anymore now

Lost in the intensity of the moment, they surrendered to the fire that burned between them, their kisses growing more urgent and desperate with each passing second.

Time seemed to stand still as they melted into each other, consumed by the raw passion that ignited their souls

Mason reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Y/N's face as he searched her eyes for any sign of regret or hesitation after pulling away from the kiss

Mason: "Are you okay? I didn't mean to... I mean, I hope I didn't..."

Y/N silenced him with a soft kiss, her lips meeting his in a tender embrace that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Y/N: "I'm more than okay, Mase. I've never felt more alive than I do in this moment."

Mason felt a surge of relief wash over him at her words, his fears and doubts melting away in the warmth of her embrace.

Mason: "Good. Because I... I don't want to stop kissing you. Ever."

Their laughter mingled with the soft sounds of their shared breaths, filling the air with a sense of joy and contentment that seemed to transcend time and space.

Y/N: "Then don't. Kiss me again."

And with that simple invitation, Mason leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips in another electrifying kiss

#mason mount fics #mason mount smuts #mason mount fluff #mason mount #masonmountblurb #mason mount smut #mason mount x reader #masonmountimagine #mason mount imagine #football imagine #england football #football fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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admiringlove · 2 months ago

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falling stars. the sixth part of @angstober is here! i really loved writing this one, ugh. anyways, happy reading <3 masterlist of the event can be found here.

being immortal was both a blessing and a curse.

zhongli had always been the god of contracts. it was the essence of his existence, a purpose etched into the very marrow of his being. he wasn’t always the composed, reserved man who carried the weight of centuries with quiet dignity, his gaze heavy with the nostalgia of eras long past. no, once, he had been sharp and unyielding—a man who lived and breathed duty. his loyalty to liyue was unshakable. liyue came first. always.

duty was his creed, his unwavering religion. the god of stone and earth, as immovable as the mountains he shaped. whenever his focus wavered, that mantra echoed in his mind: liyue comes first. duty comes first. it was an unrelenting rhythm that kept his soul in check.

but then, somehow, you happened.

you were the anomaly, the gentle rain that smoothed his jagged edges. he never quite understood how you slipped past the walls he’d spent millennia building. the god of contracts, once as steadfast as the stone he commanded, found himself softened—worn down not by time but by your presence. you were like the tide, subtle yet persistent, shaping him with a patience he didn’t know could exist. his rigid mountains melted into quiet hills, his soul drenched in the warmth of your laughter, the soft glow of fireworks, and a nostalgia he had never allowed himself to feel.

and now, for the first time, zhongli questioned where duty ended and where you began. you weren’t just a fleeting moment in his never-ending timeline. no, you were something far greater. you held his entire existence in your hands, like magic woven into your fingertips. you weren’t just his past—you were his present, his future, everything all at once.

and he hates that he’s slowly forgetting you. hates that he's still here, living, while it’s been eons since he last heard your voice, since the scent of you clung to his memory.

your scent. it was the first to fade, slipping through his grasp as the years stretched on. he remembers fragments—how you always smelled of the river, like the waters of qingce village clung to you. you loved the water, always said it felt like home. he’d once joked that you should have been born in fontaine, where the tides ruled, but you loved him long before you knew who he truly was.

you loved your god, and your devotion to rex lapis was so pure, so sacred, that it unsettled even him. most revered him with fear, with trembling awe, but you—no, you loved him as effortlessly as breathing. it's how he'd found you, standing before his statue, lighting incense in the stillness of prayer. he approached as zhongli, hands behind his back, watching as you offered your quiet supplications.

"did you know he's the eldest of the seven?" he murmured, his gaze lifting to the likeness of himself carved in stone. there was something serene in your posture, a calmness that baffled him. most would pray with reverence or dread, but you. you smiled softly as you waved the incense in the air, placing it at the statue’s base.

"everyone knows he's the eldest," you replied, casting him a sideways glance, "but most people don’t realize that barbatos is the second eldest."

zhongli blinked, a flicker of surprise playing at his lips. it was true—his old friend, the carefree anemo god, was the second oldest, though few knew this because of barbatos’ lighthearted demeanor.

"you seem well-versed in the ways of the gods," he remarked, curiosity piqued as he watched you. you chuckled, the sound light and warm. "my father’s a priest. i suppose that’s why. but i think rex lapis is different from the others."

zhongli’s interest deepened. he tilted his head. "how so?"

"you’ll laugh if i tell you," you teased, a grin tugging at your lips before you looked back at the statue, "but i think he’s a romantic. being the eldest must come with so much responsibility. i imagine he’s tired, weary from the weight of it all. from all of us."

zhongli frowned, something in your words striking a strange chord within him. "but that is his duty, is it not?" he asked, his brow furrowing, unsettled by the way your insight crawled beneath his skin.

you simply shook your head, smiling to yourself. "duty and purpose don’t always align, you know. rex lapis is a magnificent god, strong and wise. but i like to think he’s also present in the small moments, like an old friend. sometimes, i talk to him about my day."

zhongli’s gaze sharpened, a mix of amusement and suspicion in his eyes. "do you now?" he asked, voice low. "then perhaps he’s listening."

"if only," you laughed softly, the sound like wind brushing through leaves. "gods are mysterious creatures. i doubt they have the time to listen to a priest’s child ramble on about their mundane life."

if only you had known how closely he listened, how deeply your words had taken root within him, like seeds planted in the fertile soil of his heart. you were like water—gentle yet unyielding—flowing into the spaces between his thoughts, shaping him without him even realizing. after that day, you became something he could never quite shake, lingering like the soft glow of a lantern after dark—an ever-present warmth, like coming home after centuries spent wandering.

he finds you again, unexpectedly, sitting alone by the harbor in liyue city. there’s a heaviness to your expression, your brow furrowed as your eyes gaze out at the endless stretch of the sea, as if seeking solace in its waves. the wind tugs at your hair, carrying the salt of the ocean in the air, and you sigh—a quiet, resigned sound that makes something tighten in his chest. he watches you for a moment longer before making his way toward you.

"it’s you," he murmurs, his voice soft as the breeze, "from qingce village."

your head lifts slowly, and at first, your gaze holds no recognition, dulled by the weight of your troubles. but then, your eyes widen, lighting up with sudden relief. "you! by rex lapis, am i glad to see you."

his amber eyes, with their distinct diamond-shaped pupils, flicker in surprise. he hadn’t expected that reaction. you press on, your words tumbling out with a mixture of frustration and desperation. "this city is impossible. my father sent me here to assist a doctor with medicinal herbs, but i’m completely lost. and not one statue of morax inside the city! not one! where am i supposed to go every morning to pray?"

a small chuckle escapes him, low and warm, and he tilts his head slightly. "that is true. the nearest statue is just beyond the city’s borders, but it can be a dangerous journey. perhaps... you could join me for tea each morning instead. madame ping brews the finest oolong, and we often sit together in the high grounds before i start my day. you might even find your doctor there."

"really?" your face lights up, like the skies of liyue igniting during lantern rite, a spark of hope rekindled in your eyes. "you’d do that for me? include me in your routine, even though you barely know me?"

he smiles softly, settling onto the bench beside you. "you’re fond of rex lapis, aren’t you? so is madame ping. and so am i. i believe you’d make for good company."

"that’s... incredibly kind of you," you murmur, fingers loosening their tight grip on the straps of your bag, a hint of vulnerability slipping into your voice. "i never got your name, though."

he turns to face you, his gaze steady, the sunlight catching the red liner beneath his amber eyes, making them glow with a soft, almost ethereal light. "zhongli," he replies, watching you carefully, as though gauging your reaction.

you take in a slow breath, your eyes widening slightly as you look at him, something shifting in the air between you, fragile and significant all at once. "you know," you say, your voice a little softer now, "zhongli, you have a very familiar face."

he chuckles, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the quiet of the harbor. "do i, now?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone. "i’ll take that as a compliment."

and so, the friendship between you and, unbeknownst to you, rex lapis began. you spoke of him in the way a devout follower might speak of their deity, yet with a warmth, a familiarity, that zhongli couldn’t quite grasp. it was as if, in your heart, rex lapis was not a distant god ruling from on high, but a cherished friend; someone you could confide in without fear. and that comforted him in a way nothing else had. for once, someone revered him not out of awe or terror, but out of love. someone placed rex lapis on a pedestal for reasons beyond his power, beyond his duty. simply because they cared for him, deeply, genuinely.

perhaps that was why fate had woven your paths together. to teach him that he was more than his role, more than the weight of his eternal duty. to remind him that his purpose did not need to be solely bound to protecting liyue until the end of time. there could be more—there was more.

"i don’t think i can love anyone as much as i love the god of geo," you once confessed, after finally mastering the confusing streets of liyue harbor. the two of you were descending the stone steps after your usual morning tea with auntie ping—though now, you had grown fond enough of her to call her that. zhongli’s brow raised at your words, his steps slowing to match your pace, for you were always a little slower, always taking your time. "what do you mean by that?"

"i don’t know," you sighed, your gaze flickering to the distant horizon, "i have this... strange relationship with rex lapis. i love him. i idolize him. i think of him as an old friend, someone i can share my burdens with. but i also feel that... if someone were to love me, it would be hard for me to return the same intensity. i think it would pale in comparison to the way i love him." your voice trailed off, quieter, more uncertain. "it’s strange. like i said, a strange feeling to have. i don’t even know why i’m telling you this."

zhongli’s eyes softened as he watched you, his lips curving into a gentle, knowing smile. "i believe the word you’re searching for is sacred," he said quietly.

you blinked, surprised by his response, and for a brief moment, you narrowed your eyes at him as if trying to figure something out. because that familiar feeling tugged at you again—like a jigsaw falling into place, though you couldn’t quite see the whole picture yet. the way he smiled at you, the way he seemed to understand. it made your heart skip, just a little.

and, without realizing it, you began to favor a certain funeral parlor consultant over the god you once idolized.

he made you smile wider than you ever had, more than you ever did for rex lapis. zhongli had quietly woven himself into the fabric of your life, so seamlessly that it left you baffled, wondering when it all began. your days started to revolve around him—sometimes even your nights. he would tell you stories of liyue’s ancient history as if he had witnessed every moment himself, painting vivid pictures of a time long past. it left you in awe, admiring him more with every tale, until the realization struck like a wave crashing against the shore.

you had come to love zhongli more than rex lapis.

the thought gripped you with quiet terror. the way his eyes would crinkle with a knowing smile, the way his soft chuckles echoed in the silence after you mentioned your god—it all made your heart stumble, beat after beat. he was hiding something, you knew it. and it wasn’t just you who noticed. even auntie ping, with her ageless wisdom, seemed in on the secret. zhongli had once called her an old friend, but just how old, you couldn’t quite tell.

"how did you meet auntie ping?" you asked one evening, crossing the bridge near the funeral parlor, heading towards dinner. he paused, a flicker of hesitation passing through his amber eyes. "i don’t quite remember anymore," he said quietly, "we’ve simply been friends for a very long time. there was another once, but... she’s gone now. her name was guizhong."

"was she beautiful?" the question left your lips before you could stop yourself. "was she clever?"

his soft laugh carried through the evening air. "immensely," he said, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "we miss her, every now and then."

"did she..." your voice faltered as you stopped in your tracks. "did she pass away?"

he nodded, a touch of sadness lingering in his expression before he resumed walking. you remained rooted in place, pieces of a larger puzzle scattering through your mind. but it was as if your thoughts grew foggy whenever you were near him—like familiarity slipping through your fingers, just beyond reach. zhongli glanced back at you, tilting his head ever so slightly. "aren’t you coming?"

you murmured a soft “yes” and quickened your steps to catch up, brushing away the weight of your thoughts. "how did morax befriend cloud retainer?" you asked, steering the conversation back to familiar ground. he seemed to know so much more about your god than even your father, things lost to time.

and with every answer he gave, you found yourself more bewildered than before.

your curiosity always brought a quiet joy to zhongli, a chance for him to indulge in your questions, your wonder. at first, he thought nothing of it, simply an opportunity to share the knowledge he had gathered over centuries. but slowly, he found himself captivated, drawn to you in ways that puzzled even him. he started accompanying you outside the city, watching you in silence as you lit incense and knelt before the statue of rex lapis. but today, something was different. your expression had shifted, lips set in a thin, guilty line. like a river running cold, your posture stiffened as if weighed by an unspoken burden.

"is something troubling you?" his voice was gentle, though there was a faint edge of concern as he watched you stare up at the stone likeness of the god. you blinked, shaken from your daze, shaking your head with a quiet denial. but zhongli had known you long enough to see through the facade. "you’re different today. while you pray."

your throat tightened, words tangling within you. how could you admit that the man beside you, the one you’d come to know for mere months, had taken up more space in your heart than the god you had worshipped all your life? it was a storm within you, like water crashing through the valleys of your soul, eroding the bedrock of belief you had built.

"i can’t tell you," you murmured, turning your back to him. "this is between me and rex lapis."

"am i not your friend?" his voice was soft, almost too soft. "am i not as close to you as rex lapis is?"

he faltered then, realizing the weight of his words. what had he just revealed? he hoped the slip of his tongue wouldn’t shatter the delicate line he had walked all this time. you were clever—more clever than anyone he’d known—but perhaps your heart would refuse to see the truth.

yet why had he even said it? he was rex lapis, wasn’t he? so why did it matter that zhongli, the mortal, had become more important to you than the god? why did he feel envy, for his own self?

"you are not him," you whispered, a note of disturbance in your voice. "you are mortal. he is my god."

"he is your friend," zhongli replied quietly, searching your face, "and so am i. if something troubles you, something that disturbs your prayer, why not tell me? i don’t want to see you unhappy like this."

"i can’t," you insisted, your shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "why don’t you understand-"

"but why not?"

"because i’m in love with you!" the words bursted from you, raw and trembling in the space between you both. your voice did not crack with tears, but the defeat in your eyes spoke of an agony deeper than tears could show. "and you’ve taken up more space in my life than my god. and that... that breaks me."

the confession hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, as if the world itself had stilled in the wake of your words.

"oh," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "i am sorry."

he watched as your face twisted in thought, a realization settling behind your eyes, something heavy and final. "i know," you murmured, turning away, your voice distant. "we should head back into the city before it gets dark."

"wait, i must tell you-"

"no, zhongli." you shook your head, your defeat palpable. "i know you don’t feel the same. it’s alright. i shouldn’t feel this way either. i’m supposed to love him more."

"but i do feel the same," he said, his voice suddenly firm, cutting through your words with a softness that startled you. "i feel the same, so why shouldn’t you?"

your mind went blank. his words left you utterly speechless, like the world had tipped sideways. you blinked up at him, confusion written across your furrowed brows, eyes glassy as you struggled to make sense of what he had just said. it felt almost sacrilegious. zhongli stepped closer, his hand finding your shoulder with the familiarity of an old friend. "it is why i want to spend every moment of my life with you. why i want you to stay by my side until my last breath. is that not fair?"

you stared at him, blinking rapidly, fighting back tears that threatened to spill. how could this be real? how could the man who had become your constant, your guide, feel the same way you did? he spoke again, his voice steady and warm, as though wrapping you in a promise. "if you love morax so much, then let’s draw a contract between us. that you will love me with the same intensity as you love him. and in return, i’ll help you love him more. i will tell you stories about him, i will show you more of liyue harbor, i will take you to the temples, and pray alongside you until your last breath—if that is what keeps you content."

his words washed over you like a tide, a promise carved from stone and time. you felt the weight of it, the gravity of his offer. this man, this mortal, who had unknowingly become the center of your world, was offering himself wholly to you—not in opposition to the god you revered, but alongside him, like two halves of the same whole. it was a contract, a binding of hearts, one that felt as sacred as the prayers you had once whispered at the foot of the statue.

and so another chapter of zhongli’s infinitely long life began. but you were not infinite—you were fleeting, a moment in time that would fade. you aged like the finest wines of mondstadt, while he remained the same: tall, revered, handsome. your hair greyed, lines formed at the corners of your eyes, and soon, you grew older than auntie ping. and then, just like that, you were gone.

the scent of you vanished with the passing breeze, the smell of the rivers from qingce village where you grew up, the fragrance of old history books you lovingly stored, cleaned, and kept in your home. all of it—gone.

but zhongli remembers. he remembers every lantern rite spent by your side, watching the fireworks burst in the sky, but always, always watching you instead. the way your eyes lit up in awe at the colors that painted the night sky—he treasures it more than any celebration. and even after you were gone, liyue continued to bustle, unchanged. and zhongli stayed the same.

he lived on, because immortality was both a blessing and a curse. every year, he would stand on the high grounds, watching the fireworks bloom in the heavens with a weight in his chest that only grew heavier with time. and every year, he thought of you—your boundless curiosity, your devotion that never wavered.

he remembers the day he found your letter, tucked away like a relic, jagged edges and all. the curiosity that once led you to him now led him to unfold that paper with trembling hands. your words were simple, but they cut deep.

you had told him to live a long life—how ironic. as if he could do anything but. to eat well, as if you were still there, cooking for him each morning and night. to drink tea with ping, because you knew the weight of his loneliness. and you told him you loved him, as if he didn't already know, as if he couldn’t feel it in the way you breathed life into everything around you.

and then, what struck him most, what lingered in the back of his mind even after centuries passed, was how you signed it.

"thank you for everything, rex lapis. i leave you with love."

it was the last thing he had from you, and yet it was more than enough to keep your memory alive—because in the end, you had known. you had always known.

in his long life, he had done countless great things, and shall do countless more still. as they say: the waters change course, but the mountains move not.

so zhongli continues to live. carrying your love with him like an echo in his heart, as eternal as he was.

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