#no matter how much I sleep they are still there

[myaquarianconfessional]

I just made a post that it was 3 am and I'd forgotten to take Melatonin so I can sleep. Without it I do not sleep, no matter how brain dead I get, no matter how much my eyes burn and my muscles ache, I do not sleep at night without it. I made the post, and then forgot to take it. I remembered an hour later, I'm still waiting for it to take effect. It fucking SUCKS.

the curse of adhd:

i will remember with absolute clarity, when the thought strikes me that i have a text to send someone, that this is the fourth time in three days i've attempted to send this specific text

i will forget, in the time it takes me to pick up my phone, that i picked it up intending to send a text

[thef1diary]

i love love love ghost!max, and i know you’re pretty much only writing smut about him, but i’m in my feels rn, so what if the spirit box stays on all the time now, so that you can openly communicate with max whenever you want. but one day the two of you get in a big fight about something and you turn the spirit box off on him. maybe he realizes that he’s screwed up and tries to do little things for you, like making you breakfast or cleaning something in the house, just small things he’d never done before, hoping you’d turn the box back on and give him the chance to actually apologize

pls ignore this if you’re only sticking to smut for ghost!max, i just needed to get the thought out of my head 🤍

— hi nonnie! I’m so glad you love this lil au <3 going to write some fluffier drabbles cuz I’m also in my feels lately. lil drabble below

The silence was different this time. It wasn’t the quiet comfort you had grown used to since Max became a presence in your life—it was hollow, empty. Usually, even in the stillest moments, you could feel him lingering, his energy humming softly through the air, a constant awareness that he was there, always watching, always listening. But now?

Now, the air felt cold in an uncomfortable way.

You still felt something—his presence hadn’t disappeared, but it was distant, dulled by the heavy weight of your anger. Or maybe it was his anger, too.

The argument had started over something stupid. A careless comment, a teasing remark from Max that had hit a nerve when it wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it had been a bad day, maybe you had been stressed, but the irritation had flared too quickly, your words snapping sharper than intended. And then Max—prideful, stubborn Max—hadn’t let it go. He had pushed back, and before you knew it, you were fighting over things neither of you had meant to say.

“You don’t get it, Max,” you had spat, arms crossed, voice shaking.

“Oh, because I’m dead?” he had shot back through the spirit box, static crackling through his words, his tone biting. “That’s your excuse?”

You had wanted to scream. Instead, you had reached over and shut off the only form of verbal communication you had with him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

For the first day, neither of you tried to fix it. You ignored him because you were still angry, and Max—well, he had no way of talking to you, so why would he bother? If anything, it felt like a standstill, both of you too prideful to make the first move.

But then, the ache and longing began to settle in.

Max hadn’t realized how much he needed to talk to you until he couldn’t. At first, it didn’t seem like a big deal. He told himself it didn’t matter that you couldn’t hear him. He still spoke—jokes, dry remarks, muttered comments when you cracked open yet another energy drink—but it went unheard. No reaction or responses from you. It felt wrong.

The silence stretched longer, and something in him itched with the need to break it.

But he couldn’t do so verbally. Instead, he did things.

The next morning, you woke up groggy, exhausted from a restless sleep. You dragged yourself to the kitchen only to find a steaming cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter, the sugar and cream swirled in exactly the way you liked. Your hand hovered over it for a second, heart clenching at the sight, before you scoffed to yourself and turned away.

The day after, you noticed the house was tidier than usual. The couch blanket had been folded neatly, pillows fluffed in a way you never bothered to do. The floor—was it cleaner? You weren’t sure, but something felt different. Still, you ignored it, pushing the thought away before it could settle too deeply in your chest.

Then, the kitchen.

You had left dishes in the sink from the night before, too tired to deal with them. But when you stepped into the kitchen that morning, they were gone. Clean. Dry. Put away. You gripped the edge of the counter, staring at the empty sink like it had personally offended you.

“Max,” you muttered under your breath, your voice softer than before.

That evening, you found dinner waiting for you.

It wasn’t anything fancy—a simple dish, something you would have made for yourself on an easy night—but it was warm, plated carefully, waiting on the dining table. The chair was slightly pulled out, like an unspoken invitation.

You swallowed hard, staring at it for a long time, fingers twitching at your sides.

Your resolve wavered. You had spent the days determined to ignore him, convincing yourself that turning off the spirit box was justified. When you had reached for the switch, silencing him completely, you thought you had won.

But now, standing before this quiet gesture, it didn’t feel like winning.

You sat down hesitantly, the air around you charged with the unmistakable weight of his presence. You could almost feel him watching, waiting. Each bite was a painful reminder of your argument. But you imagined the way he must have lingered in the kitchen, moving unseen, focused on preparing something just for you. It was familiar, comforting, and undeniably him.

After finishing, you pushed the plate aside and sighed, rubbing your temples. “Damn you, Max,” you muttered under your breath, knowing full well he could hear you.

But when you passed by the fridge, your resolve shattered, replacing the remnants of anger with longing.

You stopped in your tracks, stomach tightening as you took in the magnets—letters you didn’t even remember having, rearranged into something unmistakable.

Please talk to me

Your breath caught, a lump forming in your throat. You reached out, fingertips brushing over the letters like they might disappear. It was desperate. Messy. A plea.

You could almost hear him, the way he’d say it if he could, voice rough, maybe even a little strained.

Your chest ached.

With a deep breath, you turned, walked to the living room, and flicked the switch on the spirit box.

Static filled the room, a familiar hum cutting through the heavy silence. And then—his voice, distorted but clear, breaking through like a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was rough, distorted through the static, but the emotion in it was unmistakable.

Your throat tightened.

“…You really swept the floor to get my attention?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A pause.

“Yeah. It was awful. I’m never doing that again.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was instant, breaking the tension in your chest. You hadn’t even realized how much you missed hearing him until now. Until this moment.

You exhaled shakily, resting your hand on the couch for support. “I’m sorry,” you admitted quietly.

The static shifted, almost like a sigh before he spoke again, “please don’t do that again.”

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Claw Machine Mimic + Homeless Reader

-

"Should I really be doing this?...."

Spending your last dollar on a kid's game. Ever since you parked your car in that vacant lot, it's called to you- Fluorescent lighting beaming down on your dashboard; a beacon of life in the otherwise abandoned and forgotten arcade. How it still powered on in these conditions was beyond you. A greater mystery was the front door's lock or better, the lack thereof.

Broken glass crunches beneath your feet as you shift on your heels, scouting for a prize worthy of your final cent. Squinting through the harsh light, you take notice of another obstacle obscuring clear sight into the box.

A thin film of rusty sludge murks the machine's front facing mirror; impossible to detect from where you resided in your car. Your first guess is rain damage though there aren't any openings in the ceiling from what you can see.

Rolling the sleeve of your hoodie over the ball of your wrist, you spit into the fabric - wiping down the machine to the best of your capabilities. Once finished, you flip your hand over to the other side, drying the window with the untainted portion of your sweater.

"That's better. Now, let's get this over with...."

Soothing out the corners of your crumbled bill, regret itches at your hands; stalling the inevitable.

Winner! Winner! Winner!

"huh?...."

But you didn't even-

Muffled thuds slam against the walls of the prize shoot as your winnings tumbles out. Your outstretched hands shield it from a graceless fall onto a bed of shattered glass, snatching it up in the niche time.

A small white box, no bigger than the apple you had for lunch, stares back at you. Unraveling it red bow and opening the box, it would seem the universe's olive branch to you was more kindling for the neverending mockery of your life.

It's a wallet.

A rather thick one at that, practically bulging at its seams.

"It can't be...."

Peaking into the wallet's sleeve, stacks of paper flutter out - stuffed well beyond the limited storage of the pocket and ready to spill. Stammers of disbelief buzz pass your lips as you card through each bill, eyes growing wider by the second.

"Where'd all this cash come from?! T-there's no way someone would leave this much in a claw machine for this long."

There's no identification, no sign that it belongs to someone else so that means it's yours hopefully. Should you try your luck again? No- This is more than enough. For a stable place to sleep until you got on your feet. New clothes. How long have you been wearing the same clothes?

All that matter in the here and now was filling your belly with something substantial - right after one more thing.

"Thank you..." Scrapping tears from your eyes, you sniffle. You don't even know who you're thanking. "Thank you for this. It's been so hard since my parents... I thought I was doing well enough in college and helping out around the house, but-"

With no-one else to turn to, you swiftly pocket the wallet - throwing your arms around the bulky machine, thanking whoever left it behind. Thank goodness you found it when you needed it most.

Unbeknownst to you, it felt the exact same way.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Melting Pot IV

McFoord x Child!Reader

Ruesha Littlejohn x Child!Reader

woso-dreamzzz Kids x Child!Reader (Kiddo)

Summary: Sports day with a bunch of hyper competitive people

"Ouch!"

Caitlin sighs, massaging her temples as she comes down the stairs.

It had already been a loaded morning, crammed full of everything and nothing at the same time.

"Stop it!"

She'd only been upstairs for a moment, separating Gremlin's kitten from your own.

They were two vastly different cats.

Gremlin's Spicy was angry, a walking ball of fuzz that leapt first and asked questions later. He was liable to throwing up hairballs while making eye contact and bringing in dead rats from the railroad tracks.

Your Baby was the opposite, a demure little lady who groomed herself all the time and took naps on your blanket. She craved affection and wound herself around ankles whenever anyone even so much as looked at her.

Two vastly different cats like their vastly different owners.

"Hey!" Katie snaps as Caitlin turns the corner," Gremlin, knock it off! Leave your sister alone!"

A very clear bite mark is on your wrist as you sob, curled up on Katie's lap as she struggles to get your sister's shoes on her feet.

"I've got her," Caitlin says, nudging her girlfriend away," Go and put Kiddo in the car."

Usually, a Saturday morning meant a chill day.

Sleeping until noon and having some brunch. Most of the time pancakes, sometimes waffles if Katie could be bothered to get out the waffle maker.

But today was Sports Day at the school so you were all up bright and early to make it there in time.

Caitlin already knew how this was going to go though.

Gremlin would get hyper competitive and most likely push someone over in her haste to win and you would linger at the back of your pack of peers with no hint of athletic ability in you.

Your little sister was much younger than you so she was separated with the other nursery age girls while you were included in your class.

"That wasn't very nice," Caitlin says as she slips the leash straps over Gremlin's shoulders," You know your sister is sensitive. Why did you bite her?"

Gremlin shrugs. "Dunno."

"Well, I think you should apologise."

"Dragons not say sorry!"

"And dragons don't exist," Caitlin replies, hoisting Gremlin up onto her hip," Maybe you should think about that."

You've stopped crying by the time you're all in the car, a few fingers in your mouth and the other hand out for Katie to hold during the drive, Gremlin's ring of teeth marks displayed so obviously.

"Sorry," Your sister mumbles to you, kicking the seat in front of her.

"For?" Katie prompts.

"Bitin' you."

You mumble your thanks through your fingers just as Caitlin pulls up in front of the school.

She can see a few of the parents she knows well heading into the gates.

Life working at the fire station tended to bond people.

Leah is corralling Bean inside while Jordan (who used to work at the fire station but left after one too many near death scares) crosses the street with their Bug. Lia, their constantly exasperated admin person, is crossing the street with her Guppy as well, joining up with the two of them with a smile.

"Alright," Katie says, turning to look back at her two daughters," Remember what I said about today?"

"It doesn't matter if we don't win because you'll still love us the same," You recite through a mouthful of your fingers and Katie smiles.

"That's exactly right."

You hold Mammy's hand as you all cross the road.

Mammy holds Caitlin's hand. You hold Mammy's. Your little sister holds yours.

She raises your wrist up to her mouth and you tense but all she does is give you a little kiss on the bite mark.

"Sorry," She says again.

"It's okay."

Gremlin smiles at you and you smile back,

"Hey," Katie says, swinging your joined arms," Ma's over there."

It wasn't your week with Rue but she's still come to your sports day and the only hint of athletic ability you possess is put into running over to her.

"Ma!" You cry and she hoists you into her arms instantly.

"Look at you! Looking good, kiddo!" Rue says, bouncing you up and down as you lean into her, breathing in her familiar smell. "You ready for today?"

Your stomach suddenly starts swirling a little.

You know Katie's views on your sports day performance. You don't know Rue's.

"I won't be very good," You say softly, barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to be good," Rue says decisively," Listen, I've got permission from your Mammy that after this is over, we can go to that fancy bakery you like and get some cakes before I take you back to her. Would that be nice?"

"And we can get cupcakes?"

"As many cupcakes as you like!"

Like you thought, you don't do overwhelmingly well at sports day.

You lag behind in the races and in the big jumping. You do fairly well at throwing the beanbags into the hula hoops but that's about it.

Sports day finishes with the sporty girls winning like everyone thought and a big barbecue to celebrate.

Your little sister eats a lot, Caitlin gets you cotton candy and your mothers even end up being civil.

"Caitlin," You say as your eyes rove around the school field," Why are the mummies and big sisters stretching?"

"Huh?"

Caitlin has a piece of beef hanging out of her mouth.

You point.

Over on the far end by the fence, Alexia and Jenni are stretching their legs. Leah is a few feet away doing the same. Alessia is jumping up and down a few times, warming up her muscles.

Even Katie is doing the same, chatting away to one of Bear's mummies.

"Well that's for the parent race."

"Parent race?"

"Uh-huh." Caitlin takes a wet napkin to Gremlin's face. "So the mummies can all race each other to see who's the best."

"But why?"

"Because adults can be competitive too. They get bragging rights."

That sounds...

Well it doesn't exactly sound weird.

Mammy and Caitlin work at the fire station together and you know all the firefighters there are super competitive with each other.

You didn't know that other adults were competitive too.

"Be careful, Magda," You hear one of Princesse's mummies say," You're not as fit as you used to be."

"Please," Princesse's other mummy scoffs," I'm not letting anyone beat me."

"If you pull a muscle, you get no sympathy from me."

You turn back to Caitlin in alarm. "Is Mammy going to hurt herself?"

"No...Probably not...Hopefully not."

That doesn't fill you with much confidence as Katie takes her place on the starting line.

It's carnage the moment the start is called as adults shove each other and get their legs tangled and fall to the ground in heaps.

Katie goes crashing into the ground in a heap with Leah, Steph and Lucy. Alexia and Jenni collide with each other and Irene. Mapi somehow trips over herself.

Against all odds, it seems, Duckie's mummy Jessie comes first.

Squish's mummy Frida is second and Conejita's mummy Caro ends up in third.

"Get off!" Katie says, shoving the pile of people off of her as you, Caitlin and Gremlin approach.

You crouch next to her.

"It's okay, Mammy," You say," You didn't have to win. I still love you the same."

[ldydeath]

Too Fast to Live | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong is busy on tour while you’re busy with work. You finally find time to come see him, but Jiyong gives you a fright when he’s too exhausted to keep up with his demanding schedule. 

Warnings: fainting, but that’s about it.

With the MADE tour being in full swing you and Jiyong hadn’t been able to see each other much. This was something you’d discussed a lot prior to the tour kick off and despite the odds and distance you two had decided to make it work. You two had been together for a little over a year now and loved each other too much to walk away despite busy schedules.

Every chance you got you were making stops along the world tour, living for the days your schedules aligned perfectly and you got more than a few hours together. When Jiyong had first left you’d thought this was going to be the longest year of your life, but truthfully with how busy you’d also been the past year, the tour was flying by.

You and Jiyong would facetime after every show, regardless of what time zone you were in. You honestly didn’t mind being woken up at all hours of the night, not when it meant you got to wake up to the most beautiful face you’d ever seen. Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, your arm moving out of the comfort of the warm blankets to fish around for it. Your peaked open one eye to check the notification, a grin quickly crossing your face when you saw who it was. “Hi handsome.” Your voice raspy from sleep and Jiyong’s face came into view. “I woke you?” He frowned as if this wasn’t an almost daily occurrence at this point. 

Jiyong was almost done with the tour which meant his nights were early morning for you. “It’s fine, I need to be up soon anyway to head to the airport.” You shrugged, sitting up fully in bed. His frown turning to a smile at the mention of your trip. You’d be back in his arms in 24 hours and he couldn’t wait to see you. “How’d it go tonight?” You took a minute to look him over, noting how exhausted he looked - even on a grainy screen. “It was good. Just a lot, again.” 

You knew what he was referring to, Jiyong had been struggling for a while now with the extended set time he was on stage, but in true Jiyong fashion, he wasn’t willing to press the matter.  “You need to rest, Ji. Try to take it easy tonight?”  You knew his nightly routine by now - dinner with the guys, a quick call to you, and then he’d be locked in his room until morning. That didn’t mean you didn’t worry about him, because of course you did. “I am resting, look!” He moved his phone showing off his bed and you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I have to get going, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.” He pouted on the other end but nodded in understanding, “I love you too.” 

The next twenty four hours passed pretty slowly , thanks to spending most of it in the air. You’d been antsy the entire flight and practically ran to baggage claim. Jiyong had sent a car, not being able to pick you up himself. You practically jumped out of the car while it was still moving when you pulled up to the venue, Jiyong waiting outside for you. He let out a laugh as you leaped into his arms, pulling him in for a bone crushing hug. “Hi you.” He grinned as he held you tightly. “I’ve missed you.” You practically melted in his arms at his words and pulled back to take him in. He looked well, more rested since your previous conversation and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I missed you too.” Jiyong leaned down, pressing his lips to yours but before you could deepen the kiss behind you brought you both back to reality.

“Hate to break up the happy reunion but we’re needed for sound check.” Seunghyun offered you a friendly smile before pulling Jiyong away from you. You grabbed your bags and found your way to Jiyong’s dressing room. You had about an hour to kill while sound check was going on and decided a nap would do you some good if you even wanted to make it to show time. Kicking off your shoes, you plugged your phone into the nearest port, texting your family to let them know you’d made it in and curled up on the couch, falling fast asleep.

You awake an hour later to Jiyong pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Hi” you whispered, whipping your eyes, sitting up fully. “You look tired.” You frowned, noticing the fast difference in his appearance. “Just what every guy wants to hear” he teased as he moved to open the door, letting in his glam team. “Oh, stop, you know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes, playfully at him. The next couple hours went by quickly as you watched your boyfriend get ready for show time.

“Ready?” You asked as you both made your way towards the other guys. He nodded, words failing him. Despite how many times Jiyong was on stage he still got nervous right before going on. You squeezed his hand, a reassuring smile on your lips as the guys came into view. “I’ll see you after.” You pecked his lips, said a quick hello to everyone and followed his team to your favorite spot backstage. 

No matter how many times you watched this show you never got tired of it. You’d lost count by now how many times you’d seen it, and had come to enjoy memorizing every detail of the show. Zutter, which was arguably your favorite song, had just started and you sucked in a breath. This was the part of the show Jiyong had been complaining to you about the whole tour. Jiyong, as usual, killed it and the show continued on. But as the intro for Bae Bae started you noticed your boyfriend walking towards you. That wasn’t right. Before you knew it he collapsed in front of you. “Jiyong!” You shouted. Before you could get to him the crew had surrounded him. Your heart raced as you watched them fan him off, helping him change into his jacket. As he stood back up, your hand brushed his gently and he offered you a small smile before rushing back onstage. 

A few minutes later, he was back on the ground in front of you, this time you refused to be pushed to the back. You brushed his hair out of his face, pleading for him to wake back up. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as he came too. You, as well as the crew helped him to a sitting position and your hand went to rest on his as you handed him water, trying your best to not show the panic on your face. “You don’t have to finish, they can do without you.” He shook his head as he gulped down the water. “Have to finish.” 

You knew that would always be his answer and as much as you didn’t want him to go back out there, you helped him to his feet anyway. The dancers and Seunghyun were close behind and you exchanged a look with his best friend. Begging him to take care of him out there. “You’re sure?” You asked and he replied with a nod, kissing your temple before turning back to the stage. You could tell he still wasn’t with it, sweat was dripping down his face as he took his place amongst the dancers.

Jiyong wasn’t going to disappoint his fans though, and proceeded to give it his all out there. You didn’t only thing you could, and watched on. You weren’t even sure you were breathing as the song came to an end. The lights dimmed and in a flash, he was backstage the rest of the guys left to entertain the crowd.  You walked over to wear he was panting on the ground and kneeled down next to him, a rag in hand. “What do you need?” You whispered as you wiped the sweat off his face. 

He shook his head, his hand coming to rest on his chest and he let out a shaky breath. “Just need a minute.” You nodded, your hand going to rest on his and let out a breath. You couldn’t remember a time in your life where you’d been this scared in your life. But he was here, he was talking, he’d be ok. As the guys came backstage you went to move so they could check on him, but Jiyong clutched your hand tightly, a pleading look in his eyes. “Stay.” You weren’t going anywhere. 

After getting fully checked out, Jiyong decided he was well enough to finish the show, and you watched on nervously throughout the rest of the night. He seemed more like himself on stage. But he’d also seemed fine that morning and now you’d watched him faint twice.  Once the show was over, he met you back in the dressing room, the exhaustion still evident on his face. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He nodded, but before you could move his arms were back around you, his chin resting on your head. You wrapped your arms tightly around him, breathing in his scent. “Thank you for being here. I don’t know that I would’ve had the confidence to get back out there if you weren’t here. I promise I’ll take it easier on myself the rest of the tour. I love you.” 

You nodded your head as he spoke, as horrible as the situation had been, you were just glad you could be there for him in some way. “I love you too. Are you sure you’re ok?” He smiled at you as he pulled away, “Yeah I’m good. I have you.” There it was again, those words that always made you melt. You grabbed his hand, leading him out of the room and towards the car. Even if the tour was almost over you vowed to yourself you’d do whatever it took to keep Jiyong healthy for the rest of the shows. 

Tag list:  @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi

[hoonieyun]

a lovesick girl's guide to heartbreak

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ex!heeseung x reader hell is not the same without you... summary: you thought everything was going well 3 months after your breakup with your ex-boyfriend!heeseung until you realized that maybe you miss him more than you hated being with him.

warnings: profanity, toxic relationships, morally grey characters, huge red flags in dating, consensual skinship, kissing, overall 18+ wc: 2332

something was missing, like there was a looming feeling that there was something absent from your daily life and as hard as you tried to push down that feeling and act like it wasn’t there; it was all your mind drifted off to. 

the missing thing in question? heeseung. 

your boyfriend of 2 years.. ex-boyfriend that is. the two of you had broken up just a few months ago and since that day you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. sure a lot of the thoughts that surrounded heeseung that swam in your mind were negative and left a sour taste on your tongue, but then it would lead to you thinking about all of the sweet things he’d do to make up for the bitterness he put you through. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

“why can’t you just listen to me?” you shouted from the top of your lungs as heeseung rolled his eyes with an aggravated sigh. “i’d listen to you if you weren’t acting like this! you’re so emotional!” he yelled back. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

several memories replayed in your head involving heeseung, you wished you didn’t have to think about it but after you left him it felt like that was what was left of you. like you were no longer the person that you were when you were with heeseung. like he took something with him when you broke up and has refused to give it back. 

you just weren’t sure what it was. 

it shouldn’t be like this but you’re left in this limbo of uncertainty and heeseung was the only way of adding any solace or clarity, but he was no longer there. you hadn’t seen him since that night, broken dishes, cracked picture frames, and a hole in your chest where your heart is supposed to be. your relationship with heeseung started off how a lot of relationships start, it was great. he was sweet and so were you, your love overflowed into one another and it felt like everything was sunshine and rainbows and then one day, it wasn’t. you were spending nights crying yourself to sleep while heeseung would leave you to cry because he didn’t want to deal with the emotional mess that you were and still are. 

that’s how your breakup went, you cried, you both yelled, and heeseung walked away. it was like a routine, a deadly cycle that neither of you could get out of until three months ago. this cycle was endless and exhausting yet it was all that you knew. as fucked up as it sounds, you found comfort knowing that you had heeseung on your side even if it didn’t seem like it. 

even when he would walk away from you…

even when you felt like he was ignoring you to prove a point…

even when it felt like you were the one person that he hated most in this world…

no matter what, it felt like heeseung was always by your side. like a shadow that you couldn’t feel but was always there. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

your phone sat in your trembling hands as you contemplated on whether or not you should hit the send button. it was like the button on your phone had a strong gravitational pull and you found your thumb hovering over the button, the tiniest sliver of space between the skin of your thumb and the glass screen of your phone. 

there wasn’t even any time to process your final thoughts before your thumb was making contact with the cold glass and the familiar sound of the text being sent rings throughout your bedroom, much louder than it should’ve sounded. 

like it was an echo that rang in the room as a reminder of the decision you’ve just made. 

hi hee.. i dont even know why i’m sending this im just so lost. i didnt ever think that i would be missing you the way i do right now but you’re all ive been thinking about the last few months.  i miss the way you hugged me when i would cry.. granted i’d be crying because of you.  i miss when you would whisper sweet things into my ear when my brain got too loud and would lead to arguments.  i just miss you so much and you might not even respond to this but i just.. i miss you..

whether it was a good or bad decision however, was still out for debate. 

surprisingly enough, another familiar sound rings throughout your room, indicating that you have received a text message. 

hey pretty girl. i’m so happy to hear from you, can i come over?

it was short but definitely effective because you were responding in seconds and telling him that you’d leave the door unlocked to which he tells you that he still has a copy of your house key and would be there in no time. 

your heart was pounding a lot harder than moments before, like you had just put yourself in a life or death situation and in a lot of ways you did. death more than life. being with heeseung felt like two things, heaven and hell. it was either bliss or chaos whenever you were with him and neither heaven or hell was the same without him. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

you had decided to change into your pajamas that just happened to be heeseung’s favorite. a pair of silk pajamas that barely left any imagination of what you looked like underneath; hence why it was his favorite. you’re brought out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on your bedroom door as it slightly creaks open, revealing heeseung who looked like he was going through just as much as you were. 

it was slightly comforting to know that in the time you were broken up until now, you weren’t the only one suffering. 

you muttered a whispered “hi” as he walked towards your figure sitting on the bed. the closer heeseung got the more visible his eyebags were. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair a mess, and he was wearing the same hoodie that he was wearing when you told him to “get the fuck out i fucking hate you” all those months ago. 

“hi, pretty girl. are you ok?” he asks, even though you both knew that you were the furthest from “okay”. 

he stands right in front of you and gently cups your face to look up at him, his touch instantly brings you warmth and a sense of comfort that you wouldn’t associate with him, not for the last year at least. 

“hee… i miss you.. but-” you begin to say and he interrupts you by softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb. a simple action that brings chills down your spine as you think about all of the other times he soothed your mind with that gesture. melting into his touch wasn’t something you weren’t accustomed to but this all felt so foreign and uncertain even if you knew where it was going. 

you were now back to the cycle that you were once in. 

“but?” he says, squatting down so that you two were somewhat on the same level. 

“i don’t know if it’s a good idea to want you. i miss you everyday that you’re gone but it doesn’t bring comfort knowing how much you hurt me..” a hiccup slips past your lips as you speak and heeseung is finally seeing what he’s done. you looked utterly broken and he knew it was because of him. his pretty girl that he loved so much was shattered and ruined because of him and he wished that he had realized it sooner. 

“baby.. shh.. its okay.” heeseungs says, pulling you into his arms as you cry into his chest. his hoodie getting soaked as you let out your emotions that he shamed you for in the past. “everything is okay, baby..” hee coos, rubbing the back of your head gently as you wrap your arms around him. 

if heeseung was being honest, he didn’t know what to do in this situation and it was only making him realize further how shitty he was. he barely knows how to comfort the girl he loved so much and it was breaking his heart. it may seem selfish that he was reveling in his own discernment and that he’s trying to wrap his head around his past mistakes instead of the one currently crying in his lap. 

“i’m sorry, yn.. i’m sorry, please stop crying, baby..” he whispers into your ear, hugging you even tighter than before as if you were going to slip away from his grasp any second now. 

he doesn’t know what to do now and he didn’t then. 

it was like you guys had each other wrapped around one another’s finger, knowing that one way or the other, one of you would crawl back and start the cycle all over again no matter how many times you may think it’s finally over. 

the two of you stayed that way for one moment, in one another’s embrace, your heartbeats syncing up with one another and for once in a long time; your hearts were in the same place. you were finally on the same page when it came to your love for each other even if it meant being in a place of uncertainty… you were sure of one thing, the love you had for each other, if you could even call it that, was something you couldn’t lose. 

“heeseung.. will you stay?” coming out of your lips as you slightly pull away from him, your eyes originally intending to land on his doe eyes but instead they fall onto his plump lips that glistened just the right amount from the small light in your bedroom. “i’ll stay only if you want me to.” he responds and you nod eagerly, like it was the only thing you could want. 

and in a lot of ways, it was. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

that night you slept in heeseung’s arms, a place you once vowed to never return to but as a cycle rounds itself, you found that his embrace was the place you were the most familiar with even if loving heeseung only brought uncertainty and a sense of unfamiliarity that brought you so much dread that you never know if the world you were living in was a heaven that wasn’t anything like you expected or a hell that was much worse than the words you’d hear on a sunday morning. 

however, no matter where you were; you wanted heeseung to be there because none of it would be the same without him. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

“good morning, pretty girl.” heeseung says, his voice was low and a bit raspy as he pulled himself up from laying next to you. you stirred as he readjusts himself, turning to face him and he’s got a smile on his face you haven’t seen in a while. a smile you loved so much and the longer the two of you were together… it began to fade away. it only appeared for special occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, then one day; heeseung just never smiled the same way ever again. 

you sat up, wrapping your blanket around yourself as you situated yourself in front of heeseung who did the same. “hee.. what are we doing?” you asked, the events of last night replaying in your head as you recall crying into heeseung’s chest and him trying his best to comfort you. 

“whatever you want, my love.” heeseung was good at that. saying all the right things to make it seem like everything was just that, alright. he would soothe your worries with empty promises, a soft rub on your back, and a gentle kiss on your lips. 

a kiss… something you craved from heeseung. 

“we’re too toxic for each other… but i don’t think i ever want to lose you. you’re all i’ve ever known and i feel even more lost when i’m without you. there’s so many signs that tell me to turn around, to stop, that this is just a dead end, but if i just keep ignoring the signs– it always leads me back to you. 

it always leads back to you, hee.. 

i don’t ever want to lose you but… can we even do this without falling apart?” 

heeseung looks at you momentarily, eyes flickering from your own eyes to your lips, something he also craved to feel. 

“you’ll never lose me, not even if you push me away… i’ll always pull you back no matter what. i don’t care what anyone says, they don’t know us like we know each other. the way i know your brain and body… and even soul. 

you’re mine and i’m yours, even if it destroys us.” heeseung’s face has gotten a lot closer with each word he speaks, nose slightly grazing yours. 

“i love you, ok?” he says and after a long time, you believe it. like he was willing to fix up any of the issues you two had if it meant that he could hold you every night as the two of you drift off to sleep. your dreams being filled with your happiest moments with each other instead of the nightmare of losing one another. 

you jump onto heeseung’s lap to which startles him at first but your hear his low chuckle in your ear as he embraces you in his arms. you would’ve said i love you back but you weren’t sure if you would mean it or if it would even change anything. 

you guess you’ll just have to see in a few weeks to know if things have changed and if the cycle is finally broken. your life was nothing without heeseung and whether or not you loved him was uncertain– you did, however, know that nothing was the same without him.  

"toxic" meovv the usage of song lyrics is credited to the artists above

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

heart not broken enough? let's try again... ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

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[clubsoft]

⠀

⠀ ⠀ CHILL , BABY ⠀ ⠀ ROMAN REIGNS / POC ! F ! READER⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

GAME ⋆ send me a ask with a prompt following this guide && i'll write u short story !! i am still accepting two more submissions !! SUBMITTED BY @DAYS1 : * 15 / all - too familiar coconut shampoo * R / a thick knitted sweater * 𓃢 / a tropical storm

SUMMARY ⋆ mother nature is raging outside , but roman's house is full of love , especially for his wife . WARNINGS ⋆ fluff galore / roman is in luuuuuuvvvv / pet name ( baby ) / tropical storm / points 2 size difference / hurricane party / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N WORD COUNT ⋆ 1 . 2 k NOTES ⋆ ( vampire voice ) u ask foooorr fluuuuufff i giiiiiveee yooooooouuuuu fluuuffffff * wheeze *

Hurricane parties can only be labeled successful if the participating bunch takes up the most impertinent task — partying.  The Anoa’i family has long since failed, a Tetris board of sleeping bags arranged throughout the vacated home theater of Roman’s lavish mansion. Stoic voices of news anchors and weathermen muted as soon as the first child fell asleep hours prior, the glow of the large screen served as a source of light, illuminating the beloved, sleeping faces of the company. To much relief, the direction of the storm had changed, now traveling away from them, and the power had returned as soon as the intense flurry of raindrops eased into a less harsh blur. It’s been close to an hour, but Roman had purposefully left the lights off. It isn’t always that he gets to witness his family so at peace, so safe and comfortable in a place of his provision, and he plans to cherish it. 

Among those cherished is his love, the one whose idea it was to turn a tropical storm into an unconventional family function. She’d fluttered about the house all day, gathering snacks, cooking, arranging all the food and drinks on the home bar in the theater. If Roman even attempted to help, she’d dismiss him with energetic waves of her small hands and force him back down on the couch, claiming she could handle it all on her own as the big girl she is, that he needed his rest. He hadn’t let her leave without promising she’d call for him if necessary and a peck to her lips. Like clockwork, she’d called — shouted for him from upstairs, found buried under a pile of sleeping bags, blankets and spare pillows as they spilled from the closet. Roman had laughed and laughed, his ribs sore and the pout on her lips growing beyond resistibility with each deep chuckle, kissed away until it was all in the past. If it weren’t for her, his few days off would’ve passed in a low, static hum of boredom, and as always, he’s eternally grateful. 

The plastic rim of the water bottle presses to his lips, but he doesn’t drink, staring at the petite slumbering figure tucked below a homemade quilt of reds, blues, and pinks. His mother’s wedding gift to the couple, and his wife’s most cherished item — after him, of course. If a stitch was to appear loose, she’d be seen kneeling on a chair, bent over the granite kitchen island, graceful cursive marking her trusty notebook with another errand, one of the utmost priority: mom’s house; get quilt fixed. She couldn’t take her mid-day naps on the couch without it, and warming up after a shower would be impossible. If the quilt wasn’t in commission, she’d become languorous, stripped of her routine. She’d claim it was the familiarity, the comfort of the same thing every time she felt tired or needed warmth. A conversation about it, though not his proudest moment, once sparked jealousy within Roman, and he’d yanked it away. What was meant to be playful had ended in chaos; a gem on her nails snagged the fabric and tore a thread. His love didn’t speak to him for six hours and thirty two minutes after, no matter how profuse his apologies were, no amount of pleas sufficed. In the end, he found himself on his mother’s couch, watching her repair the damage, sullen with regret. 

“Am I not enough for when she needs comfort and warmth?” He’d grumbled the question after eating a third peanut butter cookie in a single bite. “Am I not familiar?” His mother, bless her heart, reached over to brush crumbs away from his beard. Almost forty, Roman kept still and let her. 

“It’s because it’s a reminder of you,” she remarked with such casualness that the weight of her words took almost half a minute to reach Roman. When it did, his chest stung. “You’re gone the better half of the week and the poor girl can’t sleep without you. She looks at the blanket, she sees your wedding, it reminds her that you love her, brings her ease… but I wouldn’t put it past an emotional buffoon like you to notice.” A gentle smack to his cheek, she folded up the quilt, set it in his lap and sauntered to her kitchen, oblivious to the shift her words caused. At home, he set the repaired quilt at his darling’s feet, and sat down with a sigh. 

“I didn’t realize…” he began, instantly cut off by the press of her cheek to his pec, slender arms snaking around his torso. 

“I know,” she whispered, brushing a tear unnoticed by him off his cheekbone.

“I steal your pillowcases.” The blurted confession paused her movements. Her laughter cut the silence, flustering him further, strong arms sweeping her up so his nose could bury itself in the curve of her neck. “They smell like your shampoo and make me feel like I’m sleeping beside you when I’m on the road. Is that weird? That’s not weird right—” Through endless ramblings and infinite kisses, they were good as new. 

A hardly audible crinkle of plastic, the thud of the now empty bottle of water hitting the trash can, and the shuffle of Roman’s broad frame as he travels back to his wife are the only signs of life in the room — if the snoring of his cousins doesn’t count. Roman lifts his side of the sleeping bag, a king sized one the couple used a singular time during a camping trip hosted by the twins, and slips under the double layer of the quilt. Worn from her productive day, his wife doesn’t even stir, her breaths puff out steadily, her hair frames her head like a halo. Even with the thin strap of her top halfway down her bicep, she’s the image of perfection. With care, Roman takes the fabric between his fingertips and shifts it back in place against her collarbone. If it were up to him, he’d have tugged it down further, but that could wait until they were alone. 

His nose buries itself into soft tufts, senses flooding with the all-too familiar scent of coconut shampoo. The scent of love, of a messy bed slept in till early afternoon, the rustle in the kitchen of a time-inappropriate breakfast, the steam of a hot shower, the effort behind fitted sheets ruined by a day spent making up time. Home. Fingers sneaking under his thick knitted sweater, the tip of a cold nose nudging his neck, a lovable set of grunts filling his ears serves as a gentle interruption from his train of thoughts, and he shifts carefully to glance down. 

“Ro?” Her sleepy voice tugs a grin upon his lips; he hums quietly, his chest vibrating. “You ‘k?” Another hum. Groggily, her fingers travel up and curl the knit fabric into her little fists. Roman brings one large hand to cradle the back of her head, guiding her back into his chest, his lips near her temple. “S’the power back?” Pausing, he glances up at the light switch, the glowing tiny green square indicating his answer.

“No, baby, still out. Go back to sleep.”

⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ © CLUBSOFT⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀

TAGLIST ⋆ @days1 / @luvrsluxe / @uceyliyahh / @uceypunk / @punksyeet / @chasssssworld / @ctinadiva / @bookuce / @bratzzzdoll / @mselenalovebug / @sheaabuttaababyy / @partypoison00 / @meemee444u / @pr0wlerpunk / @queeny23 / @mingisfavgf / @brianochka if u would like 2 be added 2 my tag list 4 my wrestling fics , pls like this post !!

[lifefragments]

Chasing a Mirage

Pairing: Viktor x Reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Longing, Bittersweet Romance Setting: Piltover, Post-Season 1, Viktor’s lab and your shared memories of what once was.

The rain tapped softly against the window of Viktor’s lab, a rhythmic, almost melancholic sound that mirrored the ache in your chest. You stood in the corner of the room, watching as Viktor worked tirelessly, his fingers moving with precision over his latest project. He barely looked up, his focus so intensely consumed by his inventions that it was as if you weren’t even there.

This had become routine—the silence, the distance. Viktor’s ambition had always driven him, but lately, it had felt like it was driving a wedge between you. The man who once found time for quiet moments, stolen kisses, and soft conversations now seemed unreachable, lost in his endless pursuit of progress. And yet, despite the growing chasm, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave.

Because no matter how far he drifted, you loved him. You always had. Even when it felt like loving him meant chasing something you could never quite catch.

You sighed softly, the sound almost drowned out by the hum of machinery. “Viktor,” you called out, your voice gentle but firm, cutting through the quiet like a whisper in the dark.

He didn’t answer right away, his head still bent over his work. For a moment, you thought he might not respond at all, but then he spoke, his voice strained and tired. “Yes?”

“I’ve been standing here for almost an hour,” you said, trying to keep the frustration from your tone but failing. “You didn’t even notice.”

Viktor’s hands stilled, his brow furrowing as he let out a soft sigh. He finally looked up at you, his golden eyes dull with exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the apology sounding hollow, like it was automatic. His gaze flickered back to his work, as if the weight of your presence was a distraction he didn’t have time for.

The distance between you had been growing for months, ever since Viktor had begun his experiments with Hextech. It had started with late nights and missed dinners, but now, it felt like you were living in separate worlds—his dominated by invention and progress, yours left behind in the quiet spaces he no longer seemed to care about.

You stepped forward, crossing the room until you were standing beside him, your hands resting on the workbench as you tried to bridge the gap. “You’ve been working yourself to death,” you said quietly, your voice soft but pleading. “You never stop anymore. You barely sleep, you barely eat, and it feels like… like I’m losing you.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened, and he turned slightly to face you, his expression conflicted. “You know how important this is,” he said, his tone both apologetic and frustrated. “There’s so much at stake. I can’t just stop now.”

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you said, your voice shaking slightly. “I’m asking you to remember that you don’t have to do this alone. That I’m still here. That I… I still need you.”

His eyes softened at that, but there was a weariness in them, a deep exhaustion that went beyond just the physical. “I know,” he whispered, his voice strained with guilt. “I’m trying. But there’s so much that needs to be done. Every day I feel like I’m falling further behind. Like I’ll never be enough.”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew how hard Viktor was on himself, how relentless his pursuit of perfection had become. But you also knew that it was tearing him apart—that it was tearing both of you apart.

Reaching out, you gently took his hand, the cold metal of his brace against your skin a stark reminder of the lengths he had gone to for his work. “You are enough, Viktor,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve always been enough.”

He stared down at your intertwined hands, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into his world of metal and machinery where emotions were secondary, where the only thing that mattered was the next breakthrough. But then, slowly, his fingers tightened around yours, a fragile acknowledgment of the connection he was so afraid of losing.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back, determined to stay strong for him. “You don’t have to stop,” you whispered, stepping closer until your body was pressed against his. “I’m not asking you to give up on your dreams, Viktor. I just want to be a part of them. I want to be with you, not just beside you.”

Viktor’s breath hitched at your words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he turned fully toward you, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that cut through the layers of distance he had built. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “But I don’t know if I can give you what you deserve.”

You shook your head, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing gently against his cheek. “You’ve already given me everything I need,” you said softly, your voice full of conviction. “I just need you.”

For a long moment, Viktor didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply stared at you, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite understand how you could still love him despite everything. But then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. It was the closest you had felt to him in weeks, and the sheer relief of it made your heart ache.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice full of self-doubt.

“Maybe not,” you teased gently, your lips curving into a small smile despite the tears in your eyes. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

Viktor let out a shaky breath, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips. It was small, barely there, but it was enough. Enough to remind you of the man you had fallen in love with—the man who still existed beneath the layers of ambition and exhaustion.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, the world outside the lab fading away. It wasn’t perfect, and you knew there were still battles to be fought, both within Viktor and outside of him. But in that moment, you had each other, and that was enough.

Eventually, Viktor pulled back, his hand still holding yours as he looked at you with a mixture of love and guilt. “I’ll try,” he said quietly, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “I’ll try to be better.”

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “That’s all I need.”

[dorabellingham]

Overprotect

warning: none

characters: jude x mom!reader

summary: when you are in the last months of pregnancy and he is being super protective and worried about everything

may contain spelling and translation errors!

You sighed heavily, sinking on the sofa in the living room with an exhausted expression. The eighth month of pregnancy was being cruel - your back hurt all the time, the heat seemed unbearable and finding a comfortable sleeping position was practically impossible. To make matters worse, Jude was more overprotective than ever.

-Darling, do you need anything? His voice echoed from the kitchen, worried as always.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to convince yourself that answering "no" would be enough for him to stop treating you as if you were made of glass. But the truth was that you really needed something.

—Water, please.

You asked, defeated.

In less than a minute, Jude was already at the room with a glass in his hand.

-Here, babe.

He said, handing over the glass and sitting next to him on the couch.

You took a sip and sighed, feeling a little relief in your dry throat. Jude, on the other hand, didn't seem satisfied.

-Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to do a massage? Or maybe a hot shower? Or...

-Jude. -You raised a hand, interrupting the flood of suggestions. -I'm pregnant, not sick.

He sighed, clearly trying to control himself.

-I know. But it's just that... I hate to see you uncomfortable and not being able to do anything.

You looked at him, your expression softening.

-You already do a lot, babe. You take care of me more than I could ask for.

He smiled small, but still looked restless. Then, without warning, he got up and took a cushion, fixing it behind your back.

-Better?

You laughed, shaking your head.

-Yes, better.

He didn't stop there. He took another cushion and put it on her lap, helping you to better accommodate your belly.

-And now?

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave that you were loving his care.

-Now it's perfect, Mr. Bellingham.

Jude settled on the couch, passing an arm around your shoulders and letting the other hand rest on your belly.

-You're already almost nine months... -He murmured, sliding his fingers lightly over the skin of your belly. -There's so little time for our baby to arrive.

You felt your heart tighten when you saw the sparkle in his eyes. Jude was so excited to be a father, so ready. He talked about the baby every day, touched your belly as if it were your greatest treasure and looked at you with a mixture of love and gratitude that made you feel like the most special person in the world.

-Are you ready to be a father?

You asked softly.

He looked at you, surprised by the question.

-I don't think I'll ever feel ready, you know? But I want to. I want more than anything else.

Your gaze softened, and you ran your fingers through his jaw, feeling the thin beard that began to grow there.

-You're going to be an amazing father, Jude.

He smiled, lightly squeezing you waist.

-And you're going to be the best mother in the world, darling.

You opened your mouth to answer, but a hook on your back made you shrink.

-Oh...

Jude was on alert at the same time.

-What was it, Y/n?! Are you feeling something?!

You let out a frustrated moan.

-My back. They're killing me.

He didn't waste time.

-Come here. Sit on your side.

—Jude...

-C'mon, babe, sit here!

He insisted softly, already getting ready on the couch so that you could settle down there.

You, knowing that arguing would be useless, straightened up on your side, feeling his warm and firm hand begin to massage your back firmly, but without hurting you.

-Better now?

He asked, while his fingers worked to relieve the tension.

You closed your eyes, relaxing against his touch.

-Very much.

Jude smiled satisfied, continuing the movements while watching his wife surrender to relief.

-Do you have any idea how much I love you?

He murmured against your ear.

You smiled, your eyes still closed.

-I Have. And I have no idea how much you spoil me.

He laughed, gently kissing the back of your neck.

-I'll always pamper you. You and our baby.

You sighed, feeling safe in his arms. The eighth month of pregnancy could be difficult, but with Jude by your side, everything seemed a little easier.

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Title: Dreams of Her

Warning(s): SMUT. MDNI. P in V, Oral, female receiving. Unprotected sex. 18+ Wrap it before you tap it.

Character(s): Joel Miller, Female X Reader, Sarah Miller mentioned, Mrs. Adler mentioned, and Ellie.

Everything italicized is a dream! Bold print = dialogue prompts. Credit for prompts @ the other woman-Emily.

MY WORK IS NOT TO BE SHARED, TRANSLATED, OR POSTED TO OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS. ©️

The cool Wyoming air whipped through the open window, causing Joel to stir awake. He rubbed his face, trying to see what time it was. The old analog clock on his nightstand read 2:02 AM. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stared at the floor.

His body cracked and popped as he slowly stood up out of bed, and closed the window. The fully functional small town of Jackson was sound asleep; other than the men who had to take watch. It was hard to find sleep most nights, but Joel wanted nothing more than to rest his achy, tired body.

But before he could get back into bed, he had to check on Ellie. Never in a million years did he think he’d have the opportunity to live a (somewhat) normal life after the outbreak. He never thought he would get the chance to check on someone he cared about again.

The old wood door creaked as he peered around it, finding Ellie sound asleep at her window seat— uncovered. Joel quietly walked over and covered her shivering body with her comforter, and was able to leave without waking her.

Anytime he woke up, he couldn’t go back to bed until he checked around the house. He wasn’t afraid— he was just taking extra precautions.

After a quick scan throughout the house, Joel felt safe enough to crawl back into bed. No sooner than he pulled his blankets up, he was out. At night, memories would plague his dreams- especially the bad ones. However, tonight was one of the rare one’s where he dreamed of you.

Back in Austin, Joel had built a porch swing. Sarah had requested one be built for her to sit and swing on during the summer. Joel would do anything to make his daughter, his number one priority, happy.

It was May 24th of 2002 when Joel had finally decided to start on the porch swing; it would be built just in time for Sarah to have it for the first day of her summer break. She was at school and Joel had went to the hardware store and came back to the house to see you sitting on the porch steps.

You were wearing a yellow sundress, and your hair was curled and pinned back. Joel loved seeing you on his porch steps looking like a goddess.

When you seen him pull into the driveway, you had a big smile on your face. You jumped up from the porch steps and ran into his open arms. He pressed a kiss to your lips, “Hey there darlin’. Have ya been waitin’ long?” He questioned and you shook your head.

“Nope. I got here five minutes ago.” You said and he pulled you close into his body. Joel could still faintly smell your Vanilla perfume. “I love you in that dress.” He mumbled against your glossed lips.

You smiled up at him, “I don’t think your neighbor does. She asked me if I wanted to borrow one of her cardigans. Said there’s s’pose to be a cold spell coming soon.” Joel instantly knew what neighbor you were referring to— Mrs. Adler. He has had multiple conversations with her about you; most of them being about how young you were.

“Joel, she’s a little young don’t cha think?”

“People might think she’s your daughter.”

However, you were 22 years old, and he was 32 years old. That made you thirteen years older than Sarah, and ten years younger than him. But no matter how much he tried to explain to Mrs. Adler that you were much older than Sarah, she would still tell him,

“Now, Joel, that young lady is still wet behind the ears. You can’t expect her to stick around long—she’s young, and naive right now.” On multiple occasions, Mrs. Adler had tried to talk sense into you, but you never talked back and always respected what she had to say.

Joel admired you for that, and at times, you would try to gain the neighbors approval by helping her in the garden, or helping with her mother.

Joel couldn’t help but to smile, “I think she forgets this is Texas. We aren’t going to have a cold spell for a while.” He pulled a couple of sacks from the inside of the truck, and walked them over to the porch.

“What are you going to build, J?” You asked and Joel reached out for your hand.

“A porch swing for Sarah. She’s been beggin’ for one for awhile now.” He said as he led you up the steps, and pointed where the swing would go.

“Oh, she’ll love that! It would be the perfect spot to read a book, or to drink coffee in the morning.” You said as you sat on the porch banister. Joel’s right leg went in between your legs, and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

His hands held your waist, “That would be nice. A hot cup of coffee in the morning, or seeing you on it when I come home from work.” You smiled as his palm flatted against your bare thigh, and moved upwards under your dress. Joel shamelessly planted kisses along your jawline, and then traced down your neck. You shuddered as his lips delicately danced around the sensitive skin.

“Someone might see us, Joel..” you whispered as his finger tips traced your laced panties. “No one’s going to see us.” He murmured. His lips connected to yours, and your fingers tugged at his dark brown hair; this encouraged him to go even further.

Joel spread your legs just enough for him to slip a finger into your panties, and between your slick folds. A breathy moan escaped past your lips; this was music to Joel’s ears.

Before he could go any further, the squeaking sound of Mrs. Adler’s screen door made the two of you jump apart. If Joel wouldn’t have caught your leg, you would’ve fell in the bushes. “Hi Mrs. Adler!” He shouted and she waved at him.

“Just checking the mail! Don’t mind me!” She shouted back, and both you and Joel chuckled.

He helped you down from the banister and lead you into the quietness of his home. The Miller home was far from being fancy, but you always told him his home was more homey and comforting than yours.

Your father was some big time military General; he often lived in different countries while you and your mom stayed in Texas. But now he was home for the next couple of years, and you talked about how hard he could be on you. Your father expected big things from you, and that’s why you were studying to become a clinical psychologist.

Did your father know about him? Yes. Joel had met your father on a couple of occasions and he did not approve of Joel. Number one, ‘he was too old’. Number two, ‘he had a child’. And number three, ‘he was simply not good enough for you’. Despite your father’s wishes, you stayed with Joel.

It was hard to get alone time with Joel, because on weekends, school breaks, and any time after 3 PM, he was in full dad mode. Joel had told Sarah some stuff about you, but as far as she knew, you were just a good friend.

Joel closed the front door behind him, and you sat down on the arm of the couch. The cool leather against your skin made you shiver. Slowly, you pulled the pins from your hair, and beckoned him to come to you. The scent of your perfume drove him crazy; all he wanted to do was take you right then and there.

He knelt down in front of you, both hands running up and down your legs agonizingly slow. His dark brown eyes looked up through his lashes, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your knee, then up to your thigh.

Joel’s calloused hands rested on your thighs, and then without a notice, his fingers hooked under the thin lacy fabric of your panties. He slid them down your legs letting the air hit your wet core. A smile broke out across Joel’s face as he slid you closer to him, his head now underneath your dress. He pressed a kiss to the inner part of your thigh, and then pressed a gentle kiss to where you wanted him the most.

Your hands went to his hair as his tongue flattened and tasted you. When the tip of his tongue danced around your clit, it made you push yourself back from the sudden warmth of pleasure.

Joel pulled you down to sit on the couch rather than the arm of the piece of furniture; his face never left your core. His hands flattened against your thighs, and kept a strong grip on them; Joel didn’t want you to move an inch from his mouth.

“Oh, Joel.” You whimpered as his tongue delve into you.

There was one thing Joel loved more than having you on his cock, and it was tongue fucking you. Your breathing would turn into short breaths, and you would moan his name over and over like a sweet song. His thumb started massaging your clit in a circular motion, “I want you to finish baby.” He mumbled against your wet cunt.

When he realized that you weren’t getting close, he swirled his tongue around your clit. You squirmed underneath his hands but he held you still— bruises would surely form. Joel teased your clit, causing you to pull him closer into you.

Your body shook underneath his grasp and against his lips as he continued to lap up your juices. When you arched your back, Joel knew you were about to finish. “Joel, I’m about to..”

Before you could finish your sentence, Joel pulled away, lips glistening with you. He scooped you up off the couch bridal style, and took you up the stairs and into his room.

Joel sat you on the edge of his bed, his lips red and puffy from his previous activity. His left hand steadied himself on the bed while his right hand played with the spaghetti strap of your sundress.Your nose brushed against Joel’s, and his lips ghost over yours; the strap to your dress tickled down your arm, exposing your hard nipple to him.

His thumb and forefinger pinched and twisted the pebbled skin, and he connected his lips to yours. Your lips moved against his softly—during days like these, Joel preferred to take things slow. It was only 8AM, he had all the time in the world to make love to you. He pulled the other strap of your dress down, and started pulling your dress up over your hips. You pulled away from his lips, and quickly pulled his shirt over his head. Then you started working on unbuckling the belt from his jeans, “So impatient, darlin’.”

“I’m more than patient. You left me hangin’ downstairs.” You responded, and Joel stopped your hands.

“Watch the attitude, sweetheart. Don’t make me fuck it out of you.” his Texas accent laid the words on thick. His thumb tilted your chin back so he could look you in the eyes.

You smiled up at him, and continued to pull his jeans down. His cock was already throbbing from the site of you, and when your hand gently brushed over the bulge in his boxers, it twitched. With a devious smile, you pushed yourself back on the bed and spread your legs. Joel knew what you were doing; you were going to try to punish him for the little stunt he pulled downstairs.

Your hands trailed between your legs, and your fingers ran between your slick folds. He watched you intently, as you brought your fingers to your lips, tasting yourself. Joel groaned at the site in front of him. “Use your words, Joel. Tell me, what you want.” You teased, using the words he used to you in bed.

Joel chuckled, “I want you to keep doin’ what your doin’.” But you shook your head, “Not good enough, Joel. Tell me what you want me to do.”

His eyes darkened, “I want you to put your hand between your legs, and insert one finger at a time until I tell you to stop.” He commanded, he was slowly taking back control.

You obeyed his words, and your hand slowly traced from your stomach, down between your legs, gathering the wetness on your fingers.

Joel pulled down his boxers, his cock springing out. You drooled at the site of him standing in front of you, waiting for you to do what he said.

Languidly, you inserted one finger inside of yourself, and slowly pulled it in and out of you. Joel took his cock in his hands and started pumping himself as you added a second finger.

When you added a third finger, the idea of taking things slow was left behind. Joel crawled across the bed, and pushed you down into the mattress. He hovered over your body, and pressed a bruising kiss to your lips. Your dress was discarded as Joel sat up.

He pulled you by your calves and angled you up, “Look at that pussy. So wet for me.” Joel guided his cock to your entrance, teasing your clit with the tip. You could feel the warmth of pre-cum rub against you, “Oh Joel…” you whimpered.

“I love it when you whimper my name.” He said as he pushed the tip into your tight cunt. A groan escaped past his lips, “So fuckin’ tight.”

His cock pushed deeper inside you. With every push, your grip tightened on his forearms, and your legs trembled in his hands.

You released your grasp on his forearms, and started massaging your breasts; it was something Joel loved to see you do while he fucked you senseless.

The stretch around his cock stung, but when he looked at you for confirmation to move, you gave him a small nod. Slowly, his hips rocked up into you, and his gaze was fixed upon you. Joel’s pace had quickened, and the squelching sounds of your pussy suctioning to him was erotic; it fed fuel to the fire that was burning between you two.

“I love watching you take in every inch of my cock into that perfect body.” He groaned as he watched himself go in and out of you.

When he gazed back up at you, your eyes were closed tight, lost in pure euphoria. He released your legs, and spread them further apart, so he could move between them.

His body hovered over yours, and he pressed a kiss to your lips. Your eyes fluttered opened as his cock rested inside you, and he kissed along your neck and back to your jawline.

“Please, don’t stop.” You whimpered and Joel resumed back to thrusting into you. Your mouth gaped as Joel sucked on your neck, surely leaving a hickey behind.

“Everyone is gonna know who you belong to.” He mumbled, and his pace started to slow down. “I want you to finish on my cock, baby.” He whispered into your ear.

Joel could feel you tighten around his pulsating cock, and when a lewd sound left your lips, he knew you were chasing your high. “Come for me.” He whispered and you were shaking underneath him. His lips connected to yours as he spilled inside of you; he rocked into you until he couldn’t anymore.

With his free hand, he pushed back a strand of hair that was stuck to your forehead. He pulled out of you and pulled the bed sheet to cover your naked bodies. When he laid back into the pillows, you moved over and rested your head above his heart.

Joel pulled you close into his body and he caressed your back, his fingers gingerly touching you.

The two of you laid there in silence, looking over at the breeze that was moving the curtain back and forth. “I miss you.” You whispered, and Joel’s fingers froze over your shoulder blade.

“Darlin’, I’m right here.” He said. You sat up on your elbow so you could look him in the eyes.

“I miss you so much my heart hurts.” Tears filled your eyes and Joel sat up. “I didn’t want to go with him, I- I wanted to go with you. It wasn’t my choice, my father said we would come back for you, and we- we didn’t.” You sobbed.

Joel stared at you in bewilderment, “What are you talkin’ about, Y/N?”

“He took me away from you the night of the outbreak. Don’t you remember Joel? I was with you, Tommy, and Sarah. I was there when they shot her. I was there when you cradled her body. Did you know my father shot me on command?”

Joel woke up and he gasped for air. He looked towards the right side of his bed where you should have been, but the space was empty. His heart pounded in his chest, and all he could do was stare at the empty side of his bed.

The sun was shining through a space in the curtain, and he looked over at his clock: 8:01 AM. He rubbed his face as he stepped out of bed and opened his night stand.

Joel was only able to save a few pictures; a couple of Sarah and then a photo of you from the day you wore that yellow sundress. You were sitting on the new porch swing and Joel was right next to you, his arm slung around your shoulders, watching you smile at the camera. In the photograph, he was smiling at you smiling, and he was glad Mrs. Adler caught this moment.

The dreams he had of you, never ended like that. He often wondered where you were, or what happened to you. Joel knew your father would have protected you over anyone else, and he hoped you were still alive and thriving.

Regardless of what was going on in this apocalyptic world, when he thought of you, he hoped you were safe. Sometimes, when Joel found himself alone and it was quiet, he would pray that you were out there alive, and that your paths would cross.

He took the picture downstairs with him as he fixed himself a cup of coffee. The photo was worn and faded; the back was yellowed, but in black ink, he could still read your words.

“Joel, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love you. Forever and Always, Y/N.”

Ellie came up behind him to pull a cup out of the cupboard. “Who’s that?” She asked and Joel looked down at your smiling face.

“She’s a story for another time.” He said with a sad, small smile. Ellie stared at the picture on the counter, but she knew better than to pester Joel about it.

You were one of the last things he had that was good. The idea of keeping you to himself, made him feel like you were still alive. Saying what happened that night out loud, made him believe otherwise.

Joel picked up the picture and placed it in the pocket of his shirt, that rested above his heart. Maybe one day, your paths would cross.

I don’t know how to feel about this one. I’m semi-comfortable with writing smut, but I fear I’m not GOOD at it. I was nervous to post this, but oh well. 👀Part 2 maybe? Or should we end it here? Thank for reading! Comments, likes, and reboots are always welcomed and appreciated!

[just-wrting]

Think I Like You

Title: Think I Like You

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Half Mink!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Master List

Summary: You try to figure out why Zoro won’t take you seriously even if the answer isn’t what you expect.

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m just all over the place with a lot of stuff. I sleep a lot which I can’t tell if it’s a sleep issue or a depression issue, but I’m always tired. I still work full time but also do school part time now. Plus I’ve still got a boyfriend! But he wanted to end this weekend on 1062 which means Zoro brainrot for me.

You stretch and roll over, burying your face into your pillow. Ever since you changed where you nap, you've started sleeping so much better. Something about being more comfortable or something like that. The actual reason doesn't really matter. You're just happy you're sleeping better.

"You owe me for this."

"I don't owe you shit. Not my fault you nap in my spot." You reach up and pat his cheek. "What do I need to do for you to be quiet?"

"I already told you, you owe me."

You open your eyes just a little. "What could I possibly owe you? I don't like to drink, I don't keep money, not to mention I can't even tell if you're the type of man to be swayed by physical charms. What could I possibly offer you, Roronoa?"

"For starters, you can start referring to me by my name like everyone else does." He looks pissed. "You should fight me."

"You didn't take me seriously last time, Moss Head. Why would I bother trying again?"

He pulls on your ear. "I said like everyone else, not like how that idiot says my name."

You ignore him and bury your nose in his stomach. Dinner has been started, and if you don't ignore it you'll end up going to the kitchen early. It's less that Sanji minds seeing you, it's more of the fact that you struggle to suppress the urge to knock shit off the counter and dip your fingers in the sauces. Such is the life of someone like you.

You let yourself doze a little. You can still hear what's going on, but just like every common house cat, you ignore it. What you can't ignore is the gentle scratching behind your ears. As far as you remember, no one has done this since you were a kid. You don't hate the feeling, but you start to feel flustered over it. Ever since you left home, you've made sure affection comes at your own terms so you haven't had this in years.

There's no point in asking him to stop. You're clearly fond enough of him to nap on him, what's the big deal about getting ear scratches? Besides, he's the type to get embarrassed and loud if you point out you're awake. That's not something you feel like dealing with right now. You're too touch starved to complain.

Despite the comfortable conditions, you don't actually fall asleep. You spend the next forty-ish minutes pretending to sleep, waiting for dinner to be done. The time passes by relatively quickly, though you're sore afterwards. You couldn't bring yourself to even twitch, worried that he'd stop.

The dinner call goes off, and you pretend to wake up. You have no clue why you're acting, but it was too late to stop twenty minutes ago. Standing up, you stretch halfheartedly. At first, he doesn't say anything. It's only once he catches up to you that he starts asking questions.

"What's the deal with the noise you make?"

Raising an eyebrow, you look at him. "I don't snore, so I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not stupid, I can tell you aren't snoring. The other noise, the one that's relaxing. I can usually feel it when you're laying directly on me."

"What do you mean? The other noise?" You pause to think it over before it clicks. "We aren't talking about that."

You know what he's referring to. It's not like it's something you can control, but it's still embarrassing. Of all people to be you around, it's been Zoro. No one on the crew has judged you for being what you are, it's just embarrassing to be a mix. Your mother's human, and your dad's a mink. You look decently human, just with a few quirks.

"What do you mean, we aren't talking about it? We're talking about it right now."

Your face starts to heat up. "I mean I don't want to tell you."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why not? Is it supposed to be embarrassing or something?"

"If I say yes, will you drop it?"

"Yeah, sure."

His face instantly relaxes. If you could smack him, you would. The last time you tried, it hurt. So you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a push. The only thing it does is cause his other shoulder to hit the doorframe, but you use it to march past him.

You take your seat, leaning back against the armrest of the booth seat. Kicking your feet up on the space next to you, you watch the crew carefully. Everyone is smiling and in a good mood, so you don't have anything to worry about. You don't ever admit it, but you care about them even if it's difficult to show.

Zoro picks up your legs and lays them in his lap. Since it doesn't seem to bother him, you're tempted to just sit normally. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his, and you doubt he does either. However, you actually do enjoy touching him, so you'll stay like this for now.

There's more commotion as Sanji brings out the plates. The one you're most interested in is a large tuna fillet that gets set in the middle of the table. You can't stop staring at it, the tender flesh a beautiful golden color. It's hard to tell if it smells better than it looks or looks better than it smells. Sanji has never failed to impress you with his dishes, so you can't wait to sink your teeth in.

Before you can even start to load your plate, Sanji sets a small plate in front it you. It contains a disk of packed rice, some avocado slices, and chunks of fish. You're assuming it's more of the tuna. Whatever it is, it was made specifically for you.

You don't mind the special dishes. You'll try almost everything, and unlike Luffy, you'll eat it slow enough to give a review. Everything tastes good so you don't get the point, but it probably makes Sanji feel better to have honest reviews and not just someone who loves food fawning over his cooking. Though if you're not careful, you worry that he'll start having write an essay about it.

"And for you, a special tune tartare! If you like it, I'll make it again for everyone some time."

You nod. "Yeah, I'll let you know. I always do. Not that you've ever made a bad dish."

You can't stop the tip of your tail from flicking back and forth in mild annoyance. By the time you get halfway through the tartare, all of the fillet is gone. It's not like it's the biggest deal, you just wish you could've had some of that too. It's not fair that since you got a special tuna dish, that you don't get the other one.

"If you tell me what that noise was, I'll share," Zoro teases while pointing at you with a bite of tuna. "I bet you can't resist answering now."

"I'm a cat. I was making a normal noise that cats make. Consider it a compliment."

You lean forward and take the bite of tuna. It's flakey and melts on your tongue with a slightly sticky glaze that has hints of honey and garlic. You lick your lips savoring the balance of flavors. None of them are overwhelming, but it's hard to gauge in just one bite what you think about it.

"You can't just," Zoro stutters. "You can't just take the food off of my chopsticks. Get your own!"

You grab his wrist and lick the glaze off of the chopsticks. It feels like there's another flavor there that you can't quite tell what it is. It's some sort of herby flavor, that while you enjoy, you can't pin down.

"Here!" Zoro doesn't look at you as he shoves his plate towards you. "Just take it since I don't want your germs."

You want to tease him, but you'll leave him alone. It's better to leave it in front of other people since Robin's insinuations are becoming too much. For now you'll just eat the food. Later, you'll tease him.

—-

"You're still not taking me seriously, Roronoa. Why did you want to fight if you won't take me seriously?"

You lunge, hand reaching for his throat. He blocks it with his arm, causing your claws to dig into his skin. Using his arm as leverage, you pull yourself closer to him, swinging your sword at his side. His parry is effortless, and he looks bored. It's so aggravating that he won't take you seriously in a simple sparring match. Perhaps he'd take you more seriously if you actually tried to kill him.

You disengage before leaping over him. This time, you swing your sword at his neck as he turn around. It's once more blocked, and he smirks. You're just barely faster than him as he takes a halfhearted swing at your sword arm with his other arm. You catch the flat of the blade with your knuckles, steeling your arm against the shock wave of the blow.

Kicking your leg out in front of you, you aim for his knees, intending to bring him down. Despite the grip on his sword, he catches your ankle in his hand and pulls your leg to the side. You let your body pivot with the movement, twisting until your leg is behind you. You yank your foot forward as hard as you can, pulling him into your back.

He's quick to let your ankle go and grab your shoulder to steady himself. In a fluid motion, you swing your arm and grab your dagger. You flick it in your fingers and thrust towards his ribs. His hand trails down your arm to your wrist and pins it behind your back. He gives it a squeeze trying to get you to drop the dagger.

"Are you actually trying to kill him?" Nami tells from the side. "Are you stupid?"

You roll your eyes, sweeping your leg behind you and hooking Zoro's. Despite your efforts, you can't get him off balance, only causing him to take a step back. By now you're getting pissed off. You aren't a bad swordsman, it's just that this jerk is ridiculously smart in battle. This is probably the only time he'll use his brain all day.

You jerk your head back, hitting his jaw. The sound of the impact makes you regret it, knowing you'll feel like shit later. You manage to free yourself as he loosens his grip, and you elbow him as you twist back around. The only reason you're still going is because he won't take it seriously. It's like he finds it funny that he's able to fend you off so easily.

You rush towards him, tossing your weapons to the ground. Digging your claws into his shoulders, you use your momentum to knock him over. It only works because he's too busy rubbing his jaw to notice you in time. The two of you tumble to the deck, and you lean in as close as you can.

"Why won't you take me seriously? Is this just a game?"

Faster than you can blink, he's able to flip and pin you under him. He's even more smug than the last time you sparred, and you can't tell if you want to smack him or if you should kiss him. Not that you could smack him, he's got your hands above your head. While kissing him would let you win, you're not willing to fight that dirty in a friendly match.

"You're a brute, Zoro. You can't just manhandle the other crewmates just because you feel like it." Sanji pulls him off you. "If you were in the mood to fight I would've taken the offer."

You tune out their fight as Chopper checks your head and shoulder. You're a bit sore now, but you'll be fine in a few hours. Nothing keeps you down for long, even if it's usually just you going against the doctor's orders. The only thing actually bothering you is the fact that for a moment you thought he was going to answer your question. Though the fact you thought about kissing him is also an issue.

It's not difficult to figure out why you thought that way. Your parents made sure that you knew to find someone strong enough to protect you in case of something happening, even if you knew how to take care of yourself. That, and he's easy on the eyes. Even if he's an idiot half of the time, that doesn't matter. Your parents never said to find a smart man, just a strong one. Everything else was your choice.

Chopper hands you a damp towel, and you use to clean under your claws. Tiny spots of blood rest under them, probably from when you grabbed Zoro. If the pinprick wounds bothered him, he doesn't show it. He's too busy trying to shove Sanji off the boat. As long as you stay dry, it doesn't matter if they end up overboard. They can both swim.

After a few minutes, Nami separates them. You watch her glare at the men before you stalk off to take another nap. The sun is just starting to dip below the water, so finding a nice patch of sun to lick your figurative wounds isn't possible. You'll have to settle for sulking in some weird spot. Perhaps it's time to torment the fish in the tank once more.

Lounging on the sofa is probably the second best place to nap. The sound of the tank constantly humming while you watch the fish swim in tempting circles puts you at ease. You stretch out fully, let your arm and tail hang off the edge. The tip of your tails twitches slightly as you trace the movement of a particularly large bass. That should be tomorrow's lunch, perhaps in a stew. Even though it hasn't been long since you had food, your mouth starts to water at the idea of seafood stew.

"He really doesn't take you seriously, does he?"

You recognize Robin before she even speaks. Her stride is longer than Nami's with her steps being lighter than everyone else's. Not to mention she smells floral. It's never overpowering, but it allows you to pick her out from the crew.

"I guess not. Maybe I should've gone for his other eye."

She laughs, sitting down next to you. You aren't opposed to the company, especially if it's Robin. There something about her that puts you at ease.

"I don't think he'd like that," she muses. "What did he say to you?"

You scoff. "He didn't say anything. Bet he's too proud to take me seriously, like the jerk he is."

Robin smiles knowingly. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Maybe you should talk to him, just the two of you. I'm sure he'd tell you when no one else is around."

You frown. "What is he? A shy school boy? There's only one reason for not taking me seriously in a fight, and it would be him not thinking I'm even worth it. No point in having him tell me that in private, he can just keep it to himself."

She reaches out her hand, gently brushing your hair from your eyes. "Then what do you think about him?"

"I think he's an idiot who swapped out his brain for more muscles."

"Let me rephrase that. What feelings do you have about him?" There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "At least figure that out."

You shift so you can place your head in her lap. "I guess he's fine most of the time. I don't know why I enjoy his company, I just do. He's never really pushed me on anything, just sort of letting me do my own thing. Not to mention he's comfortable. As much as I hate admitting it, I suppose I like being around him."

She continues to brush your hair with her fingers silently. It's one of those tactics of hers. She'll stay quiet until you keep talking.

"What do you want me to say? He's nice enough to me, I can respect him as vice-captain, and he's decent looking. Everything else I think about him is my little secret." You're starting to get irritated talking about him. "Actually, I think I'll go talk to him now. I'll drag that answer out of him if I have to."

Robin looks at you with worry as you sit up. "Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding. What are you going to do if his answer isn't what you expect?"

"I'll deal with it when it happens," you say with a shrug. "It's not like it'll be anything surprising."

You take your time wandering around the ship. It's not hard to tell where he is, you'd rather put it off for a little bit longer. This weird feeling in your chest has been bothering you a lot lately. It can't be ignored anymore, but that doesn't mean you're one hundred percent ready to admit it.

Thankfully, he's exactly where you knew he was. You won't tell him that you enjoy finding him when he's working out. Something about him being shirtless is nice. Not that he usually bothers with wearing a shirt, so you can usually just stare whenever you want. Maybe he just likes the attention, and you'll gladly give it to him.

As soon as he leans back on the bench, you sit on his lap and stretch out over his torso. You rest your chin on your hand, pressing your palm on his chest. Watching as he sets the barbell back on the stand, you wait for him to start talking. It would be fine with you if he kept working out, but he seems opposed to the idea.

"Is bothering me amusing to you?"

You tilt your head slightly. "You're not cute when you're mad, so no. I was just hoping we could talk."

"You don't have to sit on me to talk."

"That's just personal preference. Besides, you tend to avoid talking about certain things and this keeps you from leaving." you say with a Cheshire grin. "I enjoy your touch, so this is ideal for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zoro looks away from you. “You keep saying weird stuff.”

You don’t even blink as you respond, “I enjoy your touch. That’s what that means. I’ll even be nice and tell you the answer to your question from earlier. As a cat, I sometimes purr when I feel comfortable and content. Though some cats purr when scared.”

“So you’re scared of me? Is that what that means?”

“No. The only thing particularly scary about you is the fact that you’re an idiot.” Your ears twitch. “But since I answered your questions, you can answer mine. Why don’t you fight me seriously?”

He looks at you for just a moment, before looking at the ceiling. It’s like he’s embarrassed by the answer and is hoping you’ll forget about it. However, you’ve already made up your mind about what you want. You’re just waiting to see what he’ll do.

“I-,” Zoro cuts himself off to hide behind his hand. “I could hurt you really bad. That would be bad.”

Your tail swishes on the ground in mild irritation. “So you think I’m incapable of defending myself. That would explain the times you’ve interrupted my fights.”

“It’s not that!” He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don’t tumble to the ground. “I don’t want you to get hurt if I’m around. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”

You’re nose to nose with him now. Even at this distance, he can’t seem to make eye contact. You can smell the liquor from dinner on his breath. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him, but for some reason the thought makes you nervous. You’re usually close to him, so why is this time different?

“Why should you keep me safe?” you mumble. “Do you save me out of obligation for the crew? If so, aren’t there better people on the crew to swoop in and save?”

“Does it matter why?” The way that his lips almost touch yours as he speaks makes you flustered.

You close your eyes. “Yes. I don’t want to get my hopes up if you think of me as nothing more than a burden of a crew-mate. Just be honest with me for once, Zoro.”

You don’t regret the soft begging tone as you say his name. You regret not saying his name in that almost pathetic tone sooner. The way that he kisses you makes your head spin. Even though he’s holding you close, you have to wrap your arms around his neck to make yourself feel more steady.

Zoro kisses you like he’s been wanting to for months. His hold on your waist makes it impossible to move, and the way that his hand grips yours hair makes you moan. You can barely breathe as his tongue explores your mouth, your grip on reality slipping as his fingers dig into thigh.

Even when he pulls away to let you breathe, you find yourself lost in the way he touches you. Sloppy kisses trail down your jaw and neck, coming to an end with his teeth on your collarbone. The way that his fingernails scrape gently against your scalp as he tugs lightly on your hair causes you to expose more of your chest to him as you lean into his palm.

You’ve never felt like this before. Hot, heavy, and breathless all while being lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it in you to resist him if he wanted more. In fact, the pathetic words of begging him to ravish you weigh heavy on your tongue. Yet he just continues to press kisses along every inch of skin exposed to him, ignoring how hard you’re panting as little moans escape you. He’s oblivious to everything but the act of kissing you.

Zoro only pauses after you tug his hair harshly. You didn’t mean to, you couldn’t help the reaction to him biting down on the side of your neck. You couldn’t even help the strangled groan that leaves you as he leaves a mark. For some reason, your body is shaking like you have some sort of withdrawal.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

You kiss him again, desperate to get as close as you can. Desperation courses through your body as you realize just how badly you’ve waited for this. You’ve spent months being almost attached to him so it makes sense, you just can’t figure out how you missed it. The long nights spent curled up in his lap, face buried in his neck has left you craving him so much.

You whine as he pulls away, unwilling to let this stop. It doesn’t even matter anymore how prideful you’ve been up until this. It’s so obvious how much you want him. Nothing could hide it anymore.

“Zoro.” You don’t even open your eyes. “Please.”

He gives your thigh a tight squeeze as you whimper. You can tell that what little restraint he has is fading with each whine of his name. Yet he’s able to pause and hold you close, breathing heavily into your ear. Eventually, he covers your mouth with his hand, stifling your words.

“Not like this,” Zoro says, his tone meaning he’s serious. “If you really want it, I want to make it special.”

“S-special?” You don’t know what that means. When was the last time someone told you that you were special? “How?”

“Just better than in the exercise room on the Sunny. You deserve to be treated better than that.”

You nod, and he lets his grip loosen. Despite the fact that nothing much happened, you feel drained. Maybe it’s because you really enjoy naps, but the exhaustion is hitting you hard. You don’t hide it, letting yourself go limp as Zoro picks you up.

“You can sleep in my bunk tonight. Not that it matters if I say you can as you usually show up anyway.”

You caress him jaw before giving his cheek a kiss. “Thank you, Zoro.”

The flush on his cheeks goes unnoticed by all beside you. Not that it matters, you don’t want to hide your feelings for him any longer. If he agrees to it, you’ll parade your feelings for the world to see.

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 24

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n hi. it's me. i'm back. i don't have any excuses to make.

please also check out daybreak, posting weekly from now on (yes i did write an entire smau instead of queenmaker and sit on it for almost six months)

previous | masterlist | next

---

Comeback approaches like a hurricane; it's there, developing in the corner of your eye just off the coast of your island, and then all at once it is here, and it is so all-encompassing that you're not even sure where here is anymore.

Comeback. Debut. The most important day of your life. One of those.

 Time starts to fly by; schedules and practice and filming and every so often the chance to sleep or to grab something to eat with the others. It drags at your coattails, sticks itself to your feet and settles like a weight upon your shoulders, but you can't stop. There are performances to film, and then there is a concert that you are missing so much of the choreography for, and even when all of that is over, you are headfirst into award season and special performances and group activities for the company and-

First, debut. Second, everything else.

The camera sits on the table in front of you, staring with one dark, unblinking eye as a brush darts across your face, erasing all your imperfections. It fills your stomach with a funny kind of fear, small but poisonous, stinging when you think about turning it on - you've managed to put it off so far, waiting until your face was made up to at least avoid having to see your own naked skin reflected back at you in the viewfinder. No one else wanted to see that either, you're sure, after the things you've read and...well, the experiences you've had in the past. It's good to know your limits, after all.

That excuse is fast running out now though, and the time to go up towards the stage is drawing closer with alarming speed, and if you don't capture any footage before that happens, you're in some real trouble, no matter how loudly Seungmin and Felix are churning out hours worth of content on the other side of the room.

It takes real, deliberate effort to lean forward and turn that camera on once the makeup artist proclaims you ready, your hands delaying still as they fiddle with the angle and the focus, following the motions the manager that had handed it to you had shown you before he left. It gives you a little red light to say it is filming, and you swallow down the stone in your throat and sit up straight, looking around at the room to avoid the stare of its lense.

The first minute of your vlog is very boring. It's probably only the thought of some stranger sitting in a room later and watching you sit there awkwardly for a ridiculous amount of time that spurs you into saying anything at all. 

"Hello Stay," you begin, because it seems the only way to begin. The words feel awkward in your mouth, your tongue stiff and undeserving of saying them, and your throat scratches and dries; you think, as you speak, that you do not sound like a singer at all. "It's nice to meet you...for the second time." 

A noise rises up from behind you, giving you pause just as you run out of things to say - Han, running his voice up and down the scales as he begins to warm up. You've gotten used to that by now, the volume of the boys around you, but you're grateful for the excuse to pause in your self-rumination anyway, the precious seconds it gives you to figure out what it is you're saying.

Act normal, you tell yourself firmly as you turn back to the camera.

"I guess I should introduce myself, shouldn't I?" you say, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I'm L/N Y/N from Stray Kids, and today we're at [] for our first performance of Back Door, and I have just finished with the makeup..."

In the corner of the viewfinder, you notice a face hovering over your shoulder; Jeongin, waving a peace sign just out of your field of vision. You turn to look at him, shuffling over so that he is in full view for the camera. "What are you doing?" you ask and he leans in closer, automatically fixing the angle for the camera.

"I just wanted to see what you were doing," he says, refreshingly peaceful compared to the chaos that is building in the rest of the room. "Is this a vlog?"

"Mhm," you answer, and he smiles and waves again to the camera. "Are you dressed already?"

"Nearly," he says, glancing down at his white shirt and the black necklace that dangles around his neck. "You have time still."

You glance down at yourself; hoodie and cargo pants, neat but not show-ready by any means. "Mine is cold," you say by way of explanation, thinking of the skirt and thin shirt that wait on a rack in the next room, a far cry from the long pants the eight of them are wearing; and you really do like the look you've been given, but the thought of sitting around cold before you had to was less than enticing. "I was going to go and change in a minute."

"Maybe you should swap with someone," I.N suggests slyly. "I bet Changbin would look good in a skirt."

"Changbin's pants wouldn't fit me," you throw back, and he has to turn away from the camera to hide the ugly laugh that snorts from his nose. "He's too-"

Short, you don't say, your eyes tracking the boy in question as he passes by. He pauses in the back of your video when he notices your eyes on him, looks between you suspiciously, and then dances his way out of frame, having decided, you guess, that you aren't up to anything worthy of comment.

The look you share with I.N almost makes you laugh again. "I'm going," you say, scooping up your camera as you stand, "before he realises we're talking about him."

---

"Why do you look nervous?" Chan asks, a shadow that suddenly stands beside you as someone clips a mic pack onto his belt. You eye him in disbelief to avoid turning to look at the hallway that leads to the stage again, trying to figure out if he's joking or not.

"I can be nervous if I want to," you answer after a few seconds, in a way that definitely doesn't hide how anxious you feel at all. 

"But you shouldn't be," he insists, "because there's nothing to be nervous about."

"You know that won't stop me," you scoff.

He cracks a smile despite himself. He almost laughs, except that he's busy turning to nod in acknowledgement of whatever the assistant behind him says on her way past. "It's going to be a good performance," he says, like the simple act of saying it is enough to manifest it into existance, like he would never believe otherwise.

"It's going to be good," you agree readily. "The concerts next week are going to be good too."

That smile flashes across his face again, his eyes lighting up. "You're excited?" he asks - and you almost feel guilty, that he would think that you wouldn't be excited, that you've worked so hard and put on such a stoic face that any of them might start to think this is a chore for you, rather than a dream coming true in front of your eyes.

"Of course I'm excited," you tell him emphatically, before he can get any ideas. "I can't wait to-"

"Y/N noona!" Changbin says as he strides across the room, stopping the thought halfway through. You turn to face him and the phone he waggles in his hand questioningly. "Take a photo with me."

"Right now?" you ask, looping your in-ears over your shoulders as if to demonstrate just how poor his timing is.

Changbin doesn't notice at all. "Why not now?" he questions. "I'm supposed to take a photo for instagram. Come and take one with me."

Beside you, Chan looks like he still has something to say, but when you glance at him, he only shrugs, turning away to fiddle with his own equipment. "Alright," you agree easily and follow Changbin, over to a bland enough piece of wall with decent lighting. You have a feeling someone has already scouted the room earlier for the best places to take photos, judging by how easy it is to find and how well it photographs.

It's a good distraction from the nerves for a few minutes, but it doesn't last much longer than that; especially not when Changbin barks and fusses over the angle and the faces, and then Hyunjin comes wandering over to take the camera out of his hand, and you realise that he's occupying you as much as doing what Skijigi have asked him to do. After that, you laugh and poke fun back at him with just the same vivacity, but it does nothing to assauge the anxiety that's planted deep in your gut, roots curling out to envelop you.

Somehow, when you're done, it is time to go up to the stage - and suddenly, you are engulfed within the group and walking that hallway you had been staring at what feels like moments ago, trying to swallow with a dry mouth and a stone in your throat and wondering if you'll actually be able to get any of the notes out at all.

Chan's hand touches your shoulder as you walk, appearing by your side in just the same way as he had earlier. You wonder if he can smell fear or something; or if you really are just that pale and drawn in the face, if your hands are shaking or something. Whatever it is, you're clearly not doing a very good job of hiding it. 

"You still look nervous," he tells you cheerily, and if he's aware that he's reading your thoughts, he doesn't give any indication of it, not even as he pulls you aside as you reach side-stage and glances up at the huddle of boys that continue to the bottom of the stairs, eyeing them as if there's something he doesn't want them to hear.

"I got you something," he says, when he's sure there are no eavesdroppers, and lets his lips curve in a secretive, delighted smile.

Your eyebrow raises in surprise, almost certain that he did not forget, but rather has been looking for the right time to bring it up - but he doesn't notice the look of disbelief, fishing a small, velvet bag out of his pocket. He offers it to you on an outstretched palm, a bridge to form the gap between you.

With timid, shaking fingers you take it, noting the pink that stains his cheeks and the way he cringes away from meeting your eye as you pull the drawstrings loose. "I saw you playing with the ones at K-Con," he hurries to explain before you can even see what's inside. "And you - fidget a lot. I thought it might help."

A ring tumbles out of the bag and into your palm, the full stop to the end of his sentence. It's only a plain silver band, softly curved at the edges and gleaming where the light hits it - nothing ostentatious or gaudy. Just a simple band for you to twist around your finger, the letters SKZ engraved on its inner circle.

"Thankyou," you manage to say as you slip it onto your finger - and then fiddle with it, twisting it and forth to distract yourself from the nervous hum that seems to hang in the air between you.

"Oh, no." He waves you away before you can even get the words out, that pink flushing his face. "Look, it works already." 

You glance down at your fingers and the twist of the ring, and feel the grin that bites at your face. "I like it," you admit, and try to breathe the nervous jitters out of your chest with the words. 

He looks...relieved? You're not sure, when the music blasts on stage and then cuts off and the crowd roars in response, cutting him off before he can say whatever it is that now lines the back of his teeth. It looks like relief on his face though; as if he'd been worried you wouldn't take the gift or something. Wouldn't see the sentiment behind it even if you didn't like it. What does he think of you, if that's how he thinks you might react?

The thought sends another thrill of fear down your spine, one that the scrape of that ring on your finger can't quiet. So does the scream of that crowd - adrenaline rises from your chest, wrapping its hands around your throat; that wild, senseless energy tensing in your body like you're about to run from a fight-

A hand claps your shoulder. "Are you breathing?" Seungmin asks, balancing on one foot as he leans around you to frown at your face.

You have to inhale to retort, and he smirks. "That's what I was wondering," Chan says behind that grin - but the brush of his hand over the back of yours is much softer; questioning, rather than the jolt of contact from Seungmin.

"I don't need to breathe," you throw at them weakly. "I'm a robot."

"How do I turn you off, then?" Chan asks, and then laughs when you stare at him, surprised. Betrayed, maybe, when you would have expected such a thing to come out of Seungmin's mouth rather than his.

You're distracted by the call of a staff member, waiting to usher you onto the stage - and there, again, are your nerves, returned in two-fold. Debut, you remember again for the thousandth time today. Your dream. Your reward. Your life's work, the only work you've ever learnt how to do.

The group huddle together, say some quick words of encouragement that float past you with registering at all. Your hand is warm in the centre of all of theirs, crushed by the weight of someone's palm as eight hands go down and whoever is on the bottom goes up, ruining the whole thing. You know that you laugh, between the groans and cries of retribution, but it doesn't reach right into your chest. All your attention is laser-focused on the steps before you and the buzz of the crowd waiting beyond.

You are not alone in your daze, at least. Many hands pat your shoulders, smooth your hair. Felix throws an arm around you until you reach the stairs, a one-armed hug while he talks about something in your ear. He lets you go while you climb, and follows on your heels out onto the stage.

The crowd is smaller than K-Con, to your mercy, even if they scream and cheer just as loud as that massive crowd had. It seems like a stupid thing to find comfort in a moment later, when the thought hits you again; of course the crowd is smaller. This is only a broadcast recording, not the concerts that leer at your from the near future.

Some of the boys are already at the centre of the stage, waving and talking to fans. You join them long enough for the official greeting - and then melt away into the background when Changbin immediately commands attention. You find Han there with you, arms swinging by his sides in one last warmup, but you can't think of anything to say other than the tight grin that offers itself to him, no doubt writing all you nerves right onto your face. The smile he gives you in return is sympathetic, and devoid of pretty words to go with it; just a flash of teeth, a puff of air that blows into his cheeks before exhaling. It's a little comfort, at least.

The call to begin shatters any calm it pulls over you just as quickly as it arrives though, the stage a hive of activity as everyone finds their places. For a long moment, no one moves and nothing plays, the tense, still seconds ticking by at an excruciating pace-

And then the music starts.

And then you dance.

And then you sing, loud and clear and bright - and steady, even with the complex movement of your body and the increasing cry of your chest for air. 

The finale rises and culminates with Felix's voice, standing at the end of the line behind you. You feel his weight bump against you as he shifts on his feet, hear the moment of silence and then the renewed cheer of the crowd when his ending fairy comes up on the screens. You can't see when it ends, so you count to five before you turn, ducking out of the line as requested and immediately finding the red light of the camera that was told to be waiting for you. Finger hearts, Felix had suggested backstage and Hyunjin had agreed, and so that is what you give them, angled just so by your cheek and the giddy smile that had been pulling on your lips before the music was even finished.

The stage goes silent, the few scattered beginnings of applause quickly throttled by the hands that remain in their laps. The seconds tick by at a glacial pace, the smile threatening to slip from your face. You glue it there with all the fire that remains in your veins.

You could swear the camera lingers, just to drink in your pain. Logically, you know it is the same time as Felix had. Somehow, the thought isn't comforting.

Finally, that lense clicks off and the boys move around you, giving the crowd something else to hawk and squeal at. Something they really want to see, you allow yourself to think acerbically, and carefully avoid looking any of them in the eye as you do your forced, casual wander off the stage. It is hard enough to achieve in your own bubble, to resist that urge to run, let alone if you catch anything like sympathy on their faces.

The first one below, you take one look at the playback monitor and excuse yourself to the staff, fleeing towards the bathrooms. You're dimly aware of footsteps behind you and the sound of your name, but they do not process and your feet won't stop - not until the heavy door slams shut behind you and the propel of your walk carries you in sight of the mirror over the sinks-

Beautiful, you'd dared to think earlier, staring vindictively at just the same image that looks back at you now. The careful fit of the navy shirt, the short skirt flattering the length and lines of your legs, the layered bangles and the diamonds that glitter around your neck...perfectly crafted to slip right in amongst the silk and patterns of the boys - and not unlike Midnight's dark queen concept either, the concept you hadn't had the right look for. You'd even liked your face, and the unearthly glow they'd painted into your cheeks, the perfect frame of your dark hair-

But something had displeased that crowd. Whether the look, or the dancing, or stupid, stubborn pettiness over girlish crushes - or all of it put together. It took a lot to silence an entire crowd. You knew that - you'd seen one refuse to be silenced before, but never nominally refuse to cheer. Never pass the sentiment around and come to an absolute mutual agreement.

It's a talent, to be able to do that by yourself, you think as you stare into your own eyes in the mirror; and you don't have it in you to deny the rush of feelings that wells in your chest this time, or the hot prick of tears in your eyes. Your thoughts are swept off in the storm, the questions clamouring, crying, begging for one answer; why, why, why, why. Why do they hate you, why are they so mean about it, why didn't you just go home? Why did you ever come to this country in the first place? Why id you think you were good enough to be worth their love?

A soft knock on the door precedes the tentative entry of an assistant; one of the girls from JYP that always travels with you on schedules. You know her name, but you should know her better; instead, you've just been keeping to yourself. Another point of failure, probably.

"Y/N?" she says, daring to put one foot through the door as you blink and nod in acknowledgement. "Sorry - we need to start heading back now. You can have another moment - if you need-"

"I'm coming," you hurry to say; and it is shame that colours your cheeks and gives you the strength again to swallow it down like a hard stone. The tears burn as you blink them away, as you stare at the mirror and decide that no more will fall except for the traitorous three that have already escaped. You'll have to go back on that stage - you won't go red-eyed and puffy, won't give them that satisfaction.

You'll have to do that ending again too, though. Weather that storm a second time. Well, you'll just have to make sure this take is perfect, and then no one will ask for a third. You'll be able to go home and hide.

Your moment is up. You know that, and so you turn yourself away from the mirror, to the girl that waits. She willingly averts her eyes as she steps out, holding the door for you until you grip the edge of it with your own hand and follow her.

Chan is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall and staring at nothing as he waits. There's a dark anger in his eyes when he turns, but it isn't for you - no, the tissue box in his hand is for you, offered like a bridge that spans the gap between you. 

Warily, you draw one and turn aside to dab at your eyes and try to cool the burn in your cheeks. You want to cringe away from yourself and hide in the bathroom again, to put off facing him until he goes away - but if you do that, he'll know you're hiding, and the hovering assistant will bear the blame of not bringing you back, and those fans will think they know why it's taking so long-

Stupid. They already know that they've won. Chan can see you crying. There's no one left to make a fool of except yourself.

"Are you alright?" Chan asks - and just like you thought, there is none of that anger in the gentle voice that asks.

"It's fine," you answer, biting at your tongue agains the tears that threaten to stir anew. "Sorry. I just needed - a moment. I'm ready to go again."

"Take another moment," he tells you.

"I'd rather go," you say, and it comes out harsher than you mean it to - but it is only the tears that you are fighting, that horrible, gut-wrenching wave of emotion that wants to wash over you. "I'm fine. Really."

The tissue crushes in your palm. You wonder if the sceptical look he gives you is because of the makeup you've surely smudged, or if he just doesn't believe you. "Are you sure?" he asks, and you steel yourself as you breathe in.

"I will be if we don't talk about it," you tell him tightly, and then you take the lead before he can disagree. He falls into step willingly anyway, thoughtful or maybe brooding as you weave your way back to the stage.

"We're not doing the endings again," he tells you as you approach, right as the flock of makeup artists engulf you. Like they knew you'd be crying, you think acerbically, and then banish the thought before it can unbalance you again.

"Were there any notes for me?" you ask as a brush dusts your cheek. The dancing; that's the only thing you need to focus on. The performance. Do it perfectly, and you can escape. Subconsciously, you fingers find the ring, twisting it around and around.

"Not for you," Chan says. "Just try to enjoy it again, yeah?"

Several choice comments come to mind as you gaze at him, each one as dry and hurt as the last, but a look at the occupants of the room stills your tongue. Assistants and stylists and employees of the show - people that you shouldn't be caught speaking ill of fans or members in front of. You've read your contracts and the company ethics, seen the bill for your training attached to your name. You know how far fans and a good public image takes even the most insidious people.

"I'll try," you promise instead, firmly holding your tongue to your principals. No point complaining about hardships anyway. This isn't an industry that takes pity on those who are too weak to survive it.

Even so, the answer seems vapid and contrived the moment it spills out of your mouth. Chan doesn't have time to contest it; the others are already returning to the stage to entertain that undeserving crowd, and so you must follow too, side by side in silence. His microphone passes restlessly from hand to hand, even when you step on stage and his brow smoothes out. You wonder how long that rage will simmer beneath his skin.

Until he can do something about it, a little voice whispers to you with a thrill, watching his receding back.

The stage sweeps you away after that, Chan disappearing into the midst of the others with just one last glance over his shoulder to make sure that you're following. Seungmin replaces him, appearing unobtrusively in your shadow as Felix slings an arm back around your shoulders and bats his hand away from messing with your hair. They flank you until you drift into your position, and then the stage goes quiet so that the music can start again. 

The dance flies by; chorus, verse, bridge, dance break. The fans cheer and chant along as dutifully as they had the first time, but the sound resonates hollow in your chest this time, the faces that you give the camera manufactured rather than brought on by the music. It's hard to forget, now that you know the truth, that those cheers aren't for you; only the boys that surround you, their bodies moving in unison with yours. Part of them, and yet set apart. 

You'd come six years ago expecting to be the jewel in that kind of crown, you think. This crowd has made you the flaw, ugly and unmistakably out of place.

It's a relief when the song ends and you can let go, your shoulders slumping and your chin dropping to your chest as you stare at the floor and try to breathe. A hundred emotions sweep by you, there and then swallowed again by the storm that churns in your stomach; you flinch away from the crowd's laughter at something Han does, and then laugh when Changbin's face appears upside-down in your field of vision, his body contorted strangely in an effort to meet your eyes. There's still something hiding in Chan's eyes and Felix is openly angry, but Minho gives nothing away in the nod he gives you as he passes by. Changbin talks about what to get for dinner on the way back down the stairs, but the words just wash over you; you're not hungry anyway, after all of this, just hollow and restless and tired.

Your third filming trudges by much the same, correcting a small mistake by Han in the pursuit of perfection. The boy looks apologetic as he passes you by, but it's not him or the dancing that you resent. It's just a thing you have to do, until all nine of you are pleased, until you can finally leave that stage and draw the hoodie you'd worn here on a very different kind of morning back over your head and climb into a car to go home.

You don't win any awards. The boys hide their disappointment, but you know it is there. You know, too, where the fan vote went and why that trophy was stolen away from them. 

You're not really sure what anyone expects you to do about it.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

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@keepswingin

[steveseddie]

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

[leighsartworks216]

You're Not A Burden

Zayne x gn!therapist friend!Reader

Based on my own experience as the therapist friend and my struggles with being genuine about my emotions with people close to me ✌️

Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, childhood friends, crying, nightmares

Word Count: 1,517

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Zayne has seen this same pattern ever since you were little; the weight of being the person everyone dumps their problems onto, rants to, leans on no matter how small you may be. It's happened for so long now, he can't remember a time you weren't the one stepping up to bear the brunt of someone else's troubles.

He remembers so vividly one day during recess. Your friend was crying because one of the teachers was being mean and unfair. You held them close, let them cry into your shoulder and blubber about their troubles. And then you went into class with that same teacher, experienced that same cruelty, and held your tongue. It was never about being stronger than anyone else, or that admitting anything was wrong was a weakness; only that admitting anything was wrong would place your troubles onto somebody else.

One time, when his parents were away, he slept over at your house in a pillow fort in the living room. He woke up before you, and you had dry tears on your cheeks.

You take the burdens as easy as you take in a breath of air. Even now, in the middle of your quiet night in, your friend called to rant about their job, their relationships - anything they needed to get off their shoulders. You smiled apologetically at Zayne, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the bedroom to finish the call without disturbing him further.

He understands, better than most, how difficult it is to watch someone suffer, physically or emotionally. How many times had he gone out of his way to ease the burden of his patients outside of medical care? Trying to get a plushie from the arcade for a girl who was too sick to get it herself. Playing chess with a lonely old man, even when it cut into his lunch breaks. But even he has limits to the burdens he carries.

He listens attentively for your voice through the closed door from his seat on the couch. Quiet hums to show you're listening. Muffled words of advice and support. The call goes on for some time, an hour or more, but not once does he hear you talk about your own struggles. Yet, he knows work has been more demanding lately, you haven't been sleeping or eating well, and you were really looking forward to an uninterrupted night in with him - information gathered through observation, more than not.

Not a single word of complaint.

He can't focus on his book, so he sets it aside in exchange for his laptop. The soft clack of keys fills the silence. It nearly drowns out your voice entirely; the typing pauses every now and then to listen when you speak. His work isn't as efficient, so focused on listening for you, but he manages to get through a few emails and a report or two.

When the door opens, he perks up like a dog whose owner just came home. His fingers are still on the keyboard as he watches you come out from the hallway, smiling apologetically once more as you tuck your phone away with a final glance.

"Sorry about that," you murmur as you sit back in your spot on the couch. He closes his laptop and sets it aside. "Lisa's been having a lot of guy troubles lately and just got back from a bad date."

He hums his acknowledgement and turns his body to face you. Cool hands grab yours, holding them in his lap as his thumbs massage into your palms and work out the tension in your fingers. "You didn't say much."

You laugh lightly, as though it's completely normal. As though it should be completely normal. "I didn't want to bother her with my own problems - she has enough of her own to deal with."

"What problems would those be?" he questions. You tense up, like you want to pull away. You don't, but you stare at the ministrations of his hands with a shake of your head.

"It's nothing."

"But if they're problems," he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze, "shouldn't I know about them?"

You glance at him with a grin that doesn't quite meet your eyes, and a slight downturn in your brow. "You're not on duty right now, Dr. Zayne."

He lifts one of your hands to kiss your palm. Your fingers brush his cheek. He leans into them without thought. "I didn't think I had to be to listen to my partner's issues," he shoots back, shooting down your deflection. His voice grows softer. "It's unhealthy to keep negative emotions bottled up. I am always here to listen should you need to let them out."

Something stirs in your eyes. Discomfort, at being called out and exposed. Worry, and fear. You look away again. "I don't want to bother you with that stuff."

"Who said you would be bothering me? I want to hear about the issues you have, however minor they may be." He releases one of your hands to cup your cheek. He directs your face back to him, leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, stealing your ability to look away. Your eyes remain lowered, staring at his nose. "You always carry the burdens of others. Allow me to carry your burdens, before you collapse under the weight."

You're silent. He shifts his fingers slightly, resting his middle and ring finger over your pulse point just under your jaw. Your heart is beating wildly. It stutters, jumps, skips. You inhale softly.

"You..." You shake your head slightly, nose brushing his. Your free hand fiddles with your pant leg. "You don't tell me about the issues you have, either."

He smiles slightly, wryly, as though you've just started trying to deal with a shrewd businessman who can't resist haggling.

"I had a nightmare last night," he admits softly. That draws your eyes up to his, finally. "When I woke up, it felt like I was still in the dream."

"What was it about?"

He gives you a pointed look. You frown. Your hand clenches around your pant leg, like admitting anything about yourself is agonizingly painful.

"I... I haven't been eating lunch during my breaks."

It's barely admitting anything, but he hums his approval nonetheless. "I was in the hospital, but the corridors were dark. I heard your voice echoing down the halls..." Your heart skips a beat in time with your concerned look. "Why aren't you eating lunch?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, hiding from the inevitable disapproval on his face. "I haven't been sleeping well, so I've been sleeping in my car during my breaks... I... passed out once, at my desk, because I was so tired... I don't want to concern my coworkers like that again." You wait a few seconds before cracking your eyes open. Sure enough, it's his turn to frown with worry. He knew you were tired lately, but he hadn't heard anything about you passing out at work. He can only be grateful you weren't out on the field at that time. "What happens next?"

"... I can't find you." His frown deepens, eyes flickering down your face, taking you in. "No matter where I look, you're not there. And when I wake up, it takes a moment for my mind to catch up and realize you're right there beside me."

Neither of you speak. Your pulse is calm now. The dark bags under your eyes concerns him more than ever now. The daze in his eyes when you woke up this morning to find him looking over your face flickers back into memory.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "We'll take our lunch breaks together," he tells you, leaving no room for argument. "The next time you feel faint at work, or too tired to keep going, please tell me."

You nod slowly, silently sealing a promise with him. "The next time you have a nightmare like that, you have to tell me, too."

He nods in return. "I will."

You blink, pausing, waiting for something that doesn't ever come. Waiting for him to decide your burdens are too heavy to bear, or become disillusioned with you now that you're no longer this infallible beacon of strength and dependency. But it never comes. Instead, Zayne strokes your cheek with all the tender patience in the world, rubs his nose purposefully against yours in semblance of a kiss, sits quietly with you with no expectations.

Large drops of water begin to form in your waterline. You swallow, fighting the starting tremors in your lungs. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him, helping you sit in his lap where you hug him around his neck and hide your face in his shoulder.

He kisses the side of your head as your body cries with a practiced silence, rubbing his hand in soothing motions against your back. "You're not a burden for having problems, or for sharing them with others," he whispers. "You don't have to carry everything alone anymore."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one

[littelovelunette]

NSFW ft. Sevika

CW: Sevika G!P, nsfw content ahead, BDSM, CNC

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Big spoon all in nude; Sevika likes her cock pressing against your butt as you both sleep, especially because if you're the one who wakes earlier, you can feel her morning wood hard against your cheeks. If she wakes up first... Get ready for a morning pounding.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Precums A LOT; you get her hard and you see her oozing her precum and it's always so hot to you. It's like her drooling, but with her cock. If you ever tease her with it, she will deny it though.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Sensitive tip and underside; Sevika will squirm when you suck her off and tease her tip a little too much. Her hips will raise off the bed, she'll try to hold back her moans though as she tangles her fingers in your hair and tries to make you suck all of her instead of just teasing her. Babygirl gets miserable :((

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Gets a boner at the worst possible time; You're both baking together? Gets hard. Maybe she just wants your buns? You both outside on a date? Gets hard. Playing poker with you on her lap? She'll get hard.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Didn't stop complaining after Vi kicked her in the nuts during their brawl; Sevika is still mad about the fact that Vi had kicked her in the balls during their fight. She won't let it pass, and you sometimes tease her saying Vi was thinking about Sevika's cock.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Won't have you sleep with it inside; Sevika is stern about it and you know no matter how many times you'll ask her to elaborate, she won't give you a proper reason whatsoever. Her point stands and she ABSOLUTELY won't allow you to sleep with her cock inside.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Prefers feeling you raw but is always stern with protection even when drunk; No matter how drunk or high she'll get, she won't forget to use protection. As of now, she can't imagine little hers or little yous running around, yet.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Barely needs lube because you're so wet for her, will tease you about it; do I need to explain?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ When she spanks you, she'll get hard and you can feel it under her; she spanks you often. When you tease her during her poker games or don't wear panties under your skirt deliberately, she will bend you over and spank you. She prefers to do it with her hand too and most of the times when she's done that, you could feel how hard she was getting. She has a thing for impact play.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Will put it in whenever you're naked and bent even at the most ungodly times just for the hell of it; whenever you both finish having sex and you go and bend to pick your clothes up, you can expect a 2nd round of pounding. She claims you willingly tease her by doing it. But we all know our Sevika is just horny ;)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Doesn't like jerking it if you're not there with her; Sevika says she doesn't like jerking it or fapping if you're not around or with her indulging. Because it feels wrong to be doing that although she would do that if she got way too horny without you around to help but she prefers not to jerk it. Likes having you do that though.

[xoeus]

when the lights dim — oneshot

PREMISE 𓃊 ❝ a love tested by silence and distance, where sunghoon’s presence is all you need to heal, but is it enough to mend what’s broken? ❞

박성훈 x fem reader ꣑୧ angst, unrequited love wc 3.5k

୨୧ when you love someone, you hold on — you fight, you stay, you endure. at least, that’s what you always believed. being with sunghoon felt like second nature, something you never had to question. but somewhere along the way, love turned into something quieter, something heavier. he started slipping through your fingers like sand, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on, he wasn’t reaching back. when does love stop being worth the fight? and more importantly, when is it okay to let go?

the thing about falling in love is that no one ever tells you how much it hurts when it starts slipping away.

you and sunghoon were never the type to have explosive fights. there was no dramatic screaming, no shattered glass, no slammed doors. instead, your love unraveled quietly — like a favorite sweater slowly coming apart at the seams, thread by thread.

you noticed it first in the way he held you. his arms used to be your safest place, warm and steady, but now they felt hesitant, almost reluctant. when you leaned into him, he didn’t lean back as much. when you kissed him, he still kissed you, but the passion felt… different.

less.

at first, you brushed it off. maybe he was stressed. maybe he was just tired. maybe you were overthinking.

but love wasn’t supposed to make you feel like you were begging to be wanted.

the change was gradual, like the slow fade of a once-vivid photograph. he started coming home later, staying out longer, answering texts with half-hearted responses.

“practice ran late”

“got caught up with the guys”

“too tired, maybe tomorrow”

excuses that tasted like lies, even if they weren’t.

you missed him. even when he was right next to you, you missed him.

but no matter how much you ached for him to hold you like he used to, to look at you like you were the best thing in his world, he never did.

one night, you tried. really, really tried.

you made his favorite dinner, set up a movie night, even put on the hoodie he once said you looked cutest in. you wanted to remind him — remind yourself — that you were still here, still fighting.

when he walked in, he barely spared you a glance.

“you’re home late,” you said, forcing your voice to stay light.

“yeah,” he mumbled, toeing off his shoes.

he didn’t ask about the dinner. he didn’t notice the way you had set up the couch just the way he liked it. he didn’t even kiss you hello, like how he used to.

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “i thought we could watch something together.”

sunghoon sighed, rubbing his eyes. “i’m really tired, y/n. can we do this another time?”

another time.

but another time never came.

you stayed for weeks, maybe months, in the limbo of waiting. waiting for him to come back to you, waiting for him to say i love you first, waiting for the ache in your chest to fade.

but one night, as you lay in bed beside him, staring at the ceiling while he faced away from you, it hit you.

you weren’t waiting for him.

you were waiting for the version of him that used to love you properly. the sunghoon who held your hand just because, who sent you texts filled with hearts and dumb jokes, who made you feel like you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

that sunghoon wasn’t coming back.

and loving someone shouldn’t feel like convincing them to love you back.

packing was the hardest part.

not because you had too much to take with you, but because everything in this space had traces of him. the hoodie draped over the chair, the half-used bottle of his cologne on the dresser, the polaroids of the two of you stuck to the mirror.

you stared at them for a long time.

then, carefully, you pulled them down.

“where are you going?” his voice was groggy with sleep, but the moment he saw the bag in your hand, he sat up.

your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “i can’t do this anymore, sunghoon.”

his brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

you let out a breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. “you know exactly what i mean.”

he didn’t say anything.

because he did know.

you waited. you waited for him to tell you to stay, to promise he’d fix things, to reach for you the way you had been reaching for him all this time.

but all he did was stare, lips slightly parted, eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

guilt? regret? relief?

whatever it was, it wasn’t love.

you nodded to yourself.

that was your answer.

walking out of that apartment, out of him, was the hardest thing you’d ever done.

but as the cold air kissed your cheeks and the weight of waiting was finally lifted from your shoulders, you realized something.

it hurt like hell. but for the first time in a long time—

you could finally breathe.

k: i hope this doesn’t flop TT

xoeus ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃 ‎ ‎ ‎ TheXoeusArchive