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biggianteggplant · 2 days ago

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“Things They Didn’t Mean”

They didn’t mean to hurt you — but they did. And you started changing because of it. Now they notice… and it’s already different.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

“Watch what you eat,” Ushijima says, voice low, neutral. He’s looking at your tray like it’s offended him.

You smile—a practiced, automatic thing—and laugh it off. “Oh, right. Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”

He nods. Just once. And that’s the end of it. To him, anyway.

The next day, you bring a salad. You poke at the lettuce with your plastic fork, chew each bite like penance. He glances at your lunch, says nothing.

The day after, it’s just fruit. You peel a clementine slowly, fingers sticky with juice, and avoid his eyes.

Then you stop bringing your usual snack. The one he used to reach over and steal a bite of without asking. The one that always made him smile—subtly, but still. Now your bag is empty. So are you.

By the fourth day, Tendou corners him by the gym doors. “Hey, Wakatoshi,” he says, voice too light. “You realize she’s barely eating, right?”

Ushijima blinks. Still, silent. His gaze drifts toward you—sitting against the wall, water bottle untouched, your eyes vacant in a way he can’t quite name.

That evening, practice ends. The sun is low, gym almost empty. You sit alone on the bleachers, staring at nothing, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve.

He approaches without a word, sits beside you like it's instinct. In his hands: two onigiri, wrapped carefully.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, eyes on the rice, not you. “I just… I care if you're healthy. Not thinner.”

You don’t respond. Your fingers twitch toward your bag, but fall short. He places one onigiri in your lap, the other in his own hands.

You pick at the rice. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you’ve forgotten how to be hungry.

He doesn’t speak. Just sits with you, quiet, steady. Watching. There’s guilt in the way his shoulders slope. In the way his chopsticks pause every few bites, waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

You finish half. It’s the most you’ve eaten all week.

He nudges the second one a little closer. Not pushing—just offering.

“Please eat,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “With me.”

And you do.

For a long time, he says nothing else. But his silence is kind now. Careful. And when he finally looks at you, it’s with eyes that say he’s sorry in all the ways words can’t.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

The words slipped out of Shirabu’s mouth like a diagnosis—clinical, cold, final.

And the worst part? You weren’t even fighting.

You had just spilled tea on your notes—weeks of lectures and scribbled diagrams now soaked through and curling at the edges. You laughed, a little sheepishly, brushing at the mess with your sleeve. “Well. That’s my sign to take a break, I guess—”

He didn’t laugh.

He stared at the papers like they’d personally offended him. “You’re not cut out for the kind of future I want.”

You blinked. “…Future?”

He nodded once, distracted, eyes already flicking back to his laptop. “Medicine’s not for people who lose focus. Who make little mistakes.”

You smiled, like it didn’t sting. Laughed, like you hadn’t heard that same voice in your own head on bad days. “Right. Of course.”

That night, you stayed up redoing your notes from scratch. And the night after that. And the one after that.

You started waking up before him. Stopped doodling in the margins of your med books. Stopped humming when you cooked, because every second needed to be productive. Coffee became a meal. Sleep became a luxury.

You didn’t complain. Didn’t cry. Just… shifted. Quietly. Carefully. Willfully.

The version of you Shirabu fell for—the one who teased him while quizzing him on anatomy terms, who wore fuzzy socks to study groups, who once made him a human heart out of Jello just to prove a joke—she was slowly fading.

At first, he liked the change.

The silence. The discipline. The way your pens were always aligned now. The way you never interrupted him mid-sentence anymore.

But then… He noticed.

You never touched him just because anymore. Never made dumb puns over dinner. Your shoulders stayed tense even in your sleep. The music in your world had gone quiet—and he hadn’t realized how much he loved its sound until it disappeared.

One night, he came home late from the library and found you at your desk, fast asleep. Your glasses were still on. Your hand was stained with blue ink, fingertips trembling slightly from too much caffeine and too little rest. There was a cut on your thumb from a broken pen. Your lips were dry. You looked pale—drained, like all your color had been slowly siphoned away.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, heart sinking.

And when he touched your hand, you didn’t even stir.

He sat down beside you, swallowing guilt like poison. “I didn’t mean for you to become someone else,” he whispered, the words raw and foreign in his mouth. “I just wanted you with me. I didn’t realize I was asking you to lose yourself.”

His voice cracked. For the first time in years, he cried.

Quietly. Beside you.

Because you were still there. Breathing. Trying. But something in you had cracked.

And he had been the one to make the first fracture.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

That was the last thing he said to you that day. You had just finished gushing about your favorite show—something about parallel universes and time loops and a sad, smiley villain who reminded you of him (your words, not his). You were laughing, hands moving, eyes bright.

And he had sighed, leaned back in his chair, and muttered: “Are you done yet?”

You blinked. Laughed it off. “Right. Sorry. Got carried away.”

He didn’t respond. Just went back to scrolling.

After that, you didn’t talk about your favorite shows anymore. Stopped sending him memes. Stopped rambling in long voice notes that always ended with you laughing at your own jokes.

He noticed, of course. But didn’t say anything.

Yamaguchi did.

“She doesn’t text you stuff anymore, huh?”

Tsukishima scoffed. “Didn’t realize you were tracking my notifications.”

But later that night, alone in his room, he opened your chat. Scrolled through the silence. Past the last thing you sent—a meme, three weeks ago. A stupid one, about dinosaurs and headphones. He hadn’t even reacted to it.

The empty space beneath it felt louder than any rant you used to send.

The next day, he walked past a store on the way home and froze. In the window: a little keychain of your favorite character. The one you wouldn’t shut up about for two whole weeks. The one he pretended not to care about but secretly knew the name of.

He bought it.

He didn’t even think. Just… did.

The next morning, he dropped it on your desk before class. No warning. No note.

You blinked, staring at the tiny figure in your hand. “What’s this for?”

He adjusted his glasses, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “So you’ll annoy me again.”

You stared at him for a beat, stunned. Then your lips twitched.

You didn’t say anything. But that night, he got a message.

[you]: i just rewatched episode 8 again and i need you to understand how emotionally devastating that scene was. also this keychain is SO cute i might cry.

He read it three times. Smiled. Just a little.

(Translation: I forgive you. I missed you too.)

SUNA RINTARO

He had said it offhandedly. Barely looking up from his phone.

You had just sent him a selfie—your hair a little messy, eyes a little dull, but your smile was there. Honest. Tired, maybe. But still you.

And he said: “You look tired.”

You blinked at the screen, lips twitching in a way that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Then replied, “Yeah. Been a long day.”

After that, you stopped sending selfies. Started fixing your hair more before calls. Wore cooler tones. More neutrals. Nothing bright. Nothing bold. Started double-checking the lighting. Your angles. Yourself.

One day you joked, “Better not look tired again, right?” But your voice was too quiet. The kind that curls at the edge of something fragile.

Atsumu noticed it first.

“She doesn’t send you stuff anymore, huh?” Suna didn’t answer. “You told her she looked tired, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. But his thumb froze over your chat. Unread messages: none. The last picture you sent had disappeared after twenty-four hours. You didn’t save it. And you hadn’t sent another since.

The silence in the thread felt heavier than words.

So he stared at his camera for a long second, then sighed and snapped a picture. No filters. No angles. Just him—messy hair, hoodie hood half-on, eyes barely open.

He sent it with a message: “This is how I look when I actually look tired.” “You always look like someone I wanna keep looking at.”

You stared at the screen. Chest aching. Then, finally:

[you]: you're still bad at words. [suna]: yeah. but i’m trying.

And he was. In his own way—awkward, quiet, a little late.

But trying.

(And somehow, that was what mattered most.)

OIKAWA TOORU

You didn’t mean to bother him.

You had only sent three messages. Short ones. Thoughtful, even.

[you]: hey, u free later? [you]: you okay? you’ve been quiet today. [you]: let me know if you need anything. i’ll leave you be. promise.

And then it came. His reply.

Flat. Dismissive. Laced with exhaustion and that familiar edge he gets when he’s overwhelmed.

[oikawa]: you’re really needy sometimes.

You stared at the screen for a moment too long. Then you smiled. The kind of smile you force when people are watching. “lol sorry. my bad.” One last message. That was all.

And then you stopped.

You stopped texting first. Stopped sending him memes you knew would make him laugh. Stopped double-texting, triple-texting. Stopped reaching out at all.

You gave him what he seemed to want.

Space.

He noticed by dinner.

By the time the team wrapped up practice, Oikawa was already scrolling through your messages, rereading old ones like a lifeline. There were no new ones. No “I miss you.” No “Goodnight.” Just… nothing.

He opened your chat three times that night. Typed. Deleted. Typed. Deleted again.

What was he even supposed to say?

Iwaizumi noticed the silence too.

“She’s not needy,” he said while they packed up. “You’re just used to being worshipped.”

That stung.

Because it was true.

Oikawa Tooru had always been admired—on the court, online, in every room he walked into. He thought love looked like attention. He hadn’t realized until now that he’d treated your warmth like a reflex, not a choice. Until you took it away.

Until your silence said everything.

So three nights later, he was standing in front of your door.

A hoodie pulled over his head. Hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He looked small. Not in height—but in guilt.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

You opened it.

Your eyes were tired. Guarded. The space between you filled with things unsaid.

Oikawa’s voice was low. He didn’t even try to smile.

“…I miss your ‘needy,’” he said.

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“I miss you.”

Still, you said nothing. Just looked at him like you weren’t sure if this was another performance or the real thing.

“I don’t want space,” he continued. “I want your clingy texts. I want the memes. The constant check-ins. The way you send me random thoughts at midnight.”

He looked down at his shoes.

“I want everything. Even the parts I didn’t appreciate.”

Silence.

Then he looked up, eyes raw.

“I only push away the people I care too much about,” he whispered. “And that’s you.”

It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just honest.

For a long moment, you stood there. Then, slowly—quietly—you stepped aside.

He didn’t wait for permission.

He just walked in, shoulders trembling slightly.

You closed the door behind him.

And neither of you said another word. Because this time, he would show you through presence what he failed to express in words.

He came back.

And he didn’t let go.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

It was just a bad game.

He was frustrated. Quiet. His shoulders tight. His jaw locked.

You knew how he got. You didn’t say anything.

You just reached out—softly, gently—for his hand. Not to fix him. Just to say I’m here.

But he pulled back like your touch burned him.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

You blinked, hand frozen mid-air. Then you let it drop, your voice a quiet crumble. “…Sorry.”

That was it.

You stepped back. Gave him space. And from that day on, you stayed there.

You stopped reaching for him. Stopped brushing your fingers against his sleeve when you passed by. Stopped fixing his hair when it curled over his forehead. Stopped lacing your fingers through his on long walks.

You hesitated now—every time. Your hands hovered near him, never landing.

And Kiyoomi… didn’t notice.

Not at first.

But Komori did.

He waited until the locker room was empty, then slammed his locker shut louder than necessary.

“You told her not to touch you,” he said, arms crossed. “And now she doesn’t. Happy?”

Kiyoomi blinked, confused.

“She flinched when you brushed her arm, Omi. She flinched. That girl used to hold your hand like it was second nature.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Komori left. Kiyoomi sat down, heart unsettled, brain replaying every tiny moment—your hands curled into your lap, your stiff shoulders, the way your gaze flicked to his fingers then away.

It was true.

You were gone, somehow, even while still beside him.

That night—no, early morning—he couldn’t sleep.

He stared at his phone screen in the dark, thumbs hovering. Then:

[sakusa]: i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.

No typing bubbles appeared.

He didn’t expect them to.

But the next day, he found you outside the gym, hugging your arms to yourself, pretending not to see him.

He walked straight to you.

You looked up, cautious.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He just reached forward—and for once, it was him who was shaking—and took your hand. Both of his around yours, like anchoring something fragile.

You looked down at the connection. Then back at him.

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I want you close,” he said. “Even when I’m upset. Especially then.”

Your lip trembled.

He held your hand tighter.

And in that quiet moment, on the edge of hurt and healing, you let yourself believe him.

Because sometimes, people push away what they need most. And sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get the chance to hold it again.

KENMA KOZUME

You used to sit beside him.

No words. No noise. Just quiet company while his fingers danced across the keyboard, headset snug over his ears.

You liked being close. He never complained—until one night, between matches, he muttered without looking at you:

“You’re kind of distracting when I’m streaming.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t sharp.

But it stuck.

You blinked. “Oh.”

And after that… you stopped.

You stopped bringing snacks and dropping soft kisses to his temple when he won. Stopped curling up next to him. Stopped humming under your breath or watching from the corner of his screen.

You stayed in your room more.

Quiet. Out of sight.

Invisible.

Kenma didn’t notice at first—too busy adjusting his settings, managing collabs, climbing ranks.

But Kuroo noticed. Over Discord, mid-game, as Kenma sat in silence between rounds, Kuroo muttered:

“She doesn’t bug you anymore, huh?”

Kenma blinked. “What?”

“You look kinda lonely now.”

The words landed like a delayed hit.

Kenma glanced to the side—out of instinct—at the space where you used to sit. Empty. Still.

He stared longer than he meant to.

His fingers paused over the keys. The stream kept running. The chat wondered what happened. But Kenma didn’t move.

Later that night, he found himself in front of your door. A bag of your favorite snacks in hand. Slightly crumpled from how tightly he’d been holding it.

He knocked once. Soft.

You opened the door, eyes tired. Surprised.

He didn’t speak at first. Just held out the bag.

“…What’s this?” you asked quietly.

“Peace offering.”

Your brow arched. “You said I was distracting.”

He looked down, fingers flexing.

“I know,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”

You stayed quiet.

So he stepped forward, placed the snack gently beside his controller on his desk, then turned back to you.

“Come sit with me?” he asked. Then, even softer: “I miss your noise.”

You blinked.

And for the first time in days, your lips curved—just slightly.

He held his hand out toward you.

And this time, when you took it, he didn’t let go. Not even when the game started. Not even when chat noticed.

Because he wasn’t playing to win anymore. He just wanted you back beside him.

Even if you distracted him. Especially if you did.

MIYA ATSUMU

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You didn’t even realize it was happening—until your voice cracked mid-sentence, and you saw the way Atsumu’s expression tightened, not with concern, but irritation.

“I’m not in the mood for your drama right now.”

It hit like a slammed door.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then you nodded.

"Sorry," you said, voice barely there.

And after that—you stopped.

You stopped venting. Stopped opening up. Started smiling too wide, laughing a little too quickly.

"I’m fine." "Just tired." "Nothing big."

You said it so much, you almost believed it.

But Atsumu didn’t.

Not at first—he was too wrapped up in training, in pressure, in exhaustion and ego. But Osamu noticed.

“You broke something, y’know,” he said one night, tossing a towel over Atsumu’s head. “You might wanna fix it before it stays broken.”

That’s what finally made him pause.

And that’s what led him here— To the empty gym hallway, where he found you sitting against the wall, knees to your chest, eyes blank.

You didn’t notice him at first. Didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch.

He walked over, crouched down, and gently rested his forehead against your shoulder.

“…I’m the drama,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not you.”

You stayed quiet.

He clenched his fists. Loosened them. Then tried again.

“Please don’t hide your feelings from me. Ever.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked away, eyes burning, lip trembling—but still, you said nothing.

So Atsumu pulled you into his arms.

Held you there. Not asking for forgiveness, not rushing it—just there.

“I was stupid,” he mumbled into your hair. “I was tired and selfish and I made you feel like too much.”

His voice cracked.

“You’re not too much. I was just too stupid to handle someone real.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

But your hands slowly—finally—gripped the back of his jersey.

And that was enough.

Because this time, he wouldn’t let go first.

KITA SHINSUKE

You were tired. Not just physically, but the kind of tired that settles in your chest and makes everything feel heavier. You forgot to do something small — misplanted a row of seedlings in your shared garden, or maybe you overslept and missed breakfast with him.

He didn’t yell. He never did. Just that calm, steady voice:

“That’s not very disciplined of you.”

No anger. Just disappointment. And somehow, that was worse. It clung to you for days.

You started fixing your posture more, triple-checking tasks, waking up earlier than needed. No more lazy mornings. No more spontaneous dancing in the rain or lying in the grass just to feel the sun. You stopped being soft. You started being… correct.

And he noticed. How your laugh faded. How your hands trembled when you thought he was watching.

It was Aran who quietly pulled him aside one afternoon. They were harvesting. The sun was warm. But Kita felt cold at the words:

“She’s not blooming anymore. She’s surviving.” “You’re so focused on raising standards… you didn’t see her lower herself.”

That night, he found you tending the garden. The same bed you both built together. The soil was dry. The petals curled inward. And so were you.

He knelt beside you silently, heart heavy.

“Discipline matters,” he started. “But so does grace. I should’ve given you more of it.”

You didn’t look at him. Your fingers kept digging gently through the soil.

So he did something rare. He placed his hand over yours. Soft. Still. Sure.

“You don’t need to be perfect… to be precious to me.”

Your breath hitched. And when you finally looked up — eyes glassy, dirt smudged on your cheek — he smiled, just barely.

“Let’s grow softer things. Together.”

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You’d tried something new. Maybe you curled your hair, tried eyeliner, wore that outfit you weren’t sure about but finally had the courage to put on. You didn’t expect a grand reaction. But you didn’t expect that either.

“You look weird.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just said it like a volleyball stat: flat. Unthinking. Unfiltered.

You smiled like it didn’t hurt. Went to the bathroom that night and wiped it all off. Told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

But the next day, you played it safe. No more makeup. Neutral clothes. You toned it down, layer by layer, until it felt like you’d erased something. And he didn’t even seem to notice.

But others did. Sugawara asked Kageyama during practice, teasing but genuine:

“What happened to all those selfies she used to send you? I kinda miss the glitter.”

Kageyama blinked. Paused. Scrolled through his phone that night. Through bright lipstick, messy buns, silly filters, captioned doodles. Gone, now.

And then it hit him.

You’d stopped sending anything. Stopped showing anything.

He found you that night, seated quietly on the porch or your shared bench near the gym.

“Hey…”

You looked up. Tired. Dull.

He sat beside you, awkward fingers twitching on his knee.

“You’re… not weird. I mean, you are, but like. Not—bad weird. Like… your kind of weird. And I liked that.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared ahead.

So he added, softer this time:

“I’m stupid with words. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to disappear.”

You swallowed. He turned slightly, desperate and clumsy:

“Please don’t change for something dumb I said. I didn’t realize how much I loved… all of that. All of you.”

You turned to him. Eyes glossy, voice small:

“Then why didn’t you say that sooner?”

He didn’t have an answer. So instead, he reached into his pocket and held out the phone screen — a selfie of you from a month ago.

“I saved this one. I liked your smile here the most.”

DAICHI SAWAMURA

It was something small. You tripped on a stair and instinctively, he caught your wrist, pulling you close before you fell.

Someone whistled. A teammate teased: “Ooh, Daichi, playing knight in shining armor?”

He panicked. Embarrassed. Tried to play it cool. So he shrugged and muttered,

“She’s not my responsibility.”

Laughed it off.

But your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You’d never expected him to take responsibility for you. You weren’t asking to be saved. But you’d thought — maybe — it was okay to lean. To trust. To fall near him.

After that day, you stopped doing that.

You handled everything alone — even when your hands shook carrying too much, even when your emotions threatened to spill.

No more late-night texts. No more spontaneous hangouts. No more quiet moments walking beside him.

You avoided everyone for a while.

Until Suga found you missing again from another group outing and went straight to Daichi.

“She knows she’s not your responsibility, Daichi. She just thought… you gave a damn.”

That silenced him.

That night, he went up to the school rooftop — the place you always went when you needed to breathe. You were already there, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes on the sky.

He didn’t speak. Just sat beside you. Let the silence ache between you both.

Then finally, barely audible:

“I wanted to protect you. Not push you away.”

You didn’t look at him. You just said, hollowly:

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

But he shook his head gently.

“No, you don’t. I didn’t say that because I didn’t care. I said it because I was scared of how much I did.”

You blinked, eyes burning.

“You’re not my responsibility,” he whispered again — but this time softer, reverent. “You’re my person. That’s… different.”

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zorosangell · 6 months ago

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⛥ﾟ・。 oiran

synopsis: while luffy and the others are off saving sanji, zoro is assigned the role of a ronin, and told to keep a low profile as he roams the land of wano... but he risks revealing himself and the entire crew when he discovers you're a nearby oiran, and in need of his rescue.

cw: lots and lots of fluff, comfort, zoro is down bad for reader, reader is super pretty, zoro does NOT play about you, took me hella long for some reason.

a/n: i took the song hell n back by summer walker as inspo for this

"Thanks," Zoro nodded with a smile, giving the boat owner a thankful nod as he took a box of sushi from him, quickly setting it down in his lap and cracking it open.

Though he had failed to notice the word WASABI written in bold on the side of the tray.

In his travels throughout the Flower Capital, Zoro had landed himself in a little bit of trouble, having been arrested for the crimes of a serial killer, and convicted as a murderer when he cut down a very important magistrate—who was the real culprit—at his own execution.

Luckily, after defeating the magistrate's followers and walking out the execution yard, he had managed to stumble across a literal sushi boat leaving one of the docks, which gave him the perfect means to escape.

While also offering the perfect opportunity for him to stuff his face.

Eager to eat, he picked up the first piece, which was topped with fresh salmon nigiri and salmon roe, the rice a little more green than the swordsman expected.

But he was too hungry to care, not giving it a second thought as he shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

An act he was quick to regret.

Cheeks puffed and nose scrunched, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple as his face contorted into an expression of discomfort.

'It burns!'

Frantic for something to cool his tongue, he snapped his head around, letting out small hums of muffled agony as he searched for his sake gourd.

Though the spiciness made him feel like his mouth was being seared by flames, most of the heat was moving upward toward the back of his nose, hitting his sinuses just enough to make his eyes water.

Typically, he enjoyed things that sat more on the bitter side, but he'd never imagined food could get this spicy.

Quickly grabbing his sake, he guzzled well over half of it, ignoring the two large streams running down the sides of his mouth as that was what finally stopped the burning.

But as he began to regain feeling in his mouth, he realized that the sushi piece itself actually tasted delicious, slightly smiling at the flavor.

'Looks like I'll just need a sake chaser.'

"My, my! Look at this!" the older man next to him gasped, marveling at a mysterious flyer in his hands. "To think that such a breath-taking beauty actually exists! It's unbelievable!"

Completely unbothered, Zoro went back to stuffing his face, following each bite with a huge gulp of sake.

Though his curiosity began to pique when the man continued to stare at the paper, almost as if he was hypnotized.

"What's unbelievable?" Zoro asked, muffled, as he gulped down another piece. "Hot!"

"An oiran nearby by the name of (f/n)! She's said to be one of the most beautiful women in the country!" the man answered, holding up the paper for the swordsman to see. "It's rumored that her beauty would give oiran Komurasaki a run for her money."

Zoro took another lazy swig of his gourd, brow raised as he flippantly glanced at the flyer, only for his eye to blow wide at the sight.

It was you, your features gracefully laid out and unmistakable in the detailed ink painting.

Surprised, Zoro spit out his mouthful of sake, shooting it directly into the face of a nearby patron.

"Hey! If you don't like wasabi, don't eat it! But I won't tolerate you spitting on other customers!" the owner of the boat shouted, brows furrowed as he glared at the swordsman. "Hold on! Have you even paid?!"

"Lemme see that!" Zoro growled, completely ignoring the owner as he snatched the flyer out of the old man's hands, looking at it closer.

It was indeed you, as radiant and stunning as he'd last seen, which was well over a month ago.

He wasn't told what identity you were assigned or where you were stationed—a precaution taken by Kin'emon as he'd seen throughout his travels how hell-bent the swordsman was on protecting you, and couldn't trust the man not to seek you out if he knew.

And, of course, his intuition would be right, as the paper suddenly began to crumple in Zoro's hand, his expression dropping into a deep scowl.

Zoro was dim, but he wasn't stupid.

During his time in the capital, he had managed to piece together what the whole oiran business was about.

He'd overheard the stories.

He'd seen the men.

It was nothing but an excuse for stuffy rich guys to gawk and leer at women, treating them like objects and products to be bought rather than actual people.

His fist clenched even tighter, veins bulging in his hand as it practically shook, nearly destroying the paper.

While eating out somewhere nice, he'd eavesdrop on some of the stories the men of higher status would tell, and to call their actions harassment would be a grave understatement.

He grit his teeth, attempting to fight off the swell of anger threatening to burst from his chest.

Just the thought of any man doing those things to you made his blood boil, and his hands itch for his swords.

Plan be damned, he wasn't gonna let anything happen to you on his watch.

Abruptly turning around, he yolked up the boat owner by the front of his yukata, the man letting out a fearful yelp as Zoro pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He held out the crumpled flyer for the man to see, tone deadly serious and leaving no room for argument.

"Tell me where I can find her..."

"Care for some sake, sir?" a blonde-haired geisha asked, a slight flush on her cheeks as she approached Zoro, who was sitting rigidly on his tatami mat.

The man was certainly a sight, and every other girl in the room was having a hard time focusing on their clients with him sitting so close.

He was significantly more handsome than their typical patrons.

Pronounced jawline.

Clearly muscular physique.

Dark, bedroom eyes.

A dream come true for a woman in this profession.

"No, thank you," he curtly denied, not even bothering to look the girl in the eye.

But he had turned down every one of their advancements.

Yet, in all actuality, he wasn't even supposed to be there.

Once the boat owner told him where to find you, he immediately jumped ship, leaving behind some money to pay for his meal before landing on the riverbank.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him with nightfall drawing ever closer, as he knew that was when red-light districts were at their most busy.

And only after mugging a few rich guys—using their money to pay the exorbitant entrance fee—did he finally gain access to your room, entering himself under the guise of a wealthy samurai.

Then, he laid in wait, watching with a certain disdain as the other men practically jumped the other girls, getting particularly handsy particularly quick.

But he did his best to ignore it, instead focusing on the fact that you had yet to arrive, worry beginning to spike in his veins as he had been sitting there for thirty minutes, with little to no sign of you at all.

"Hey," he called, snappily, snatching the girl out of her lovesick stupor. "When the hell is the oiran comin' out?"

Visibly, her shoulders dropped, a pout settling on her painted lips as she finally caught the message, now understanding why he was so cold toward everyone else.

He was waiting for her.

'Much like the rest of the men that pass through nowadays...'

Sucking up her slight annoyance, she faced the man with a polite smile, fixing her grip on the tray of liquor.

"Oiran (f/n) will be—"

"Lords! And esteemed samurai of Wano!" an older woman suddenly exclaimed, seeming to appear out of nowhere, utterly elated.

Zoro snapped his attention away from the girl, eye zeroing in on the door the madam was standing in front of.

He could sense you standing just behind it, and was fighting off the all-encompassing urge to bust it down and drag you away from the place.

"It is with great honor that the Ogimoto House presents to you our very own shining star... oiran (f/n)!"

As the door slammed open, a woman in the corner suddenly began to play the shamisen, the other girls joining together to gracefully dance as you made your entrance, carefully stepping into the light.

And once Zoro caught sight of you, nearly all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

You were a vision.

Your hair was tied in a both simple yet elaborate updo, adorned with several golden, gem-encrusted hairpins, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your kimono was heavily layered, but richly decorated with bold greens and intricate embroidery that accented the fabric's dragon design—the most prominent one, ironically, missing its left eye, much like your swordsman.

Your makeup was surprisingly simple for an oiran, more focused on accentuating your natural features, while offering small pops of color to your cheeks.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was tightening over itself, rendering him unable to breath.

Just being able to look at you brought him an embarrassing amount of happiness.

Lowering your fan, you flashed the men a coy smile, their eyes quite literally turning into hearts at the sight.

"Sorry for the delay," you simpered, gracefully walking into the room.

Because of traditional oiran etiquette, it was impossible for you to move faster than a mile an hour, but that only added to the appeal as that made it seem as if you were floating through the air.

Calculated, your eyes scanned over the crowd, analyzing each face within the room.

You'd recognized a few of the usual suspects—rich, thirsty men who would fall over themselves trying to catch your attention—and noticed a few new faces—skeptical types who wanted to see if the rumors of your looks were true.

But one man among them all stuck out to you.

You'd recognize that head of hair anywhere...

Internally, you let out a sigh, fighting off the wide smile threatening to break out on your face.

'He just can't follow directions, can he?'

Your swordsman.

Though you two had only been apart for about a month, give or take, you couldn't help but allow your heart to swell with joy at seeing him again.

Countless nights you'd found yourself pining over the man, missing his presence by your side.

His genuine, obnoxious laugh.

His funny, snarky remarks.

His drunken, horrible flirting.

His bad habit of resting his hand on your hip, keeping you tethered to his side.

All that was why you found your feet carrying you over to his mat, entire body burning at the intensity of his stare and the cockiness of his smirk.

"May I join you, sir?" you asked, slyly, biting back the grin threatening to crack on your lips. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

He let out a quiet chuckle, perfectly fine with playing along, so long as he was your only customer.

"Be my guest," he greeted, his hand instinctively coming up to pat his thigh.

You typically sat in his lap when you two were alone, but he was so excited to see you, he didn't really care.

Though, when your eyes flashed him a scolding look, his hand halted in mid-air, brow raising in confusion.

You glanced toward the other patrons discreetly, taking notice that they all were still watching intently, before turning your attention back to your swordsman.

'We can't do that here, dumbass,' your expression said. 'You're gonna blow my cover.'

It finally hit him, and he nodded with an adorably vacant look.

'My bad,' he backed off.

"Oiran (f/n)!" a man suddenly shouted from across the room, grabbing everyone's attention as he bustled to his feet and scrambled toward you. "Oiran (f/n)!"

Despite your confusion, you turned to him with a warm look, masking your apprehension.

"Yes, Sir Kyoguro?" you asked.

You'd recognized the man from a few of his previous visits, and you made a point to remember every name you met, in case they could be of use to you later.

"I must say, I am bewitched by your beauty, absolutely enthralled by your grace, and in awe of your poise!"

You pretended to be abashed by the comments, slightly hiding yourself behind your fan.

"Sir Kyoguro, you flatter me."

Zoro nearly gagged, rolling his eyes at the sight.

He knew you were faking it, seeing as you'd just given him a real reaction only moments ago, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"(f/n)!" the man eagerly lurched forward, taking your hand in his. "I am utterly taken with you. I see no other woman that can take your place in my heart!"

You fought off a grimace, smiling down uneasily at the stranger, who seemed to have found it in his right to touch you without your permission.

Zoro, on the other hand, was less than pleased.

Arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gripped his yukata, occupying his hands to prevent himself from shooting up and severely hurting the man.

It was painfully obvious that you were uncomfortable, yet you seemed to be taking it in stride.

How many other interactions had you had like this one?

How many men have touched you without your say so?

How many times have you had to hide your distress behind a kind smile?

'Bastard...'

He grit his teeth, fingers tightening painfully into a fist.

"This is why... I want you to marry me!"

Your entire world scratched to halt, Zoro's eye widening at the words.

"I-I beg your pardon?" you weakly stuttered, utterly shocked, praying you heard him wrong.

"I've already paid off your contract and then some. So tonight we leave for the Flower Capital! There we will be wed! And we'll finally be able to start our lives together!"

Your heart practically sank to your feet, the very thought making you shiver under your skin.

It was unheard of for an oiran to get a marriage proposal just within a month of working, much less one where the client pays well over the asking price.

Kin'emon telling you that fact was the only thing reassuring you throughout this whole endeavor.

As cheesy as it was, you had no intention of marrying anyone else in this world other than Zoro, whether the wedding was real or not.

But it wasn't like you could outright say no, or simply run away.

You'd blow your cover that way, and the others needed you to find out everything you could from the nobles of Wano.

'Of all people, why did this have to happen to me?'

It was safe to say... you were shitting your pants.

In a desperate attempt to debunk this, you turned to the madam, but she gave you a proud thumbs up, nodding in concurrence.

'Fuck!'

"And while we're on the topic... please forgive me if this comes off too vulgar for your delicate ears," the man leaned in closer, whispering so only you could catch it.

You shivered, terrified of what nonsense he might say.

"Once we reach the Flower Capital, I must insist that we start the process of producing an heir at once. My family is in great need of one, you see? And we need to start his upbringing right away."

You nearly laughed at the statement, eyes wide, nearly disbelieving of the words that just left his mouth.

There's no way he just said that...

But he did.

And Zoro heard him loud and clear.

And right then and there was when the swordsman decided the time for sitting idly by was over, plan be damned—Traffy could make another one.

It'd be a cold day in hell before he ever let you get married to some pervert for some mission, much less have a kid with him.

Silently, Zoro stood up from his mat, rising to his full height ominously quiet.

The entire room suddenly turned their attention to him, you included, your lips letting out a faint gasp as you caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were darkened with malice.

You recognized the look instantly... and you knew it spelled trouble.

'Oh, no...'

Your swordsman clenched his fist, grabbing the air as if it were one of his swords, before winding up his arm for a swing.

"Zoro, please... he didn't mean anything by it... we'll figure something out, alright?" you tried to calm him down, completely ignoring the fact that you used his real name, and the fact that it was completely inappropriate to talk to a customer that way.

You were more preoccupied with making sure he didn't kill anybody.

But his mind was already made up.

Suddenly, a dark, shiny substance coated his arm from his fingertips to his elbow, emanating a menacing, purple glow.

'HA!'

If he was using his haki, there was no point in talking anymore.

You sighed, exasperatingly rolling your eyes, giving up on any hopes of calming him down and simply waiting for the inevitable.

"No Sword Style... Tatsumaki!"

Faster than everyone else could see, he swung his arm through the air, creating a giant, aggressive air funnel that knocked the sniveling man before you out cold—the winds so harsh that it blew the hairpins right out your hair and tore through the roof of the house, letting in the torrential downpour from outside.

While everyone was distracted, Zoro scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, your yelp of surprise snatching back their attention.

"Hey!" the madam shouted, furious. "You put her down this instant!"

"I'm stealing the woman!" Zoro announced, running right past her and out the exit, snatching up the large sack of money the man left. "And the cash!"

"Don't tell them that!" you lightly smacked him in the chest, laughing, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the pelting rain forcing your loose hair to stick to your face.

Breaking down the door to the exit, your swordsman sprinted out toward the dirt road, the owner of the house along with your other loyal followers chasing you both outside.

"Get back here!"

"Where are you going with the oiran?!"

"You can't take her!"

"Someone stop him!"

"Oiran (f/n)! We'll save you!"

As if you needed saving...

"Y'know, most guys say hi, how are ya before kidnapping a girl from her house," you teased, turning to your swordsman.

"Most girls typically say thank you after being saved from an arranged marriage," he countered, his trademark cocky grin plastered on his face.

"What other girls are you saving?" you playfully huffed, brows furrowing as you tugged at his cheek.

Amused, Zoro let out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes.

He'd missed you... desperately.

Looking over your shoulder, you checked to see if the men were still chasing you, happy to see that they had given up, all of them stopping and turning back toward the house.

'So much for loyal...'

Pushing the thought to the side, you suddenly cupped your swordsman's face in your hands, thumb softly gliding over his cheekbone.

"I missed you," you smiled up at him, sincerely, taking a moment to re-familiarize yourself with his face.

You'd missed him... desperately.

And the man seemed even handsomer than you remembered.

Finally a decent distance away from the house, Zoro stopped in his tracks, pulling over right in the middle of the road.

"Stand on my feet," he stated, shifting his grip to put you down.

You were only wearing tabi socks, and he didn't want you to get muddy feet.

Following his instructions, you stepped carefully onto the tops of his feet, his hands sliding down to your hips to balance you.

Though, once he was sure you were steady, he didn't hesitate in pulling you flush against him and smashing his lips against yours.

Your eyes widened, slightly surprised by the sudden movement, before you instantly melted into his embrace, relishing the way his strong arms felt wrapped around you.

He kissed you like he was famished, like you were water in his desert, his blunt fingertips having a near bruising grip on your hips.

Moments like these made him wonder what life would be like if the two of you didn't have to split up every two fucking seconds.

Pulling you even closer, he only deepened the kiss, his eagerness electrifying you right down to your core.

Emotional displays of this magnitude... coming from him?

In public?

You never thought you'd see the day.

Pulling back with a soft pop, you took a moment to catch your breath, unable to fight off the stupid smile settling on your lips.

"I should get married off more often," you chuckled, breathlessly, resting your hands on his chest for purchase.

He scoffed, scooping you up again before going back to running, hoping to find somewhere to shelter you both from the rain.

Glancing down at your smug grin, he smirked, rolling his eyes before placing a quick peck on your forehead.

"Don't push it."

#one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #zorosangell #op

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peachsayshi · 1 year ago

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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table.

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away.

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home.

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to.

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current.

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately.

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat.

that student was his responsibility...

...and he failed him entirely.

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango. “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!”

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day.

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down.

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet.

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her...

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on.

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair.

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles.

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!”

she’s only six.

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction.

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty.

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.”

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him.

the room is dead silent.

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice.

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place.

he regrets his words immediately.

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room.

･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next.

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists.

“kento?”

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away.

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry.

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement.

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?”

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright.

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug.

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

#[peach is away.💌]#[peach queues.🧡]#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x female reader #nanami x ofc #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento angst #nanami angst #nanami hurt/comfort #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction #jjk fluff

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vacate-et-scire · 1 month ago

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JUST A BITE

You learned quickly that Bucky Barnes had the tastebuds of a man who’d survived decades of rationed food and army chow—because he could eat anything. And not just anything… but pain. Pure, fiery, tear-inducing, sweat-on-your-brow spice.

You, on the other hand, would combust at a medium salsa.

The first time you’d gone out to eat together, he’d asked if you wanted to try a bite of his dish. You’d said yes, stupidly trusting. And when you took a mouthful of his flaming Thai curry, it was like your soul left your body for a moment.

Tears streaming, hiccuping, you’d waved wildly at him while gulping water, and all he’d done was laugh. That rare, deep laugh that lit up his entire face and made your heart flutter despite the actual hell in your mouth.

From then on, it became a silent agreement. You’d order something gentle—creamy, sweet, or mild. He’d get something that could probably strip paint. And no matter what, halfway through the meal, you’d each push your plates halfway across the table.

“Wanna trade a bite?” he’d ask casually, like this wasn’t a weekly ritual by now.

You’d glare at him every time. “One bite. One. And a small one.”

He’d just grin, breaking off a piece of your naan or scooping a bit of your pasta with practiced ease. You’d do the same, trying to find a pocket of his dish that didn’t look lava-adjacent. You never succeeded.

Tonight was no different. You were at a cozy little Indian place you’d both grown fond of. You had your creamy butter chicken with fluffy rice, and Bucky had some devil-red vindaloo that made the air around it spicy.

You exchanged bites like clockwork.

He hummed happily when he tasted yours. “God, how is this so good?”

“Because you can taste it,” you countered, taking the tiniest possible bite of his. “Oh my god—nope, still evil. Still so evil.” You grabbed your mango lassi like it was holy water.

He snorted into his water glass. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re a spice masochist.”

“Maybe I just like flavour, doll.”

“That isn’t flavour.. it's... it's- I dunno but it hurts”

Still, you tried it. You always tried it. Because for some reason, part of you loved the way he smiled when you did. Like he was in on a private joke with you. Like he liked knowing you’d brave the fire for him, even if it made your nose run.

And maybe… you liked feeding him a bite of yours, too. Watching his eyes flutter shut just a little at the sweetness, the softness of it.

#🌟 drabbles #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #winter soldier #x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #soft bucky barnes #fluff

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08luvmailz · 14 days ago

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★ ﾟ๑ I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you visiting him ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ──⠀ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.

For someone, so bright — her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.

She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses – busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly – anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.

But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldn’t fill, a mouth that wouldn’t smile.

During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.

The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone else’s dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.

She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.

She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.

She heard the rumors.

Kids at her locker thinking she couldn’t hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didn’t understand, lips curling into cruel stories.

She was the shadow stretching long across the hallway’s bright walls – not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.

Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.

She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.

She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.

Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath she’d almost believe everything would be okay again.

But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.

It was easier this way – so people wouldn't come closer anymore.

As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.

Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone else’s story.

Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.

At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.

She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the halls—heads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.

Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that I’m here.

The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.

She was careful now.

Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.

She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.

Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.

She started learning how to ride Suho’s motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like she’d disappear.

It wasn’t easy. Her hands weren’t made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was still—

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.

Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They don’t talk much—just share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.

She doesn’t bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now it’s just her, a quiet chair, and Suho’s breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machine’s been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.

She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when you’re tired.

She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didn’t do—what she should’ve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suho’s expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldn’t have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.

That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.

Oh, how wrong she was.

It was hard to juggle everything—school during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle.

Right. He didn’t study much.

He tried—she remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasn’t built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.

Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.

But the truth was, she wasn’t doing this because it was right.

She was doing it because she didn’t know how else to grieve.

She was doing it to remember that she still lived for him—the only one.

It wasn’t like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parents—they didn’t care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.

That was a lie.

What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.

She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.

At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieun’s old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engine’s hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.

She’d cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too high—as if standing close was its own kind of risk. She’d force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.

Other days, she’d pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: “Too loud,” he’d said, never bothering to turn around.

So she’d shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forward—deliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.

Most of all, she rode just like Suho used to—late into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.

She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.

She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t a triumphant smile—more like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.

When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paper—too soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.

She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone else’s softness.

She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suho—that bitch.

Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"

She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.

And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.

It didn’t fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.

Even if it was just hair.

Even if it was just for a second.

Then, it started.

The bullying.

The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, cold—so cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.

Not at them.

No, not at them.

At herself.

She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thing—this thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She would’ve been the storm they couldn't handle. She would’ve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.

A year ago, she would have struck first—fists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.

But not now.

Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energy—it felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.

She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.

The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at them—low laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.

They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stung—whispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.

Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look like—if that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didn’t matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.

The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their words—it all burned her. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.

She paused, breath steadying, and Suho’s voice cut through the noise in her head. “If they corner you, don’t let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.” Not her teacher’s drills—Suho’s words, like a lifeline.

She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl who’d cornered her.

Her voice was low, rough from disuse—but clear.

" You done spouting bullshit? "

The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girl’s smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribs—not fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.

The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armor—though it barely clung to her.

“You just keep talking,” she spat. “Saying things you don’t even understand. You’ve got the ego of a man compensating for something small—so small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but you’re nothing more than a coward in a mask.”

Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fast—too fast—reaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.

There was a snap—sharp, sickening.

A breath caught in the girl’s throat.

She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.

And then—silence.

She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet, she isn't done.

They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.

The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lunged—fists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.

The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didn’t see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.

The last girl hesitated.

She could’ve run. Could’ve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.

“Don’t,” she warned, softly. Like mercy.

But pride struck first, than being humble.

She attacked—and in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.

She exhaled.

She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.

“Pick them up,” she said.

No one answered, nor moved.

She exhaled with a look of annoyance.

She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathing—tile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.

“PICKED THEM UP!” she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.

It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.

They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.

But the one who had confronted her—the first to strike, the first to fall—didn’t look away.

She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasn’t fear in her face—it was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.

Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.

She walked toward her—not rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.

“Still holding onto that pride?” she asked, almost gently.

She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.

“No more talking.” She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.

The cigarette went in.

Smoke. Ash. Pained gasped. Burning tongue. Silence.

She watched her chew it—eyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.

She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.

Then she let go.

Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without fury—only finality—she slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.

At the door, she paused.

The air in the bathroom was thick—smoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.

She turned to face them one last time.

“Tell a teacher,” she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. “And it won’t just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.” Her eyes swept over them—each one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.”

A breath.

“I will kill you.”

No screams. No theatrics. Just that promise—quiet and unshakeable.

Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.

She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.

But she remained composed.

Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroom—those faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeat—was already fading into the periphery of her mind.

Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.

She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.

She didn’t need to look back.

She just have to keep moving forward.

Its been a year.

After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.

When she slept, she was impossible to wake—like the world could end outside her window and she’d sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.

Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.

She blinked.

Hospital

Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.

She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. “Hello. Is this Dokja-ssi’s phone?”

Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. “Yes—yes, this is her. I’m Dokja. Why? What’s going on?” she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.

“There’s been a complication,” the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.

For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.

She didn’t respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldn’t remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didn’t change clothes. She didn’t think. She just ran.

She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.

She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.

She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.

She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.

She called and called Suho’s grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.

When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaos—blurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.

A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.

Then everything came too fast— loud shouts, jarring footsteps.

Too real.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.

Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suho’s body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.

She saw the moment his heart flatlined.

The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.

"He's in cardiac arrest!"

Doctors shouted orders she couldn’t understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.

His chest lifted—once, twice—under compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And now—Now he was fighting to stay lit.

Tears clung to her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.

She placed a hand against the glass.

“Suho,” she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldn’t.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.

All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.

Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.

Clear.

His body jolted.

She flinched.

Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room door—desperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.

“Suho,” she choked out, once, then again—until his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.

Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, he’d hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.

She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.

Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, “Please… please don’t go.”

No one answered.

Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.

She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, “If you're here, save him.”

Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suho’s heart slowly found its rhythm again.

She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

“Suho’s stable now,” the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “He’s in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.”

“His vitals are steady. We’ll monitor him, of course.” The nurse’s tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.

The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. “His heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,” he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. He’s strong. He’ll pull through. But it’s too early to say much more.”

She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldn’t quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.

She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. “Can I see him?”

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. “Just for a moment. He’s sedated, but we’ll allow a brief visit.”

As they led her to Suho’s room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of him—his face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitors—was almost too much to bear.

But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.

There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

All she could do was stay. And wait.

"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.

"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadn’t known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."

"You always make me worry, don’t you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.

The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to have—when everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.

"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."

But silence was the loud answer.

Soon, she would hear his voice.

Again.

Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.

She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.

She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher power—she couldn’t contain it any longer.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don’t take him too."

She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.

Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.

Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.

She couldn’t show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.

Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.

She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over.

“Sieun,” his mother’s voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.

Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.

As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of them—those familiar figures from long ago—remained.

She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."

But “stable” felt hollow—an empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.

Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.

In that moment, the corridor’s light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.

When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.

“What happened to Sieun?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didn’t sound as fragile as it felt.

Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?

They met her gaze, each face shifting with something—pity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.

The first met her gaze for an instant—his head shaved close, eyes hard—before he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.

“Who are you?” the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.

Her throat constricted. “I—” She forced the words out. “I’m just asking if he’s okay.”

“Why do you care?” the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.

“I was his friend,” she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. “Please… just tell me.” They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.

“We weren’t there,” the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. “Someone brought him in. He… hasn’t woken up yet.” She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.

The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: “You close to him, then?” She blinked at him, She didn’t know how to answer him. Are you close to him? — the question wasn’t cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It would’ve been easy. Natural.

But they weren’t.

Not anymore.

So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting — the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. “I was,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.

The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.

The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasn’t like they could.

As she neared the hallway where Sieun’s mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved — like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.

She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.

By the time she reached the door — the same one his mother had disappeared through — her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.

She leaned in.

The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.

There he was.

Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.

Her breathe hitched.

Him too?

And she didn't even know.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped — and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.

It hit her like a quiet betrayal.

She used to pride herself on noticing things—on knowing when people were hurting even if they didn’t say it out loud. But this?

She hadn’t known a damn thing.

She didn't know what happened.

There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.

Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.

She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.

Would it have changed anything?

Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?

She didn’t even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didn’t notice him slipping.

She didn’t notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. “What is it?” The woman’s tone was brisk—businesslike, wrapped in steel—but not cruel. Not yet.

And for a moment, she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadn’t seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didn’t know why she was here, only that her feet wouldn’t let her go anywhere else?

But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadn’t wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.

“…What happened to Sieun?” She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.

The woman paused.

Sieun’s mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.

“You...” Sieun’s mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. “You’re the girl who visited us... a year ago?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“I was,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or understanding—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

But at her first question, her jaw tensed — a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head — not dismissive, not angry — just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.

For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.

Then, finally, Sieun’s mother exhaled — low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.

“He’s in a bad state,” she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. “Unconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. They’re doing what they can.”

The ache hit without warning — a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didn’t know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.

She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.

“Do you... want to see him?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.

“Yes.” Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. “Please. I— I need to.” The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.

Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished she’d said.

But ahead… ahead was the hope of seeing him again — and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.

“Are... are you a friend of Sieun’s?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone else’s.

“I used to be his friend,” she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She can’t afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.

The reality of what’s happening hits her—she’s finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything at all.

But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if it’s just in silence.

The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.

It’s hard to look at him—he looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. She’s reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.

His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.

She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.

Silence erupted in the room—not hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.

She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. “The doctor says it wasn’t critical, but his nervous system was affected. He’s been having trouble...” Her voice falters a bit.

“...trouble sleeping.” Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. “Did Sieun tell you this?”

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it’s drowned in the ache of regret. “No, I haven’t talked to him... not since he switched schools.” She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.

A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if she’s been waiting to say this. “The moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.”

She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished she’d done differently.

Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. “Sieun’s always been reserved... He’s never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. That’s how he is... always locking everything inside.” She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.

She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.

“I... I let my pride get in the way,” she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. “I didn’t talk to him when I had the chance... I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be fine—like he always is. I told myself he’d figure it out. But now—” her breath hitched, “now he’s in here, like this. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close.”

Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.

She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.

The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she could’ve closed, but didn’t. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.

If only she’d said something. If only she hadn’t let fear speak louder than her heart.

Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.

Her voice was calm—steady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, not accusing, not dismissive—just honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. “You can’t predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.”

She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.

“Sometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. That’s not on you. You can’t carry that alone.”

The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadn’t let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to this—but maybe... it wasn’t all hers to hold.

Then, softer now, almost like an offering:

“If you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasn’t changed. It’s not too late. He’s been through more than we know, but maybe—just maybe—seeing you now will remind him... that he’s not alone. That someone still cares.”

And in that moment, the she felt something shift—not the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didn’t fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.

She feels a sudden rush of uncertainty—an ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?

Her pride claws at her, whispering that it’s too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeper—something older and softer—fights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.

Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but it’s no longer paralyzing. It’s a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.

She glances at Sieun’s mother, who doesn’t speak—just waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet don’t move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now it’s tethered to something else—resolve.

She can’t go back. She can’t undo the past.

But maybe... she can be here now.

Maybe this is the moment that matters.

For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that she’s here, that she’s trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.

She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.

"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"

The next day felt like a blur.

She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.

She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her day—how the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.

“I saw his mom yesterday,” she continues, her voice softer now. “She said he’s not critical... but his nervous system’s been hit harder than I expected. He’s having trouble... sleeping. I didn’t know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.”

She doesn’t expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.

She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieun’s mother. “She said I wasn’t the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.

Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suho’s side becoming the lullaby she never thought she’d need.

Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suho’s, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. It’s not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary relief—a brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.

And even if it’s just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.

She stirred awake slowly, but didn’t move. The heaviness in her limbs wasn’t from sleep—it was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suho’s.

The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.

The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didn’t open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to see—but she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.

Then, his voice.

“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waiting—for answers, for closure, for him.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.

And then, the second wound.

“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”

It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.

She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride could’ve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.

She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voice—tired but sharp—cut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.

“Took you a year to say that?”

The footsteps paused. Silence stretched—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears.

He froze.

The sound of her voice—raspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably raw—stopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.

A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.

Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. It just held.

“I waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not for an apology. Just… something. Anything.”

Her hand brushed lightly against Suho’s, grounding her. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

“But you disappeared,” she continued. “Like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. “You don’t get to walk in and say sorry like that’s enough.”

She wasn’t yelling.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence hurts the both of them.

She looked at him then, fully—and for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.

Still, her next words weren’t bitter. Just… tired.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Sieun.”

And beneath it all, she meant it.

Do you even know what you left behind?

He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didn’t belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight he’d ever taken.

Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.

Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain.

What could he say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse?

So he just looked at her.

The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suho—as if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.

He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And when I finally did… I wasn’t sure I deserved to.”

She didn’t respond—not right away.

But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"

So he took a step closer.

“I didn’t stop caring,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”

"You think I didn’t notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angry—just tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.

She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.

"I just didn’t want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took it—so much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didn’t even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.

"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have you—you—just disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.

"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. I’d stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. I’d run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isn’t that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didn’t let it fall apart.

"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldn’t walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.

She didn’t cry.

She didn't want to anymore.

"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isn’t a time machine. Sorry doesn’t put things back where they were. Sorry doesn’t tell me why you thought I couldn’t handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.

"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Don’t come back now and act like you were the one hurting."

She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to him—arms still at her side, fists clenched.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.

“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”

Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.

“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”

Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.

She looked at him, hollow-eyed.

“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.

“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”

“I’m not—” he stated.

“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”

That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”

He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.

“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.

“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.

“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”

She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.

“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.

“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.

“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”

She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.

“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”

He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.

“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”

“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”

His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.

And it killed him—

That he was the reason her eyes were wet.

That her sadness wore his name.

She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”

He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”

The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.

Two steps. Three.

She crashed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.

Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.

"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."

Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.

And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.

No more pride.

No more what ifs.

No more sleepless nights.

No more wondering.

No more pretending.

Just them.

The two of them.

And maybe Suho too.

Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.

The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."

She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.

That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.

There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.

Like it still hurt.

“You want to meet them?”

The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.

She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.

He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”

She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.

They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.

Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.

Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.

Jun-tae noticed first.

“Sieun,” he said simply.

Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”

Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”

He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.

Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.

This guy, Baku.

He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.

His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.

“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Sieun blinked.

She blinked.

The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.

Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.

Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.

But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.

“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”

Sieun groaned under his breath.

“It’s not like that.”

She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.

“We’re just close.”

Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.

“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”

She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”

“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”

Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.

No one bothered correcting him again.

The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.

She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.

“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll walk you out.”

The three looked at them, and just let them be.

They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.

Then, from behind them—

“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.

Sieun didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"

Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”

She laughed, quietly.

And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.

The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”

Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”

“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”

The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.

She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.

“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”

“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.

“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”

And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.

Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.

Then she turned.

Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.

From her pocket, she pulled something small.

Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.

A black punch ring.

Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”

And just like that, she turned.

No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.

Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.

Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.

And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.

Not joy. Not hope.

But the kind saying that he was ready.

Ready for her.

Reay to face it all.

After all, he is a hero. A weak one.

♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy @trasshy-artist @cassieeelim @myouiwp @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @rexxiiia @aple-piie @sarangs-world-02 @enhacolor

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bruhstories · 4 months ago

Text

Bet I

p.2 here & p3. here & p.4 here & p.5 here & p.6 here

summary: in-ho got a cat, and he needs a cat sitter while he is away on his business trip. who knew that meeting you would turn into a bet, a philosophy of what is moral and what is not?

pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader

warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader's background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, few mentions of Y/N (again, for plot purposes), pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: i have no idea how many chapters this will have, but i'm trying to write each chapter for each day of the games. it'll all make sense at the end lol. i tried to do as much research about seoul and south korea in general, so please be gentle! i'm just an eastern european gal

tagging: @full-sunnies @xodilfluvr

In-ho got a cat — a green-eyed, silver-tipped Korat he named Eunjoo. He thought about getting a dog, but dogs were high-maintenance, loyal and loving, and his job didn't allow him a loving pet. It didn't allow him to get attached to humans or animals. But Eunjoo was aloof and independent, and only rubbed against his leg when she wanted food. She refused to be handled and rarely played with the toys In-ho got her, but the cat was a necessary soul in his empty penthouse. It still wasn't enough to fill the hole in his blackened heart, but it was better than coming home to nothing and no one.

Trouble came when In-ho had to leave for eight days for the 32nd Squid Game. He quite obviously couldn't bring Eunjoo with him, and he couldn't let her starve, either. Not only that, but her litter boxes had to be cleaned regularly, and she needed fresh water daily, which left him with only one option — getting a cat sitter, as stupid as that sounded. In-ho felt ridiculous typing the post on a website for dog-walkers and pet sitters, but he did it nonetheless.

Businessman going on an eight day trip. In need of an experienced person to do home visits twice a day for my Eunjoo. 30,000 won per day. Based in Gangnam-gu, Seoul.

He attached a picture of the cat along with his email, and waited. There was enough time to select a sitter before he left, and he browsed several profiles of pet sitters. Most of them had fantastic reviews, but asked for more money. Typical, In-ho thought. How typical for people to ask for more than necessary. It wasn't as though he wasn't willing to pay more — he had enough money, and would gladly spend it on Eunjoo — but it was the greed that disgusted him. The audacity to ask for 70,000 won a day to feed a cat and change her water was insane.

In-ho closed his laptop and left it on his coffee table in the living room, then walked into the kitchen to feed Eunjoo. She came from her hideout at the sound of a can opening, cautious of her surroundings, then rubbed her head against In-ho's leg, patiently waiting for her food. The cat didn't immediately eat. Instead, Eunjoo waited for her owner to sit down and have his dinner, and the corners of his mouth turned into a half-smile. Better than most people, In-ho thought. She wasn't greedy, she was understanding in ways some humans couldn't be. And so, he reheated yesterday's bulgogi and sat down with a side of freshly cooked rice. Only then did Eunjoo eat her dinner, checking on him from time to time to make sure he was also eating.

Ding!

His phone lit up with a notification. In-ho unlocked it and opened the email he had just received from a pet sitter.

Good evening, sir! My name is Y/L/N Y/N and I would like to meet Eunjoo. I live in Guryong Village and can take the bus to Gangnam-gu whenever you need me to, as I am quite flexible with my schedule, but I need to be completely transparent with you. I've only taken care of my cousin's cat over summer, so I am not the experienced sitter you are looking for, but I am asking you to please give me a chance. Have a good evening!

In-ho scoffed at the words on his screen. He was specifically looking for someone with experience, but he appreciated the honesty. It was a rare trait nowadays, and he was a fair man who gave everyone equal chances. It was the root of his job, after all.

Tomorrow morning, 9 o'clock, Bongeunsa-ro 103-gil, across the street from Shinhan Bank. I'll pick you up from downstairs. Don't be late.

The clack of your heels irked you as you hurried down the street from the bus stop to the address provided by the cat owner. It was a sound you weren't used to, but you needed to make a good impression when lacking experience. People all around you were dressed in expensive suits and dresses, clothes you could only dream of wearing, and the cars that swerved across your path, nearly running you over, looked like they cost as much as your house. It wasn't the first time you walked around Gangnam-gu, but it was the first time you spent more than five minutes surrounded by people who lived lavishly while you survived on Samyang Hot Chicken Ramen Stew.

And yet, you wouldn't trade your instant noodles for samgyeopsal or bossam if it meant selling your soul. Because that was the price to pay for riches and luxury, wasn't it? No, you would make ends meet somehow and live an honest life without becoming a coldhearted monster, just like your father taught you.

You checked that the address in the email matched your location, and waited for someone to talk to you, unsure how they would even recognise you. Although, on second thought, the thin, flimsy cotton of your dress and loose threads around the hem were a dead giveaway that you didn't belong in Gangnam-gu. You didn’t belong amongst the rich.

"Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N?"

Turning on your heels, you were met by the darkest eyes you had ever seen, eyes that looked as though they had both witnessed and committed unspeakable atrocities. And yet, there was a strange remorse in them. The man looked around 45 years old but not a single gray hair on his head, which was ironic, because you probably had more white strands hidden in your locks. Your gaze darted down at his extended hand, and you shook it while bowing down as a sign of respect.

"You must be Mr. Hwang. I can't thank you enough for agreeing to meet with me. I promise I won't let you down if you give me a chance!"

Oh, you were a talker. In-ho had met your kind before, aimlessly sleepwalking through life, serving no greater purpose except for entertaining those who rid the world of gamblers, addicts, beggars and thieves. Not that you were in any of those categories — In-ho didn't know you that well yet — but the way you presented yourself made him think you would have made a suitable player in the game.It was too late to recruit you now. Perhaps next year, if you made it that far.

You followed Mr. Hwang into the elevator, surprised that it wasn't stopping until reaching the last floor of the building, and when the doors opened, they revealed a small hallway with just one apartment. He had no neighbours above or around him, and you couldn’t begin to imagine how lonely it must've been. Surely his wife or girlfriend kept him company, or perhaps he had children — In-ho did look old enough to be your father.

He unlocked the multiple locks on his door — he must have been really rich — and invited you in. For a moment, a split second, you wondered if you had made a mistake coming there. The man could be a serial killer for all you knew, and with almost no neighbours, who would even hear you scream? You heard stories about wealthy people who took pleasure in hurting others. The lack of pictures of a wife or children only strengthened that doubt, but the intrusive thought soon dissipated when, from the corner of your eye, you spotted a silver tail hanging from a dining chair.

Paying no mind to the tall double fridge, or the black U shaped velvet sofa that could fit your entire extended family, or even the view from his floor-to-ceiling windows, you kicked off the uncomfortable heels and got down on all fours, crawling closer to Eunjoo before sitting on the tiled floor with your legs crossed. It caught In-ho completely off guard — unpredictability was something that bothered him. Usually when he brought girls over they would bombard him with a million questions about his job, his car, his clothes, his bank account. You didn't, and it both infuriated and intrigued him. But then again, he brought you there with a different purpose.

"What are you doing exactly?" In-ho circled around you like a hawk, watching you intently.

"I've read that it's better to allow cats to familiarise themselves with people instead of forcing affection onto them." You sat still, chin tilted upwards to look at him with innocence in your eyes. "I may not be experienced, sir, but I did my research."

He wasn't particularly impressed by your research skills, not even when Eunjoo jumped from the chair and walked around you, curious yet apprehensive. One paw hovered above the floor in mid-air, and her tail was lowered, almost touching the ground, as the cat slowly and cautiously approached you, sniffing the hand you extended.

"So, what do you do for a living?" You broke the spell, not on Eunjoo but on In-ho, who was watching you try to befriend his cat. He hadn't realised he had been staring for longer than he should have until you spoke with disinterest in your voice. You didn't really care what his job was.

"Business." He simply said and you chuckled at his response. "Something funny?"

"I'm sorry, I just thought it would be nice to make small talk while we wait for Eunjoo to get comfortable." You shrugged. "But it's fine if you don't want to talk about that, sir."

Sir. It sounded so different coming from you and not one of his subordinates at the facility. In-ho quietly pulled a chair from under the table and sat down, but Eunjoo had finished inspecting you. She lifted her tail, the tip curled — a sign of playfulness — and you scratched her chin.

"Good girl, Eunjoo! I'm sorry, I don't have any treats." You sat up after the cat lost interest in you and hid behind the sofa.

"So you're inexperienced and unprepared." His voice was cold and judgemental and you lowered your head in shame.

"I'm really sorry, sir. I don't have a great financial situation, that's why I need this job. I can water plants and clean the house, I can even do your laundry and iron your shirts, and I don't want any extra money, just the payment for cat sitting." You sounded so desperate it was pathetic. "Please."

The last bit of your sentence was what caught In-ho's attention. No extra money? Who in their right minds wouldn’t charge more for additional services? Were you planning on stealing from him while he was away? Not that it mattered — he'd find you and kill you upon his return from the island if you did. However, he found it to be an interesting game, a bet of sorts. You would win if you were honest for all eight days. He would win if you stole from him and abused his kindness.

"You're hired." In-ho nodded, the look of surprise mixed with gratitude on your face making him feel like some sort of god.

"I swear you won't be disappointed in me, sir. I'll leave the house spotless every day, and I will take good care of Eunjoo!" You nodded eagerly, beaming at him.

"I know you will. She takes breakfast at 7 and dinner at 9, and there is an automatic feeder set at 2 pm for lunch." He explained and you took your phone out to quickly take notes. "Make sure you change her water in the morning and at night, and scoop her litter boxes every time you're here."

"...scoop the poop twice a day. Got it." You mumbled while typing. "Do I give her wet food in the mornings and evenings?"

"Yes, and please check that the automatic feeder is stocked. You will find all her cans and kibble in this cupboard." In-ho walked into the kitchen and showed you where Eunjoo's food was. There was more cat food in that cupboard than you had in your house.

"Perfect. Where is the bin room located?"

"Underground. The code is 456654."

"Thank you, Mr. Hwang! I won't let you down. Oh, I should give you my phone number, right?" You asked, feeling a bit awkward for being so straightforward.

"Whatever would I need your number for?" He almost laughed.

"How else would you see Eunjoo?"

"Right. Forgot about that." In-ho scratched the back of his head. He couldn't exactly tell you that there were cameras everywhere in his house.

"Two more questions. Am I allowed to play music or movies on your TV and could I take a shower after cleaning? I'm bringing spare clothes and my own towel and soap."

"Yes, of course you can. Please help yourself to anything you need. I trust you'll figure out how the coffee machine or dishwasher work." He nodded.

"Yeah, I'll figure it out." You lied. You had never used a dishwasher before.

"Great. I leave in three days. Please be here the day after my departure. Here's the spare key."

"Thank you, sir!" You bowed and walked to the door to put your shoes back on. "Good luck on your trip!"

"Thank you, miss. Good luck to you, too."

The bet was placed, the game was on.

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chibinasuu · 4 months ago

Text

Sanji x Reader ― snowstorm; cuddling

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw, fluff, GN!Reader, no use of y/n, the straw hats are cock blocks

Lazy arms wrapped around Sanji’s waist from behind, and the corner of his mouth turned up when a tiny kiss landed on his suit-covered shoulder.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” said Sanji, turning his face to place his lips gently on the top of your head, “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, “Would’ve been better if you were sleeping next to me, though.”

“Sorry, darling.” He chuckled and added half-jokingly, “Should I beg Franky to build us a private suite?”

You scoffed amusedly, continuing to watch him as he placed an onigiri on a platter, lining it up with the others that were already neatly arranged there.

The reddish rays of the rising sun had seeped in through the kitchen windows, coating the space in a warm glow and bringing a subtle comfort to your skin amid the low temperature.

The Thousand Sunny had entered a winter island’s climate, according to Nami, which had the Straw Hats scrambling to bust out their thick coats and sweaters from the depths of their drawers. Chopper was especially stoked by the news, thrilled to be feeling some cold air upon his thick fur.

Sanji dipped his hand into a bowl of water, then grabbed some salt and rubbed it all over his palms. He took some rice, put a generous pinch of salmon flakes in the middle, then started expertly molding it into a triangle, rotating it a few times and squeezing it gently to give it that perfect, firm shape.

Watching Sanji in the kitchen was like viewing a performance art. You could never get tired of the way his fingers moved – so precise and delicate – and the way his lips were always fixed in a faint smile.

It never failed to warm your heart – watching someone you loved doing something he loved.

“Those look delicious, Sanji.”

“Why, thank you, dear. Care to taste-test for me?”

You shook your head, “I already know they’d taste perfect. I’ll wait to eat them with everyone at breakfast.”

You unwound your arms from his waist, your fingers lingering for a moment before reluctantly letting go to start setting up the dining table.

Sanji stopped you with a hum, puckering up his lips in a blatant request for a kiss before you left his side.

A small laugh escaped you as you reached up to cup his cheek, leaning in to grant his wish. You gave him a small peck, but Sanji let out a whine of protest and chased your lips, stealing a proper, longer kiss.

His hands itched to go around you, but alas, they were still coated with the sticky residue of rice and salt.

You tilted your head, seeking to deepen the kiss, when suddenly,

“Sanji!” Your Captain’s voice reached the kitchen before he did, “Is breakfast ready yet?”

Sanji sighed, giving you one last peck right as Luffy came barging in, “Let’s continue this later, shall we?”

“Later” ended up being all the way until the sunset.

The cook has always been the busiest among the Straw Hats, with barely any downtime in his schedule. After breakfast was lunch prep, then came the afternoon snack, then on to dinner.

You loved to accompany Sanji while he cooked, just chatting, doing your own things quietly, or occasionally lending a helping hand, but the kitchen was not exactly the best place to get some alone time.

It seemed that every few minutes, a different crewmate would come sauntering in, looking for a drink or a snack, seeking refuge from the cold, or simply wanting to spend some time with you and Sanji.

You loved your crewmates to pieces, but sometimes, you wished you could get more than just a few stolen moments with your lover.

One of the rare breaks the cook had was the narrow window between afternoon tea and dinner.

The meat was marinating in the fridge, the pizza dough was on its final proof, and Sanji was leisurely trailing kisses down your neck.

You and Sanji loved spending this quiet time at the aquarium bar, sipping on one of his delicious mocktails – or cocktails, depending on your moods – while enjoying some much-needed privacy.

His slender fingers deftly undid the top two buttons of your shirt, giving him access to mouth your collarbone languidly.

Your back was flush with the velvet couch, and you sighed as you played with the golden strands of his hair.

Soft jazz music flowed from the Tone Dial sat at the bar top. The dim room, lit only by the blue glow of the aquarium lights, emboldened Sanji to dip his hand underneath your shirt, the fabric trailing up and exposing your skin as his fingers crept higher and higher…

Bang!

The door being slammed open made you both jump, drawing your sights to the intruder.

“Oi, Mosshead!” Sanji shouted as he shielded your figure, his hands frantically fixing your shirt, “Don’t you know how to knock?!”

“It's common space, Stupid Love Cook!” Zoro yelled back, “I don’t need to knock to enter a public area in my own ship, do I?”

Sanji scowled, not wanting to admit that the moss-for-brains was right, “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for some sake.”

The blond man sighed, disentangled himself from you, and walked to the liquor cabinet. He took out a bottle of cheap sake – not that Zoro would complain – and threw it to the swordsman.

“Now, piss off.”

“Gladly,” Zoro smirked, popping the bottle open and taking a swig before sauntering out the door, “Try a room with a lock next time!”

You still couldn’t quite meet Zoro’s eyes without your cheeks heating up, but otherwise, dinner was your typical, everyday affair – full of chatter and laughter, and occasionally some indignant shouts as rubber hands shot out to steal from unattended plates.

“Ah, right,” Nami began, swallowing her bite of grilled prawn before continuing, “A snowstorm’s coming tonight. It’s gonna be a big one.”

“Uh-oh, who’s on night watch?” Usopp asked.

You raised your finger, “I’m on the first shift.”

Sanji similarly raised a hand, “I’m on second.”

The navigator frowned, “It might be hard to change shifts tonight – too dangerous to climb up and down the crow’s nest during the storm.”

“I’ll take the whole night, no problem.” Sanji volunteered.

He always ended up staying awake the whole night anyway whenever the two of you had back-to-back shifts, choosing to sacrifice his rest for a few more hours alone with you.

“You just rest tonight, dear,” he said, smiling sweetly at you.

He rose from the table and stretched his arms, “I’ll prepare something for breakfast in case I get stuck up there till morning.”

Before long, the fridge was stocked with cold tuna sandwiches, overnight oats with a side of crunchy granola, slices of fruit, cheese, and cured meats. The cook also made sure to leave the boxes of each member's favorite cereal on the counter.

After he freshened up and took his nightly shower, Sanji changed into some comfortable pajamas and went up to the crow’s nest to begin his watch.

He had barely settled down when he heard a knock on the metal hatch on the floor.

He opened it to reveal your smiling face, your hair sprinkled with powder of snow.

“Sweetheart? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my night shift, of course.”

“Didn’t you hear what Nami said? A snowstorm’s coming!” His brows furrowed, “You won’t be able to go back to your room once it picks up.”

“Whoops, too bad.” You shrugged, grinning playfully as you climbed fully into the crow’s nest and closed the hatch, “Guess I’m stuck here with you until morning.”

“And if we can’t leave…” You waggled your eyebrows suggestively at him, “Then nobody could get up here either.”

Sanji’s eyes widened, a blush rising to his cheeks once he caught on to your cunning ploy.

His laughter that followed – a mixture of joy, shyness, and excitement – was as sweet as honey.

“Well, come here, then.” He opened his arms wide, “Better make good use of this time.”

You pushed him gently to the floor and straddled his lap, then crossed your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, clinging to him like a koala.

Sanji sighed blissfully at the feeling of your body against his, his arms circling you to pull you in even closer.

The raging wind and snow grew increasingly stronger, making the windows rattle furiously amid the otherwise quiet room.

You buried your hand in Sanji’s hair, relishing the way the soft threads enveloped your fingers.

Sanji’s digits ghosted back and forth on the straight line of your spine, causing goosebumps to appear all over your skin.

You both stayed like that for a while – eyes closed, hands roaming lazily, bodies pressed together.

“I love you.” Sanji suddenly said, the three little words always succeeding in making your heart skip a beat, no matter how often he said it.

“I know.” You kissed his cheek, “And I love you, Sanji. Always.”

Tears pricked Sanji’s eyes as he hugged you tighter, burying his face into your neck.

How undeserving he was of your love.

When he first confessed to you, he could hardly believe that you could possibly return his feelings, but thankfully, you reminded him that you did every single day.

You two ended up sprawled on the floor, limbs entangled, with your head upon his steadily – but rather rapidly – beating chest.

Not for the first time, you found yourself looking forward to the day when you could fall asleep against him every night and wake up in his arms every morning.

The muted howls of the winds and the warmth of Sanji’s embrace made your eyes grow heavier and heavier.

Sanji stayed awake – he was technically still on night watch, after all. He flared his observation haki outward every now and then, though he doubted anyone or anything could attack them in the middle of this snowstorm.

He smiled to himself when you snuggled closer to him, unconsciously seeking his warmth.

As he stroked your hair and admired your peacefully dreaming face, selfishly, he thought,

He didn’t want this storm to be over just yet.

a/n: soft sanji is my kryptonite

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

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#sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fluff #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #sanji fluff #chibinasuu fics

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aliengirlnini · 16 days ago

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Tkatb headcanons!

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Sol

The type of person tu cut in line

Got that roblox cheat mod

Sometimes he walks around with both hands inside of his pocket to look cool and mysterious but get made fun of instead

Would say something religious when crowe is around just to piss him off while knowing that crowe is an atheist

If he sits on a grass field he literally cannot stop himself from plucking the grass

Crowe

Bite his nails only when he is super anxious

Used to wear glasses in middle school but take them off after a few months cuz he thinks he looks ugly

Got a few light burn scars on his hands because he always forget to wear an oven gloves while baking something

Thinks video game can cause violence

Bought a professional camera to take pictures of himself near an open water area but accidentally knocked the camera down and it fell onto the water like mr. harrington did from that one scene in spiderman far from home

Geo

"ts pmo" on a video of happy family

Watch tv shows drama with a straight face, no emotions whatsoever. He said he doesn't like it but prosesed to watch another episode. (especially those love triangle dynamic when a poor, broke ass girl likes a guy from a rich family and there's always this one bitch that get in the way of their relationship)

Before getting a septum piercing, he was thinking about getting a bridge piercing but changed his mind (it would look really cool if he actually got one)

Always got a lavender scented hand sanitizer with him (his ass would NOT share it with anyone bruh)

Apply medicated oil 24/7 even when he's completely fine

Hyugo

Lost appetite if his food touches eachother. Not in a rice touch the curry way but in a slice of watermelon touches the chips way

Participated in that one clown sighting incident back in 2016

Can't control his mouth and would make fun of everyone and everything but feels guilty asf right after

"Ermm... professor, you forgot about the homework🤓☝" Only if he did his homework but will hate another person who said it when he didn't do his

He likes to spray paint random words and shapes on an abandoned building wall

Deryl

Always pushed people to the ground on accident at the cafeteria because he moves a LOT. Like, his hands and arms doesn't get any breaks

Show people "cursed image" from pinterest everyday and expect them to genuinely laugh

Loves surfboarding

The middle seat in the back of a car is his favorite

He is very easy to scare. Tell him that sonic exe is going to sneak into his house at 3am, he'll shit his pants even if he knows it's not true

Brittney

She has a camcorder/old phone with her everytime and everywhere to record random stuff or generally just blogging

Would ask the group to participate in a dancing trend with her (geo is forced to join)

Collect crystals. Her favorites are rose quartz and agate

DIY queen. Clothes, accessories, room decor, gifts, and much more

Anything red velvet flavoured? She devours them all

Jessie

Her #1 fictional crush is reagan ridley from inside job

Eat seafood boil everyweek with the gang (since it's canon that she loves seafood) + i feel like jess wouldn't like eggs so she gives them to deryl instead (he needs the protein!)

Has lactose intolerant

I just know she has a lot of posters hanging on her walls

Mostly buy organic stuff or food/drink/snacks etc etc with little to no ingredients. Chocolate? She only eat the one with 85% cacao, no sugar, no gluten, no soy ingredients no additives, no artificial shit, no chemicals no anything that is not organic

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earthleave · 1 year ago

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The harm of drinking water while eating rice | Vitamin and mineral deficiencies | Travel & Marvel

Look at this kid who has developed the habit of swallowing rice with every mouthful of water while feeding her. So I can't but say the harm of drinking water while eating rice. Please everyone listen attentively and remember it will benefit you all. As soon as you hear what I am saying, you should match it with your child's or your own physical problem.

According to experts, drinking water repeatedly while eating causes problems in digestion. It is unscientific to drink water after or between meals. Gastric juice is secreted from the stomach after taking food to digest it. If water is consumed between meals or immediately after meals, this juice cannot complete the digestive process properly. It causes deficiency of nutrients in the body.

If it continues in this way, this type of child will suffer from gastritis as it grows day by day. Even drinking water right before eating or immediately after eating can cause digestive problems. Amish is usually eaten with rice. By drinking water after eating, the fat solution with the meat is removed from the body through water. This can lead to vitamin and mineral deficiencies in the long term. Also, enzymes such as amylase, protease, litase and etc. produced by the pancreas after eating help in digestion. If you drink water after eating rice, these enzymes cannot work properly.

It must be accepted, if you get stuck in your throat or hiccup while eating rice, you must drink water. But it is very little. Drink water long after meals unless it is a minor problem. It will improve your health. So drink water 30 minutes before eating, or 30 minutes after eating, even if you feel very thirsty.

Now think about what you are doing right?

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jinwoosungs · 7 months ago

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10/27/24; 03:30pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ how they react when you take the last piece of their favorite candy ]

featuring: rin, sae, yoichi, meguru

notes / warnings: potentially ooc.

not known to have much of a sweet tooth, itoshi rin’s diet consisted of mainly foods that helped with replenishing his strength and stamina. with his main goal as being someone who could surpass his own brother, there was little room for error when it came to what he put in his body.

however, one tiny fact was kept hidden from the vast majority of his peers, and that was how he enjoyed eating these strawberry flavored hard candies that were a particular favorite of yours. in fact, he remembers the day he had first tried them.

it was when you had first began dating him, where you somehow managed to weasel your way into his cold, dead heart by flashing him a smile that seemed to mimic sunshine itself. as your bubbly personality melted away the ice that seemed to take over the entirety of his form, you had somehow convinced rin that he needed you, too.

ah, but he digresses.

on this particularly sunny day, rin had taken you out on a picnic date. you were thrilled to be spending the day with him, yet when he showed you the packed boxes of lunch he had prepared for you-

let’s just say, there was a lot to be desired.

sure, the meal prep was a healthy one, filled with just the right amount of rice with some pieces of lightly seared chicken and neat cuts of omelette, but by the end of your picnic date, you were left yearning for something more. as rin takes a swig out of his water bottle, you pulled out your favorite brand of candies from the confines of your bag.

curious teal eyes begin watching you with a fascination, following your every movement as you grabbed one of the cutely wrapped candies and plopped it in your mouth. the way your smile seems to widen at the taste of it makes rin wish to experience the same happiness that you were experiencing.

capping his water bottle, rin extends a hand out to you, silently asking for a piece of your candy. your eyes go wide while meeting his gaze, “rin, i thought you didn’t like sweets?”

“i’ll make an exception.” for you, only for you-

the last part remains unspoken.

with a gentle smile, you pour out a few pieces of candy into his open palm, allowing rin to observe it. he picks up the piece, seeing it wrapped cutely in cellophane that was decorated with pink and red polka dots. unwrapping it reveals a single piece of candy that was a bright red in hue while maintaining its heart shape. letting out a sigh, rin plops the candy in his mouth-

allowing the explosion of sweet strawberries to fill his senses. his eyes end up going wide in response to such an explosion of sweetness, meeting your gaze when he hears the joyous sounds of your laughter.

“not bad, right?”

letting out a scoff, rin looks away from you, already feeling his cheeks heat up, turning a rosier hue while being subjected to your loving gaze.

ever since that day, rin had to have a bag of your favorite candies on hand. now, he didn’t enjoy eating it because of the flavors or anything-

it’s just, he associates you with those special candies.

and more often than not, he would eat a few of those candies before a major game, as a bit of a good luck ritual before his next competition.

so when his game was a mere few hours away, and he had returned home after his usual morning run, he was ready to enjoy some of your candies. as he reaches into the kitchen cabinet, he sees the last bag of candy and was shocked to see it completely emptied.

a deadpan expression paints his features as he takes the empty bag in his hand, seeing the top of your hair settled in the living room. he says your name, and you face him-

with your cheeks appearing a bit chubby, as evidence as to how you were currently eating the last piece of candy. he tilts his head at you and silently holds up the empty bag. your eyes go wide, making you jump off of the sofa.

“i’m so sorry, babe! i’ll go to the convenience store and buy a new bag now-“

“no need.” rin tosses aside the bag, taking quick strides toward you. placing a hand on your chin, rin leans closer to you, perfectly slotting his lips against yours, effectively causing you to melt against him.

he briefly allows his tongue to trace across your lips, silently demanding entrance as you gingerly opened up to him. when you feel his tongue exploring yours, you figured he would simply deepen the kiss-

only to gasp when he manages to transfer the last piece of candy into his own mouth.

a flustered expression was plastered on your face, with your hands covering your lips. your head felt like it was spinning when rin sticks his tongue out at you, revealing the heart shaped candy that you had once snacked on just mere seconds ago.

“this will do.”

since he began dating you all those months ago, itoshi sae became aware of the colorful bag of candies that held an assortment of flavors and how it became a vital part of your life. during those rare moments where he was able to destress and relax with you, he realized those candies never strayed too far away from you.

similar to his brother, sae never saw the benefits of sugary snacks, like the hard candies you seemed to always religiously consume. to him, they were mere empty calories that didn’t do much but add unnecessary weight.

yet, seeing you happily munching on those colorful candies-

well, what was the harm in sharing something that you loved? (especially when he loved you the most in the world.)

letting out a sigh, sae settles himself next to you on your desk, grabbing the bag of your candies. you see him from your periphery and smile back at him, “try one, sae. i’m sure it won’t hurt you.”

“tch, i know it won’t hurt me.” sae tilts the bag downwards, allowing the rainbow colored candies to fall against your desk. he eyes each and every one of them before meeting your gaze.

“pick one for me.”

you hum, placing a hand beneath your chin while giving him a thoughtful expression. after a few seconds spent in deliberation, you pick a candy that was bright blue in hue. “blueberry. this is the last flavor in the pack, but i think it suits you.”

sae picks up the candy, giving you a smirk before offering it back to you.

“i changed my mind, i’d rather see you eat this after all.”

you roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s antics, “come on, sae, don’t be so difficult. i swear blueberry is one of the best flavors in here, and i’m willingly giving the last one to you.”

“if you love it so much, then i’d rather see you eat it.” sae flashes you a playful grin, making you roll your eyes in response.

“fine, suit yourself.”

you unwrap the candy and place the sapphire colored sphere in your mouth, letting out an eager sigh. “mmm, you don’t know what you’re missing out on, sae.”

“is that so?”

suddenly, sae inches closer to you, nuzzling the tip of your nose with his in an affectionate manner. you end up letting out a gasp, feeling sae’s lips connect with yours in a searing kiss. you clench your eyes shut, allowing sae to delve his fingers into your hair, his tongue felt exploring your mouth for a few beats before you felt your candy being transferred into his mouth.

you choked a bit, eyes going wide when sae lazily wraps his tongue around the piece of candy, basking in your expression as his smirk widens.

“hm, it’s not bad, and i wouldn’t mind eating candies like this from now on…”

whenever isagi yoichi felt stressed, or needed just a quick pick-me-up, he usually bought his favorite chocolate candies from his usual convenience store.

these chocolates were nothing short of divine for yoichi, a smooth milk chocolate that takes the shape of the perfect sphere that practically melts in your mouth. in fact, he was the one who introduced you to this heavenly brand of chocolate.

needless to say, ever since you began dating, this specific brand of chocolate had become a staple part of your relationship.

for the last couple of weeks, yoichi had been on a bit of a strict regimen when it came to building up his muscle mass, adding more protein to his usual diet while also adjusting his workout routine in hopes of making his body a bit stronger.

yet now, he found himself craving those same chocolates he had to cut himself off of. those same chocolates that gave him that burst of serotonin as he came to associate such sweetness with your smiles as well.

when yoichi came home from the gym later that night, he knew that he needed his usual fix that comprised of his favorite comfort candies and your kisses-

and once he entered your shared bedroom to see you watching movies on your laptop with the bag of his favorite candies emptied-

yoichi was devastated.

“no…!” he falls to his knees, acting like such a complete wreck that you had to pause the movie you were watching. you get off the bed within seconds and kneel down beside him.

“ichi, what is it, what’s wrong?” he meets your gaze, allowing his lips to thin upon seeing the last piece of chocolate in your mouth as evident from how you were cheeking it. and even though he was pouting a bit, yoichi couldn’t stay mad at you.

“it’s nothing… i just wanted to eat some chocolate as well, just to treat myself. but… it’s okay if you already ate it.”

your eyes go wide, but you let out a sigh, coming closer to your boyfriend as you met with his gaze. shaking your head, you press your lips against his, anticipating his gasp when you transferred the last piece of chocolate into his mouth.

yoichi ends up choking in response to your bold move, swallowing the piece of chocolate whole without tasting it. scarlet hues were seen settled on his cheeks when he lets out a stutter of your name, “what the hell was that for?!”

yet your cheshire cat grin only widens as you throw your arms around his neck, “what? you were acting like a kicked puppy when i ate the last of your chocolates, so i simply gave it back to you. it’s not my fault you swallowed it whole.”

as yoichi remains a mess of stutters, you continue to cuddle yourself closer to him-

making him finally realize that your cuddles and kisses against his features may be far sweeter than the chocolates themselves.

ever since he was a little boy, bachira meguru was addicted to these hard candies that were tropical flavored (his favorite being the orange and pineapple mix). he often liked to snack on these candies whenever he felt stressed and needed something easy to munch on and lift his spirits.

and once he began dating you, it was clear that you developed an liking to these candies as well. during late nights spent marathoning movies together, you would often snack on these candies with some popcorn, never once growing tired of them as it became almost like a tradition for you to share these beloved candies together.

on a particularly rainy day, meguru was too lazy to go out on a run, sticking his tongue out the window while silently cursing at the weather. running a hand across his hair, he instead gets an epiphany, choosing to spend the day with you.

with a bounce in his step, he lets out a cheerful hum of your name, opening the door to your shared bedroom. his sudden appearance makes you jump from your spot on the bed.

your mouth remains open in a gape, and meguru could see the bright orange candy settled at the tip of your tongue. in your hand was your cellphone as it played some silly cat video on repeat. seeing you and the bag of his favorite candies makes him land atop the bed with an eager laugh.

yet when he takes the bag of candies, only to find them empty-

meguru meets your gaze, with a sense of betrayal shining in them.

“how could you, i thought you loved me…!”

you roll your eyes at meguru’s antics, “sweetheart, you’re overreacting. let’s just go to the store and buy some more-“

“no, absolutely not! it’s rainy and gross outside.” meguru settles himself next to you while still pouting, hands crossed over his chest with his cheeks puffed out. his childish demeanor makes you giggle a bit, with you basking in how silly he was.

gently whispering his name, you settle yourself on his lap, causing your boyfriend to look away from you. with a sigh, you grip at his chin, making him face you before pressing your lips against his in a kiss.

never one to deny you or your kisses, meguru ends up opening up to you, allowing you to transfer the last bit of candy into his mouth. with your goal now accomplished, you had every intention to pull away from him-

only to be physically stopped by meguru when he places a hand behind your head, keeping your lips locked with his in a fervent kiss that takes your very breath away, with the last piece of candy long forgotten now.

end notes: it’s so obvious who my bias is from the sheer length of these drabbles coughsrincoughs (⺣◡⺣)♡

anyways, i have to post this right away bc tumblr keeps messing up when it comes to saving my drafts; i’ll edit and make changes once this is posted 😭😭😭😭😭

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #meguru bachira x reader #itoshi rin x you #itoshi sae x you #isagi yoichi x you #bachira meguru x you #rin itoshi x you #sae itoshi x you #meguru bachira x you #yoichi isagi x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #writings 📖

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ashtxrie · 11 months ago

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7:18 AM (jay)

PAIR. non-idol!jay x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship, timestamp WORD COUNT. 1.0k WARNINGS. none! NOTES. i am BACK i'm finally writing again and it's just so fun and refreshing to write when there's not like. a million tests in the next few days!! anyway hope you enjoy this jay fic because he seriously needs more love hello??!! @star-sim vannie this is for You tbh after u wrote that sunoo fic that rocked my world

when you walk into the kitchen and stifle a yawn, jay can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. and the sound feels gentle; it alights the morning with clementine warmth and settles against your skin to fill that missing familiarity you spent minutes searching for as you restlessly tossed amid your sheets.

“go back to sleep,” jay murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his voice before he even turns around. water bubbles in a pot on the stove, and the metallic beep from the open fridge has him rushing back to grab an egg before closing the door to keep the chill inside. “you’re not supposed to be up until later.”

you stubbornly shake your head. why are you up so early? or, at least, that’s what you mean to say. what comes out sounds more like, “so early, jay,” and you wince at the way sleep tugs at your vocal chords and slurs your words swollen around each syllable.

jay pauses to glance at you in surprise. a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. he presses his lips together as if to prevent the grin from spreading across his cheeks. it never works, and it doesn’t now, but he drops his gaze and turns to busy himself with the stove. “if you go back to sleep,” he tries again, “i promise i’ll wake you in a couple minutes.”

“define a couple.” you make your way over to him while rubbing your eyes with your fist. “i don’t believe you.”

“you and me?” jay teases. and then with the same underlying amusement, “it tends to mean two.” he turns at your approach (you hear it from the shuffle of his feet against the floor), but something mustn’t be right because he lets out a yelp and the bowl in his hands clatters against the counter.

“yeah, right.” you stop rubbing your eyes only to feel jay's hands grasp at your shoulders to stop you from walking forward, and to turn you a few degrees to the right.

his gaze focuses on your once too-close proximity to the furniture, and a crooked smile endearingly tugs at the side of his mouth. “do you… like walking into chairs?”

you groan, and your head leans forward to fall into his shoulder. so warm. you instinctively nestle into the spot at the crook of his neck, and you allow your eyes to drift shut. “are you sure you don’t want to go back to sleep?”

jay's arms wrap around your waist, and he gently tugs you closer. when he speaks, he momentarily rests his head against yours. you can hear the reverberations of his voice against your skin, and the comfort from the gesture warms you. “tempting. but i wanted to do this more.”

“what’s that?”

jay presses his lips to your temple and untangles his arms from yours. he steps back to the kitchen counter to tap the egg against the side of the bowl. the shell cracks. yolk glistens in the mid-morning light and slips onto the warm rice below, and he rummages in the nearby drawer for chopsticks to mix everything together. “i wanted to make you breakfast,” he tries casually, but you don’t miss the shyness resting behind his tense shoulders.

you blink at him owlishly. “you don’t have to…”

jay firmly shakes his head and seasons the egg rice with furikake and soy sauce. “i want to. i know you’ve been busy, and you should eat something before you take your meds.”

“oh,” your stomach sinks. “i forgot to pick them up. i ran out a while ago.”

perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but you think jay flushes. “don’t worry, i picked them up this morning.”

your eyes widen. “what?”

“oh,” jay mumbles. “you mentioned you were running low.”

when you don’t say anything, jay starts rambling. “it’s in the bag on the counter. and, um, everything in there’s yours… i happened to see some stuff and thought of you.” his voice falters, and he places the bowl in front of you. “it’s not a big deal. i was up early anyway.”

you spot the paper bag on the counter and pull it toward you. when you look inside, you find a new prescription bottle as well as that snack you happened to buy at the pharmacy a few weeks ago. you remember making him try because it was really good.

“anyway,” jay smiles nervously as he hands you a cup of water, “here. i’m sorry, i was going to make tako sausage too, like i made for riki that one time, but i know you’re probably hungry. he said mine didn't really look like octopus because i didn't put eyes or a mouth on it, but i’ll do better and make it for you next time, promise!”

you slide down from the chair and step toward him. your bottom lip wobbles. before you know it, you’re rushing forward and hugging him tightly. “i can’t believe…” you sputter for words, “you’re so sweet. like all the time. how did you even?”

jay blinks in embarrassment, breathing a laugh. “it’s nothing. i told you, really.”

“it’s not nothing,” you mumble into his shoulder, “i’m going to cry.”

jay lifts you and sets you back on the chair. “don’t cry,” he pokes your cheek, “and i did it because i wanted to. now eat before your food gets cold.”

“i’m going to do something nice for you tomorrow morning, okay?”

jay just gazes at you fondly. “sure, you will.”

you scowl. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing.” and when jay laughs, this time he wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the edge of your jaw.

TAGLIST : @star-sim @boyfiejay @jlheon @jwsdoll @dimplewonie @suneng @en-gelic

#k-labels #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen blurbs #enhypen fic #enhypen jay #park jongseong #park jongseong fluff #park jongseong x reader #jay x reader #park jay fluff #jay fluff #jay enhypen x reader #jay enhypen #jay enhypen fluff #ashtxrie #— ash writes!

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rubylace · 3 months ago

Text

PART 1. FIRST SUMMERS

m.list

pairing: musician!jay x reader (f) updated hybe idols . yeonjun txt, yunjin lsrfm, nagyung fromis9

genre: coming-of-age, new adult, personal growth, sexual tension, fams dynamic, lovehate

wordcount: 37k (the longest I've ever made istg)

warning: harsh words

a/n: I'm using his real identity, to stay realistic bc it also has to do with his favorite lover - guitar. so don't put it to heart the bad side fyi I dare not be jealous ok love ya 𖹭

A car nearly hit you as you practically floated across the street in a daze after leaving the attorney's office. All these years, you’d tried so hard not to think about him. Now, he was all you could think about. Flashes of him invaded your mind. His dark hair, his laughter, the strum of his guitar, the deep sadness and disappointment in his gorgeous eyes the last time you saw him 9 years ago.

You was never supposed to face him again, let alone own a house with him. Living with Jay was not an option, even if just for the summer. It was probably more like there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jay was going to agree to share a house with you. Whether you liked it or not, though, the beach house in Newport was common property now. Not yours. Not his. Fifty-fifty.

“What the hell was Ameryn thinking?” You’d always known she cared deeply about him, but there was no way you could have predicted the extent of her generosity. He wasn’t even related to you, but she’d always thought of him as her grandson. You picked up your phone and scrolled down to Nagyung’s name. When she picked up, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Where are you?” you asked.

“On the west side. Why?”

“Can you meet up? I really need to talk to someone.”

“Are you okay?”

Your mind went blank before slowly filling again with fragmented thoughts of Jay. Your chest tightened. He hated you. You’d avoided him for so long, but you was really going to have to face him now. Nagyung’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, where are you again?”

“Meet me at the falafel place. We’ll have an early dinner and talk about whatever is going on.”

“Okay. See you in ten.”

Nagyung was a fairly new friend, so she knew little about your childhood or teen years. You taught together at a local charter school in Providence. You had taken today off to meet with your grandmother’s attorney, the smell of cumin and dried mint saturated the air inside of the fast food Nagyung waved from a corner booth, a piled-high styrofoam container of tahini covered chicken kabobs and rice already planted in front of her.

“You’re not gonna get anything to eat?” she asked with her mouth full, a dollop of yogurt sauce coated the side of her mouth.

“No. I’m not hungry. Maybe I’ll take something to go on the way out. I just needed to talk.”

“What is going on?” your throat felt parched.

“Actually, I need something to drink first. Hang on.” The room felt like it was swaying as you made your way to the refrigerator by the counter and returning from purchasing a bottle of water, you sat down and let out a deep breath. “I got some pretty crazy news today at the lawyer's office.”

“Okay…”

“So, obviously you know I went there because my grandmother passed away a month ago.”

“Yes.”

“I was just meeting with the attorney to go over her estate turns out she left me all of her jewelry and half of her summer house on Aquidneck Island.”

“What? The beautiful house in that picture on your desk?”

“Yeah. That’s the one. We’d always go there a lot in the summer when I was younger, but in recent years, she’d rented it out. The property had been in her family for generations. It’s older, but it’s beautiful and overlooks the water.”

“Y/n, that’s amazing. Why do you seem so upset?”

“Well…she left the other half to a guy named Jay Park.”

“Who is that?”

“He was just a boy I grew up with. My Ameryn took care of him while his parents worked. Jay’s house was on one side, mine was on the other, and Ameryn’s was in the middle.”

“So, he was kind of like a brother to you?”

“We were close for many years.”

“From the look on your face, I get the feeling that something changed?”

“You’d be right.”

“What happened?”

There was no way you could handle rehashing it all. Today had already been too much for you to absorb. You would give her a shorter version.

“Basically, I found out he was keeping something from me. And I freaked out. I’d rather not get into it. But let’s just say I was fifteen at the time and having a really hard time handling my hormones and my issues with my mother. I made a rash decision to move away and live with my dad.”

Swallowing the pain, you said, “I left everything behind in Providence and moved to New Hampshire.”

Thankfully, Nagyung didn’t pry as to what the secret was. That wasn’t the issue you needed to talk about today. It was more important for her to help you figure out your next step than for you to be opening old wounds.

“So, you basically ran away from it all rather than dealing with it.”

“Yeah. Ran away from my problems…and from Jay.”

“You haven’t spoken to him since?”

“After I left, there were several months where there was no contact. I felt so guilty about the way I handled things. I did eventually try to see him and apologize once I came to my senses, but by then it was too late. He didn’t want to see me or talk to me..”

“..I can’t say I blamed him. He’d moved on, got in with a different crowd and then eventually moved to New York soon after graduating high school. We just completely lost touch, but he stayed in contact with Ameryn apparently. She was like a second mom to him.”

“Do you know what’s become of him?”

“I haven’t looked him up. I’ve always been too scared to find out.”

“Well, we need to take care of that right now.” She put down her fork and dug inside her purse for her phone.

“Whoa? what are you doing?”

“You know I’m a self-proclaimed professional stalker.”

Nagyung smiled. “I’m looking him up on Insta. Jay Park, you said his name was? And he lives in NYC?”

Covering your eyes. “I can’t look. I won’t look. There are probably hundreds of guys named Jay Park out there anyway. You probably won’t find him.”

“What does he look like?”

“The last time I saw him, he was 16, so I’m sure he doesn’t look the same. He has messy hair, though.”

He was really cute. You can still see his face like it was yesterday. You could never forget it. Nagyung was reading aloud information for the different Jay popping up on Instagram. Nothing stood out until she said, “Jay Park, New York, musician at BAM Acoustic Guitar.”

Your heart dropped, and to your surprise, you could feel tears trying to fight their way through your eyelids. The emotions rising to the surface so fast were unsettling.

It was as if he’d come back from the dead. “What did you just say? Works where?”

“Just In Time Acoustic Guitar? Is that him?” The words wouldn’t come out, so you stayed silent, pondering the name it was the same one he’d always used even as a kid playing guitar on your street corner.

“That’s him,” you finally conceded.

“Oh my God, Y/n!”

Your heart started to pound faster. “What?”

“This guy is…”

“What? Tell me,” you practically yelled before downing the rest of your water.

“He’s gorgeous. Absolutely freaking gorgeous.” Covering your face, you said, “Please don’t tell me that.”

“Take a look.”

“I can’t.”

Before you could refuse again, Nagyung shoved the phone in front of your face. It shook in your hands as you took it. From what you could see in the one photo, he was beautiful just like you remembered, but at the same time, really different. Grown up.

He was wearing a gray beanie and had a fair amount of chin scruff that he was never able to grow when you knew him. In the profile pic, he was leaning into a guitar and looked like he was about to sing into a microphone. The look on his face was intense and gave you the chills. When you went to click on the other photos, it wouldn’t let you in because his profile was set to private.

Nagyung reached out for the phone. “He’s a musician?”

“I guess so,” you said, handing it back to her.

You muttered to yourself. ‘He used to write songs for me.’

“Are you going to contact him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I guess I don’t even know what to say to him. Whatever is meant to happen will happen. I’ll end up having to talk to him eventually. I’m just not gonna be the one to make the first move.”

“How exactly is this housing arrangement going to work anyway?”

“Well, the attorney gave me a set of keys and told me that another set was sent to Jay. Both of our names will be on the deed. Ameryn also set aside some money to be used for house repairs and maintenance to the property during the off season. I’m assuming he’s been made aware of all of the same info.”

“You don’t want to sell the house, right?”

“No way. There are too many memories, and it meant so much to Ameryn. I’m going to use it this summer and then maybe eventually rent it out if he agrees to it.”

“So, you have no idea how he plans to use his half? You’re just going to show up there in a few weeks, and if he’s there, he’s there, and if he’s not, he’s not?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

*****

At 24, you was single again and starting a new life in Newport for the summer. Your teaching job in Providence afforded you summers off. Your hope was to find a temporary job for the season, but for now, you just wanted to enjoy a few weeks of relaxation.

Returning from downtown Newport with your bag of crustaceans one night, you noticed that the front door to the house was wide open.

“Did I forget to lock it? Was it the wind?” your heartbeat accelerated when you entered the kitchen to find a tall, leggy chick with short, cropped platinum blonde hair. She looked was stocking the cabinets. You cleared your throat.

“Hello?” She turned around before covering her chest.

“Oh my god. You scared me.”

Walking over to you smiling, she held out her hand. “I’m Yunjin”

With fine features, high cheekbones and that pixie cut, Yunjin could have been a model. You was the complete opposite from her physically with your long and dark hair, and curvy figure.

“I’m Y/n. Who are you?”

“I’m Jay's girlfriend.”

“Oh…I see. Where is he?”

“He just went to the market and the liquor store.”

“How long have you been here?”

“We just arrived about an hour ago.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Not sure really. We’re just gonna see where the summer takes us. Neither of us were expecting this development..you know, the house.”

“Yeah, I know.” You looked down at the French-manicured toes peeking out of her heels.

“Do you work?”

“I’m an actress, actually on Broadway. Off Broadway for now. I’m in between jobs, but I’ll probably be going back and forth to New York for auditions. What do you do?”

“I’m a middle school teacher. So, I get the summers off.”

“Oh, that’s really cool.”

“Yeah. It’s fun.”

“Where does Jay work?”

“He works from home right now. He sells software. He can work from anywhere. He also performs. You know he’s a musician, right?”

“Actually, I don’t know much about him anymore.”

“What happened between you two anyway? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“He’s never told you anything about me?”

“Just that you grew up together and that you’re Mrs. A’s granddaughter. Honestly, he never mentioned you at all until we got that letter from the attorney.”

Even that was expected, it made you sad. “That’s no surprise.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Did you guys ever date?”

“No. It was nothing like that. We were just good friends, but we drifted apart after I moved away.”

“I see. This whole thing is a little weird, right? I mean, inheriting a house like this out of nowhere?”

“Well, my grandma was very generous, and she loved Jay very much. My mom is her only child, and she loved Jay like a grandson, so—”

“Your grandma left the house to you and not your mom?”

“Mom and her had a bit of a falling out some years ago. Thankfully, they made amends before she died, but things were never really the same again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.”

Yunjin opened her arms to pull you into a casual hug. “Well, I really hope we can be friends. It will be nice to have a girl around to shop with, check out the island.”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

“I hope you’ll have dinner with us tonight?” You wasn’t ready to face him. You needed to make up a story and get out of here. “Actually, probably not tonight. I’d better be leaving.”

“That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” a deep voice you hardly recognized interrupted you from behind.

“What’s that?” you asked, swallowing nervously and refusing to turn around to look at him.

“Leaving,” he said louder. “That’s what you’re good at.”

Your breathing was ragged, but it was when you turned around that you nearly lost it. Jay was standing in front of you, and you swear it was like the boy you’d left behind had been swallowed up by a lean mass of muscle.

He just looked so different from what you remembered years ago. The anger on his face was transparent and somehow made him even more incredibly hot. It just would have been better if it weren’t directed toward you. His skin was a beautiful shade of bronze that complemented the natural golden streaks in his dark hair.

The smooth face you remembered was now rough. A rope and barb wire tattoo wrapped around his bicep. He was wearing camouflage cargo shorts with a tight white ribbed tank that hugged his chiseled chest. An indeterminate amount of time passed as you just took him in. Even though you was too stunned to say anything, your heart was screaming.

You knew deep down your reaction wasn’t just because of your physical attraction to him. It was because despite all of the changes, one thing had stayed exactly the same. His eyes. They reflected the same hurt that you remembered from the very last time you saw him. His name finally managed to roll off your tongue. “Jay…”

“Yes.” The deep, throaty sound of his voice vibrated through you.

“I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I have?” he sneered.

“Well, I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

“You’ve overestimated your significance to me. Of course, I was going to come. This is half my house.”

His words stung. “I didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s just, I hadn’t heard anything from you.”

“Interesting how that goes.”

Clearly uncomfortable with the sparring, Yunjin cleared her throat. “I was just asking Y/n if she wanted to have dinner with us tonight. Maybe you guys can catch up.”

“Apparently, she already has plans.” You turned to him.

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you’re holding a bag that smells like dirty snatch?”

“It’s fresh seafood.”

“Doesn’t smell very fresh to me.”

“God. We haven’t seen each other in five years, and this is how you act?”

You turned to Yunjin. “Is he always this rude?” Before she could answer, he cracked, “I guess you bring it out in me.”

“You think Ameryn would be happy right now with your attitude? Something tells me she didn’t leave us this house so that we could fight with each other.”

“She left us both this house because we each meant something to her that doesn’t mean we have to mean anything to each other. Anyway, if you cared so much about what she thought maybe you shouldn’t have run away.”

“That’s a low blow.”

“The truth hurts, I guess.”

“I tried to contact you, Jay. I–”

“I’m not talking about this now, Y/n.” He said, speaking through gritted teeth. “It’s old news.”

It was unnerving to hear him to calling the name like that. Aside from the very first day you’d met, he’d always called you Patch or Patchy. Hearing your name come out of his mouth felt like a slap in the face for some reason, like he was trying to emphasize how much you’d grown apart.

Jay went from hot to cold as he shut down, heading back outside to retrieve the groceries from his car but not before slamming the door behind him. You shuddered, looking over at Yunjin whose eyeballs were moving back and forth from side to side in confusion. “Well, that was a nice start,” you joked.

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen him act like that toward anyone to be honest. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Believe it or not, I probably deserve it.”

The only thing worse than the rude reception he’d given you was his blatantly ignoring you during dinner and for the rest of that night. That hurt more than anything he could have ever said to you. You thought the evening was horrible, lack of sleep assured that the next morning was even worse. Apparently, Jay found a way to take out his anger by taking it out on Yunjin.

Let’s just say playing guitar wasn’t the only talent he’d fully developed over time. Yunjin's moaning in the middle of the night as Jay pounded into her woke you up in the middle of the night. The walls literally shook, it was impossible to go back to sleep after that.

You tossed and turned your thoughts alternating between rehashing Jay's words to you from earlier to imagining what that scene in the other room actually looked like.

You used the opportunity to admire his stature and the flawless skin of his defined, shirtless back. Black gym pants hugged his beautifully round a**. You never realized how incredible his a** was. Your physical attraction to him really irked me under the circumstances, but that didn’t stop you from checking him out.

Squinting, you unsuccessfully tried to figure out what it was. He startled you when he suddenly turned around and met you with an incendiary stare. “Do you always ogle people when you think they can’t see you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “How did you know I was standing here?”

“I could see your reflection in the window, genius.”

“You didn’t even flinch. I didn’t think you noticed me.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you trying to make me hate you or something? Because you’re doing a pretty damn good job.”

Jay didn’t answer your question. Instead, he just turned back around toward the window.

“Why do you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?”

“Say things to piss me off then shut down?”

He continued to speak to the window, “Would you rather I just continue to piss you off? I’m trying to get my anger in check with you, Y/n. You should be happy I know when to stop unlike some people.”

“Will you at least look at me when you’re talking to me?”

He turned around and walked toward me slowly then leaned his face in. You could feel his words on my lips when he asked, “Is this better? You’d rather me in your face like this?” you could practically taste his breath.

Your entire body felt weak from the close contact, so you backed away. “I didn’t think so,” he snarled. You walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, pretending to look for something. It annoyed you that your peaceful mornings were a thing of the past.

“You always get up this early?” you asked.

“I’m a morning person.”

“I can see that so bright and cheery,” you said, sarcastically.

“Some of us need sleep, though.”

“I slept just fine last night.”

“Oh, I know after you traumatized me. You must have passed out after all that screwing could you two have been any louder last night?”

“Well, excuse me. If I can’t f*ck in my own house where do you expect me to do it?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. Just be more respectful.”

“Define respect.”

“Doing it quietly.”

“Sorry. I don’t f*ck quietly.”

As much as you hated that answer, you somehow felt that those words would be repeating in your head later tonight.

“Forget it. Clearly, you don’t know the meaning of respect.”

“Respect you? Why? Because you’re not getting laid? Why don’t you hook up with some salty dude down at the dock? Maybe then you won’t care so much about other people’s business.”

“Salty dude?”

“Yeah. You know, the guys that live on the boats the ones who sell you that nasty fish you were eating last night.”

You just shook your head and rolled your eyes, refusing to dignify that comment with a response. He surprised you when he suddenly lifted the carafe. “Want some coffee?”

“Now you’re being nice?”

“No, I just figured you’re sticking around for some reason. It must be the coffee.”

“This is my kitchen.”

He winked. “Our kitchen.” Grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, he asked, “How do you take yours?”

“Cream and sugar.”

“I’ll take care of it while you go put on a bra.”

You looked down at your b**bs which were hanging freely beneath your white t-shirt not expecting to run into him this early, you hadn’t thought to put one on. Too embarrassed to acknowledge the fact that he’d noticed, you went back to your room and got dressed when you returned he was back at the window drinking his coffee.

“Is this better?” you asked, referring to your dress. He turned around and gave you a once over.

“Define better. If better means I can’t see your tits anymore…yes, it’s better. If better, means you look better, that’s debatable.”

“What’s wrong with this?”

“It looks like you sewed it yourself.”

“Actually, it’s from one of the shops on the island. It is handmade.”

“Out of a potato sack?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe?”

He snickered. “Your coffee’s on the counter, raggedy ann.”

Your inclination was to try to come up with a comeback but then you realized that was probably what he wanted, you needed to kill him with kindness instead of showing your anger. “Thank you. That was nice of you to make it for me.”

You took a sip and immediately spit it out. “What did you put in this? It’s so strong!”

Instead of answering you, he just started to crack up. His laughter resonated through the kitchen and as much as you hated that it was at your expense, it was the first time he’d laughed. It took you back in time for a moment and served as the only real reminder that the smoking hot a**hole in front of you used to be your bestfriend.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s a bit strong. What is it?”

“It’s coffee fusion, actually.”

“What does that even mean?”

Jay sauntered over to the cabinet and took out a can and a package. “It’s my own recipe. Cuban coffee mixed with this one.” He pointed to the black packaging that had a white skull and crossbones on it.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s coffee. I order it online. Nothing else is caffeinated enough for me.”

“That’s why you wanted to serve it to me, wasn’t it? You knew I’d hate this concoction.”

He simply let out that raspy laugh of his again, except this time, he was laughing way harder than before. Yunjin entered the kitchen, wearing a long black t-shirt that must have been the one he wasn’t wearing.

“What’s so funny?” Jay's mischievous eyes peeked from behind his mug.

He snickered. “We were just having coffee.”

Yunjin shook her head. “You didn’t drink his mud, did you? I don’t know how he likes that stuff.” You reminded yourself of your plan to kill him with kindness. Taking another sip of the coffee, you nodded.

“Actually, at first taste, it was pretty strong, but I actually think I really like it.” It was disgusting.

“You’d better be careful. That sh*t is potent. Jay is immune to it, but the one and only time I drank it, it kept me up for like four days.”

Jay laughing. “Apparently, we kept Y/n up last night.”

Yunjin turned to you. “Oh, sh*t. I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, you said, “It’s no big deal. I got used to it after a while.”

“Was that when you decided you wished you could join in?” he cracked.

You wasn't going to respond to that. The more you looked over at his smug expression, the more determined yoi became to finish the entire damn mug of coffee to spite him. “I’m really surprised at how much I’m actually liking this,” lied.

Yunjin chose to ignore Jay's earlier comment. “What do you say after breakfast we head to town, Y/n? I’d love it if you could show me around the island.”

“Alright. That would be nice.”

She walked over to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. “You want to come with us, babe?”

Jay said before finishing off the last of his coffee and putting the cup in the sink. “No. I have sh*t to do,”

“Okay. Just the girls then.”

The coffee had turned you into a spaz. As Yunjin and you walked around Newport that morning, she kept having to tell you to slow down. Apparently, in her heels, she couldn’t keep up with you. At one point later in the afternoon, you stopped to rest your legs. Yunjin and you sat on a wooden bench overlooking the dozens of docked sailboats as the sun shined over the water.

“So, how did you and Jay meet?” you asked.

“I was in the audience at this club called Showbox in Seattle, Jay was performing there that night. He was eyeing me the whole time he was singing and after the show, he came to find me. When he said he was thinking of me while he was singing the last song, I nearly died. We’ve been inseparable since.”

Your face felt hot. You wasn’t willing to admit to yourself that it was jealousy. The thought of them connecting so intimately while he was in the middle of performing made you uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe because it reminded you of the songs he used to write for you. You’d think nothing would bother you after having to endure their f*cking last night.

“What kind of music does he play now?”

“Well, he does some covers of artists like Drake, but he also writes a lot of original stuff. He mostly plays clubs, but his manager has been trying to get him a music deal. Of course, the girls all go crazy over him. That part has taken some getting used to for me.”

“I’m sure it’s hard.”

“Yeah. Big time.” She tilted her head. “What about you? No boyfriend?”

“I just got out of a relationship.” You confide in her as if she were just a normal friend to you.

On the way home, you passed Yeonjun’s on the Beach, a restaurant that was known for live music at night and really good food. A sign out front read, Temporary Summer Help Wanted. Since there was a university just over the bridge, a lot of the students went home in the summer, leaving some of the local restaurants in need of temporary wait staff. You stopped short in front of the entrance.

“Do you mind if I go in and inquire about this?”

“Sure. I’d actually like to check it out, too.”

Both Yunjin and you had waitressing experience so you sat down and filled out applications, by the time you walked out of there, we each had a job. The manager basically told you could work any night you wanted. The extra money and flexibility was impossible to pass up, Yunjin was particularly happy that he’d told her it was no problem if she had to suddenly cancel a shift in the event she got called back to Manhattan for an audition. You were each going to start tomorrow.

That night, Yunjin thought you should celebrate new jobs over dinner and drinks on the upper deck back at the house. It hadn’t dawned on you how peaceful being away from Jay all day had been. When you walked in the door, butterflies started to swarm in your stomach again as soon as you smelled his cologne.

Jay was standing in the kitchen drinking a beer when Yunjin ran over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jay was tall over six feet but Serim wasn’t that much shorter than him. Next to both of them, you was basically a midget. He cleaned up nice, Jay had changed out of his camouflage shorts from earlier into dark jeans and a gray shirt with black stripes that hugged his chest. He’d done something to his hair that you couldn’t pinpoint. She ran her fingers through his hair then kissed him.

“I missed you. Guess what? We both got jobs at this restaurant on the beach.”

“Did you tell them you could get called back to New York anytime?”

“The guy said it didn’t matter. He said I could basically just work whenever I want.”

“Really. That sounds a bit shady to me. But whatever. You sure he doesn’t just want in your pants, Serim?”

“He said the same thing to me,” you interrupted.

“Well, then it can’t be that.”

It took you a bit to realize that he’d just insulted you. Yunjin intercepted before you could muster up a comeback.

“It’s mild out. How about we all have dinner on the upstairs deck tonight. We could barbecue that steak I have marinating in the fridge.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her you don’t like red meat, so you just kept quiet. He would probably think you was looking for an excuse not to have dinner with them. Kill him with kindness. “I’m not that great of a cook, but I can make a big salad.”

Jay smacked the counter. “Great. I’ll start the grill while Y/n tosses her big salad.” He started to walk outside when you yelled after him.

“You know what Ameryn would say to you right now? She’d tell you to go wash your dirty mouth out with soap.”

He turned around and lifted his brow. “Soap wouldn’t cut it.”

After chopping up lettuce, carrots, red onion, tomatoes and cucumbers, you dressed the salad with homemade honey mustard vinaigrette. You carried it upstairs where Jay and her were already sitting down at the table. She had poured three glasses of merlot, and Jay was sipping one as he looked over at the waves, which were rough tonight.

Once you started eating, Jay wouldn’t look at you or make conversation. You filled your plate with salad and bread, and it took a while before anyone noticed that you wasn’t eating anything else. Yunjin’s mouth was full when she said, “You didn’t even touch the steak.”

“I don’t really like to eat meat.”

Jay chuckled. “Is that why you can’t find a man?”

You dropped your fork. “You’re a prick seriously I don’t recognize you anymore, how were we ever best friends?”

“I used to ask myself that all the time before I stopped giving a sh*t.”

You got up from the table and went downstairs. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Yunjin in and out slowly to calm yourself down, she came up quietly behind you.

“I really don’t get what’s going on between you two or why he refuses to talk about it.”

“Are you sure you guys never dated?”

“I told you, Yunjin. It wasn’t anything like that.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“I think he should be the one to explain it to you. Honestly, I don’t know. Anything that happened before that is irrelevant now. He’s pissed because of how I handled something or just running away, that's how i survive. Let’s just go back upstairs and try to have a nice dinner.”

Back on the upper deck, Jay was stone-faced, pouring more wine into his glass. A part of you wanted to slap him across the face, but another part felt guilty that you had caused so much anger in him. He said he didn’t care, but you refused to believe he would be acting up like this if he didn’t.

You touched his arm. “Will you just talk to me?”

He whipped his arm away. “I’m over it. I’m not talking about anything.”

“Will you do it for Ameryn?”

His head flipped up, and his eyes darkened. “Stop f*cking bringing her into this. Your grandma was a wonderful woman. She was the mother I never had. She never turned her back on me like pretty much everyone else in my life. This house is a representation of your mom, which is why I’m here.”

“I’m not here because of you. You want me to talk, but what you don’t seem to understand is that I don’t have anything to say about anything that happened almost a decade ago. I’ve erased it all. It’s too late, Y/n. I don’t care if you and Yunjin become friends, alright? But don’t bother trying to get through to me because we’re not gonna be friends,”

“..you put me in a sh*t mood, and I don’t want to spend this whole summer in a sh*t mood. We’re roommates. Nothing more. Stop pretending there is something more to it. Stop pretending to like the goddamn coffee. Stop pretending everything is just great. Cut the sh*t and see things for what they are. We don’t mean anything to each other.”

He got up and took his plate. “I’m done, Yunjin. I’ll see you in the room.”

Yunjin and you sat in silence, listening to nothing but the sound of the waves crashing beneath you. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“Please. Don’t, okay? He’s right. Sometimes, you can’t fix things.” Despite the complacent words that had come out of your mouth, a tear fell down your cheek.

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