#that music pause and 2 seconds of silence

[justalittlelilac]

One Day

One day (and a half) until Qiu left Golden Grove and you admitted to being in love with them.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Word Count: 7,211

AN: Hiii, sorry I have been gone for so long. I had some crazy family things happen that are still going on, and it really killed my motivation for this story. However, I really hope you like it!

I recommend listening to "it's ok!" by corook and "Ready Now" by Dodie for this, especially at the end. Also, very loosely "Look To Winward" by Sleep Token, but only the part about cycles in the beginning, haha.

Your bright headlights cut through the winter darkness, sweeping over the front of your house as you rounded the cul-de-sac to park. The white illuminated the shrouded figures resting on your front porch chairs. Qiu and Tamarack. Your stomach twisted and tangled in tight knots, half in guilt and relief, and it pulled tighter with every passing second.

The neighborhood steeped in silence was interrupted by your car door opening and shutting. Snow had coated everything in a soft quilt of white. It muffled every sound, save for the blood rushing in your ears and the way every footfall sounded like glass shattering in the quiet.

Slowly, you approached the front gate to portray some casualness like you had. You winced as it betrayed your arrival with a piercing squeak.

Tamarack lifted her eyes from the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and offered you a quiet smile with eyes that held a cautious hope. On the other hand, Qiu's gaze had been glued on you since your headlights fell over their face. They both reflected an uneasy tension, stiff shoulders, and faces that carried the weight of exhausted relief and lingering hurt.

You came to a standstill in front of the two, nervously picking at your coat sleeve like you'd once done when you were caught doing something you shouldn't

"I didn't do anything." Your whispered voice sounded too loud in the silent, snowy night. You witnessed both of their shoulders relax, even if their faces were intense with concern that caused your guilt to settle in the base of your throat like a dry pill.

"I—I couldn't…" The words died on your lips, getting caught on that too large a pill; truths that were too hard to swallow.

What you said was true.

As you had weaved through the empty streets of Golden Grove earlier that night, your brain was vibrating with the goal of forgetting, escaping, and avoiding. The familiar gnawing ache of self-destruction had coursed through your veins like a welcome poison, your body remembering the feeling like an old addiction. You knew your destination well. Could drive it blindfolded.

The abandoned lumber mill outside town held hundreds of memories of reckless nights and even poorer decisions in its rotting beams and graffiti-tagged walls. The ground there would greet you like an old friend. You could hear the thumping music as you parked your car at the back of the lot, keeping yourself out of the way.

People gathered outside, smoking, their faces lit by the cherry-red glow of cigarettes. Some faces were familiar, while others were new and younger, but they wore the same expressions of practiced indifference you once perfected. It all blurred together—background noise to the growing hollowness inside you.

You sat motionless in your car, hands still gripping the steering wheel to anchor yourself to reality. The static in your head had grown deafening, but beneath it lurked a weird calmness, like the eye of a storm.

You numbly flipped down your visor to double-check your appearance, wanting to utilize the mirror for practicing your smile and getting your armor in place. As you did, a rectangular piece of paper fluttered down like a helicopter seed onto your lap. You paused when you turned it over.

The glossy strip of pictures showed you, Qiu, and Tamarack crammed into a mall photo booth last May. It had been one of the rare moments where everything felt like it used to��laughing so hard your faces hurt, Tamarack reluctantly joining your "Senior Skip Day" antics. In the last frame, Qiu had stuck out their tongue, Tamarack was mid-laugh, and you… You were smiling so brightly it felt like another person entirely.

Your hands returned to the steering wheel, gripping it tighter, steadying yourself as you observed the scene before you. Nothing about this place had changed over the years you'd been coming here. The same broken windows, the same rust-eaten metal. The same faces that had been there for years. The same people engaging in the same behaviors.

The same people who would likely be doing these same things five years from now. Never growing or changing.

But you had changed.

Sitting there, gripping the steering wheel, watching people stumble and laugh their way inside, you couldn’t help but think:

Was this what you wanted?

Something inside you whispered that you didn’t belong even here anymore. It wasn’t the kind of change that came with a snap of fingers, but a slow, dawning realization.

For a long time, you believed this was to be your fate. Running from so many things that you got caught in thick sludge and began to sink. The only rope that kept your head above the surface was the safety in sameness. If too many things changed, what if you sank lower?

What if your head went under and you were left behind? What if you tried, only to drown because you were no longer capable of pulling yourself out?

Someone stumbled past your car, laughing too loudly. The sound jarred you from your thoughts, making you jump slightly in your seat. Blinking away the wetness in your eyes, you watched the person throw their arm around their companion, stumbling away towards the building.

What did you want?

Why did it feel like your only two options were to hide in obscurity in your bedroom, fading into nothing because you felt like it, or to be here because you felt the same? When had living become this binary choice between isolation and self-destruction?

"When did this all get so hard? Why is this so hard?" you whispered to your steering wheel, your voice cracking under the pressure of questions you avoided for years.

You knew with assurance that it had been when Tamarack and Qiu left. You'd convinced yourself that your loneliness was too heavy to share. To divulge your fears and how you were miserable and didn't know how to not be. And the longer you hid in obscurity, the more your mind told you they wouldn't want to hear at all.

And with that burden and hearing how their lives were without you, the more it solidified, the better it would be to be alone.

You didn't know how to be you, but different. You didn't know how to change without the fear of drowning. You were so scared of drowning that it felt like you forgot how to breathe altogether. You didn't know how to be better anymore, without it feeling like you were lying.

This was all you knew. Ending up on the shore, choking on water in a never-ending cycle of avoidance and sinking. Coming back up for air to descend again. A stubborn pattern that was causing slow decay.

And that made your chest burn hot, tears threatening to fall. Because you had to wonder if this was what you wanted, why did you keep glancing at your phone in the cupholder?

Why were you dreading that there'd be a text from your mom, Tamarack, or Qiu, but also desperately hoping there would be one? Why, after everything, did you still want to tell Qiu how much they meant to you?

Staring blankly, eyes red at the steering wheel, you understood. It wasn't the change that scared you so much as failure.

If you tried and failed, things would be too different to return to how they were. But you were already failing—failing Qiu, failing Tamarack, failing yourself. Staying here, sinking into old habits, wouldn’t save you. It would only solidify the loneliness you were so desperate to escape.

Even if it was a losing battle, even if Qiu still decided to forget Golden Grove and you, along with it, you still wanted to reach for this one thing that mattered when nothing else did anymore. Because they were worth it.

They were worth everything. And a part of you whispered that you were worth it too.

You knew you needed to jump that gap. You had to tell them. To say sorry for how you treated them. They may not listen, but it was this thing that you would reach for. It may be the last chance you get.

You wanted to change. You wanted to try.

With shaky hands, you turned the key in the ignition. The headlights flared to life, slicing through the night, and you pulled away from the lumber mill. You oddly felt like you were leaving a piece of yourself behind as the lumber mill faded in the dark. Like leaving a piece that no longer fit, even if there was an empty space now and you weren't sure how to fill it.

The road back felt longer than it should have. You took the back streets, giving yourself time to breathe, to gather the crumbs of courage before you faced the two people who mattered most.

That brought you here, standing in front of the most important people in your life, who you've hurt time and time again. Qiu rose from their chair, their arms crossed protectively over their chest, before they reached out, their hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. Their gaze had no anger, just a sad understanding that made your guilt even heavier.

"Maybe we should move where we can talk more?" Tamarack suggested in a hushed tone.

Her gaze had drifted up, where you could see the warm light from your mother's bedroom window peeking through her curtains. Qiu and you subtly nodded in agreement and stepped off the porch to find a more private place for the three of you.

Qiu's fort loomed ahead as your boots crunched through the snow. Somehow, in the dim light of the moon, the structure looked even more weathered and tired, not unlike yourself. Despite the storms it had gone through, it was still standing.

The three of you halted at the base, knowing you all wouldn't fit in the space anymore. This would be the scene dressing for your confession. Qiu's backyard sat in delicate silence, the kind that only comes about with the soundproofing of snow.

The wind wisped through the evergreen branches surrounding the yard. Your exhaled breaths produced white clouds in front of you. The moon now hung heavily in the sky, making everything shine.

Tamarack and Qiu waited expectantly, and you let out a shaky breath. With trembling hands clenched at your sides and a rolling stomach, you opened your mouth.

"I'm sorry," you began, the words feeling inadequate. You had no idea where to go from there. You felt sick, and everything else seemed trapped in your throat.

"You don't have to apologize," Qiu said quietly. "We're just worried about you."

The words made you tense. You had no idea what they must think of you — how pathetic and childish you must seem. But you knew you would regret it if you didn't speak your truth now, maybe for the rest of your life.

"I know, but I need to. And you both deserve to know why." You swallowed hard. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears. "I–" you paused, taking a breath. "Things got bad again after you both left," you explained. Tamarack and Qui's shoulders fell with concern.

They understood exactly what you meant.

"And I just…I've been having a really hard time with everything. That shouldn't be an excuse to be mean to you guys, though. You're my best friends, and you just want to help."

The words spilled out, and you stopped yourself before you started rambling. "I guess I just miss you both a ton and didn't want things to change. So I was kind acting like an ass. I'm really sorry…"

Your voice trailed off. It may not be a grade-A apology, but it was what you had to offer to both of them. It was genuine and as vulnerable as you could be right now. Suddenly, Tamarack's arms were hugging you tightly.

"I'm sorry, too!" she exclaimed, tears thick in her voice. Looking over her shoulder, you found Qiu's wide eyes, just as surprised as you felt.

"For what?" you both asked in unison. Tamarack released her grip on you to wipe her tears. The moonlight made her red, glassy eyes glisten like rubies.

"I lied to you both," she muttered, not meeting your gazes. My dad didn't actually have an academic convention. I told Granny that so she wouldn't guilt me into staying in Florida," she sniffled. Your expression softened on her. "I just wanted to come home because I really missed you, too."

The admittance made your eyes water just the same, and you found yourself leaning into give her another hug. Qiu joined the embrace with an amused but tender smile, completing the circle that had been the three of you against the world for so long. After a few moments of quiet comfort, you separated, each taking a step back to right yourselves.

"Can we do my sleepover now and forget about all the drama for now? I'm cold and tired." Tamarack admitted with a watery laugh. It was everything you loved about her — her resiliency (except when faced with the cold) and her ability to move on.

You and Qiu laughed and agreed, grateful for the change in atmosphere. Tamarack promptly turned on her heel and marched onwards, leaving new trail boot prints in the snow.

Suddenly, it was just you and Qiu. The moment you'd been craving and dreading. The wind rustled through the trees as you met each other's eyes. Qiu opened their mouth to say something, but closed it with uncertainty written on their face as their brows furrowed.

"Sorry–" you both said simultaneously.

"No, you don't have to be. You–" you tried to start, needing to spit the words out before you lost your spine.

"No, no, I completely get it. I was–" Qiu interrupted, overlapping your words.

You stepped closer, trying to explain, heart in your throat. "You don't understand, Qiu. I—"

"I do though, I was such an asshole and you–" They were still talking, still trying to take responsibility for something that was never their fault. It was just like them. You clenched your fists in subtle frustration, squeezed your eyes shut, and—

"I love you!"

The words burst from you like confetti in a popped balloon. Heavy silence cloaked before you. One could hear a pin drop in the fresh snow if they listened. The words were thrown down like a weight.

You swallowed, unable to keep the fresh tears from gathering in your eyes. Qiu stood motionless, their breath fogged in the cold air between you, mingling with yours in the space.

"I-I'm in love with you," you reaffirmed in a shaky tone. "I love you, Qiu, and it hurts so much because I know I can't keep you. You're so smart and bright. You're going to be something, and I'm not." You sniffed and forced yourself to meet their gaze, even if your words caught in the admission. The fear that had been your constant companion was finally spoken aloud. The words started to come out steadier, though, like a river flowing. You continued on.

"We'll look back at this moment, at all the moments, and we won't be able to sit in this fort anymore, watch movies till 3am, gaze at the stars together. We both know you're bigger than any of that." You paused, trying to rein in your racing thoughts.

"My stupid, pathetic love for this town, because of you being in it, could never and should never hold you here." Qiu stared at you, not moving to interrupt now. You took the opportunity to continue.

"But I'm…so scared," you murmured with a cracked voice. The more profound truth of it all flowed from your lips.

Not because you didn't want to be honest with Tamarack, but because Qiu of all people needed to hear this. You needed to hear it spoken aloud.

"So scared of the future and if this is all I'll ever be, and even more scared of the reality that I've accepted it. That everyone will have moved on and forgotten. That I don't have dreams, and if I did, I'm not even sure I have the strength to go after them."

Qiu's image blurred in your vision as stubborn tears grew in your eyes for the third time that night.

"But…what scares me the most is that one day, I'll look up into the night sky, and it'll mean nothing to me, because the one person who made it mean something, any of this, isn't around," you sniffed, wiping your nose with a bitter laugh at yourself.

"The worst of all is that it's all been my doing. My stupid nonchalance and indifference. My naïve expectation that the world will wait for me." You took a shuddering breath, trying not to think about what came next and to just run head-on into it. "So…if I'm to move on even a centimeter…I have to start here."

Qiu's expression was hard to read, but they gave you a nod of encouragement. Your hands balled at your sides to stop them from trembling. You stood on a thinning line of your current life and everything after. It was time to jump.

"Qiu, I love you. I've loved you forever. I'll likely love you forever." The words began to fall like an avalanche that had been long overdue.

"When you leave and go back to Baxter and all your new friends and new life, I will still love you. When you are so happy being there and you don't even think about me, I will still love you. And ten years from now, when you are telling a co-worker about an old friend you haven't talked to in a decade, I will still love you," your voice broke, unable to hide it now. You squeezed your eyes shut as if to shield yourself.

"I love you…I love you."

Your throat clenched as you repeated those three damning words like mantra. The backyard was silent. You cracked open an eye to find Qiu staring at you with a tender surprise.

"Do you… Do you really think I'm that happy? That I'm happier without you?" Qiu's voice was soft, as if they were making their own confession.

"I'm miserable."

They let out a sad laugh, like that was a joke. "You know that saying, 'The grass is always greener on the other side'? That's what it's been like. I was always chasing that, thinking I'd find what I was looking for if I just was able to get out of Golden Grove."

Qiu paused, and their face became serious, revealing rare uncertainty. "Go somewhere completely different, where no one knew who I was and I could be anyone I want." Qiu looked away, their jaw clenching. "But I got down there and got exactly what I wanted. No one knew who I was, and I ended up falling back into how I used to be — Trying to be what everyone else wanted, just so I wouldn't feel alone."

They fell silent, as if embarrassed by this confession. The realization that Qiu was struggling just as much as you were seemed impossible, yet the truth was written in how they looked at you with such exhaustion that they were trying to hide.

"Then, I'd talk with you and Tamarack on FaceTime and feel more like myself than I did in days. But when the call ended, all that stuff would come back into sharp focus, and I'd just be left feeling alone. I'd end up just thinking about you and home for hours." They looked sheepish, as if revealing this was admitting a great weakness.

"So, I dug my heels in, told myself I was being a baby. That's why I was always so busy…Why I agreed to stay during Christmas break, because they needed me, and I didn't know how to say no again." Qiu closed their eyes with a grimace in self-recrimination.

They'd never spoken so openly about their own feelings in front of you, and you could tell it was just as difficult for them to talk as it was for you. It struck you then that maybe you weren't the only one hiding behind a carefully constructed façade this whole time.

"I know I've been an awful friend." They shrugged, not meeting your gaze. "But part of me figured you were busy with your own stuff and the other part…" they hesitated.

"The other part knew if I hung onto you like that, I would have been on the first flight back home last month for fall break and wouldn't have gone back."

Your eyebrows rose at their words. Your breath caught like the wind around you seemed to have. The small flare of hope lit in your chest needed to be tamped down, lest it burn rampant.

"But?" You asked tentatively.

The air stilled between you two. Qiu looked at you, and suddenly they were moving towards you, their footsteps in the snow purposeful, determined, and so very. And then, in a split second, they had crossed that distance, that gap, their eyes searching yours, their breath mixing with yours in the cold winter air.

Your heart was racing, your mind was screaming for you to move, run, or do something, but you were frozen. Qiu's hand grabbed yours, their touch gentle and grounding.

"But…" they sighed. "What I really want to do, I can't do here." Qiu's face grew determined. "I can't stay here in Golden Grove. I have to do this, and that's going to be hard, but I'd rather do this and know that maybe…," they trailed off again. Qiu lifted their free hand to brush away a tear sliding down your cheek. The touch sent a shiver through you.

"Maybe what?" You asked in a shaky breath.

"Maybe…maybe you can be by my side…even if we're a part. Maybe I can have one of the only things that made me love Golden Grove…"

They gave a self-deprecating laugh, showing a more vulnerable Qiu you were familiar with. "I'm not very good at this. I've never been as great with my words as you have…not for this kind of stuff." Qiu said quietly, dipping their head and shaking it. After a moment, they raised their eyes back to yours, warm as melted chocolate.

"Do you remember when we sat one night and tried to count all the stars?" Qiu suddenly asked. The change of subject made you pause.

"Yeah," you answered quietly. "I said that for every ten we counted, we got a universe point that we could use for something to go right. You said it was dumb," you gave a short smile. Qiu chuckled in response to the memory.

"Yeah…well...I lied," they admitted. You couldn't help but laugh.

"I guess we're all a bunch of liars," you jested. Qiu nodded with their own laugh, brushing a thumb over your knuckle. Only then did you realize you were still holding hands.

"I count them all the time now…I've always counted them," they shrugged, trying to appear casual, but failed miserably.

Qiu took a deep breath before speaking. "I don't know how many points I have now, but when I was younger, I wanted to use them on us always being together. Then, I decided I'd want my 'universe luck points' to be used so that you liked me as much as I had liked you."

They spoke the words with a heavy, weighted tone, but their eyes shone. You could feel your heart stop, thoughts stuttering. You both had been young when you made up the game.

Something to do at night outside or on car rides when bored. You never knew Qiu took it so seriously.

"It was kind of stupid. I hadn't done anything for you to like me or for you to stay my friend. Being able to count wouldn't help…but still, I kept counting as the years went by and…" they trailed once more off before speaking again. "As I got older and we were with each other through everything, I changed how I wanted to cash in on my points."

A soft chuckle escaped them, self-conscious but genuine. "I hoped that changing the wording wouldn't break some universal law, and then it would never happen."

Qiu's hand squeezed yours like that contact gave them the confidence they needed.

"But I started counting, hoping you loved me as much as I loved you. Love me as much as I love you." You couldn't breathe, the world spun as the words settled. Their eyes were so warm, so sincere to you.

Qiu Lin loved you back.

They took another shaky breath before continuing, "I couldn't tell you, though, because at a certain point, I knew I was leaving, that I had to, and I knew you loved Golden Grove more than anything. I'd never be so selfish to ask or so arrogant to assume you would follow me."

Qiu's words were rushed and earnest, tumbling from their lips in a very Qiu-like way. They spoke as if they were afraid that if they stopped, they would never get the chance to say these things again, just like you.

Your heart was in your throat, your eyes wide and hopeful. You wanted to speak and say something, but the words wouldn't come. All you could do was listen and hope that Qiu understood.

"Then, I was gone. I was with Baxter. Everything was a whirlwind. I met Micah and the rest, and they were great. At first, honestly, it felt good to be somewhere where no one knew who I was." Qiu's brow furrowed, their gaze dropping momentarily to the snow between you.

"But then on those lonely nights, I would look up at the same night sky that I knew you probably were, but I couldn't see any of the stars. I never wanted to sit and count more stars in my entire life, and I couldn't anymore. So…" They squeezed your hand.

"I hope I have enough universal points now, because I know it'll cost a lot." They laughed softly. Qiu was then finally quiet, their words exhausted.

The two of you just stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime. Your mouth opened and closed multiple times, trying to find the right response.

"So…what now?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. The question held your uncertainty. All your hope you could muster.

Qiu's gaze softened. "I–I don't know…I guess we figure out what we want, what we really, really want," they said gently.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at their words, at the absurdity of this moment. Here you were, standing in the snow, under the same moon that had shone down on you all those years ago when you began counting stars, and somehow, impossibly, your deepest wish had come true.

"God, we're dumb, aren't we?" you said, shaking your head. "Here I thought I was losing my best friend and the person I love most."

"You're not the only one," Qiu admitted. They squeezed your hand in theirs, their warmth seeping into your skin.

"I thought I had too, and I think I would have if you didn't come here and tell me how you felt." They gave you a soft smile. "You're always braver than me in that regard, y'know." Qiu's eyes danced with amusement, with a fondness that made your heart skip a beat.

"I don't feel very brave," you admitted. The world around you was silent, as if giving you this moment of perfect understanding.

Qiu pulled you into a hug, wrapping their arms around you and holding you close like they had done so many times before, but now held a new significance. You breathed in their scent, the warmth of their body enveloping you.

This felt right, you thought as your body relaxed into the embrace. You didn't want to let go, you didn't want to lose this feeling ever.

"You're so much braver than you think," They murmured before pulling back to look at you. "I don't know what happens now. I don't know what's next, and I don't think any choices should be made tonight. But I know I want to figure it out with you."

They leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering momentarily before pulling away. The world around you remained quiet, continuing as if you both weren't just changed in the best way. Funny how that works.

"I know that I'm in love with you, and I have been since before I could really understand what that meant," Qiu whispered, their eyes locked onto yours, full of a deep and true love. "As long as we have that, we can figure out the rest, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the emotion tightening your throat. They released you with apparent reluctance, stepping back with a soft smile.

"We should probably get back to Tamarack before she comes looking for us."

"Yeah," you agreed, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

The weight of everything that had happened in the past few hours settled heavily on your shoulders, but you felt lighter than you had in months, years even. A weight that hadn't crushed you, but had released you, in a sense.

You and Qiu turned back towards the Tamarack's house, walking side by side, your steps in the snow in sync. You could see the warm lighting illuminating from her home, knowing she was waiting for the two of you. For some reason, it filled you with a complete contentedness.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't dramatic declarations of following each other to the ends of the earth. Of never, ever being a part. No Hollywood clichés of grand gestures and swelling music.

You hadn't needed any of that. Not really. You just wanted your best friend beside you, however they could be. To know you loved them and that they loved you. It was far more valuable than any romantic fantasy.

You would figure it out, everything. You would count the stars and fight for a future you wanted. Moving forward, despite the fear of failure, as long as you were trying and had your people who made trying worth it. It wouldn't be easy or quick, but it would be worth it.

As you glanced at Qiu, whose eyes met yours with pinkened cheeks, you knew it was enough.

It was more than enough.

Epilogue: Four Months Later

The warm air that greeted you was stark as you stepped out of the Prism Vista International Airport. Your jacket already felt too heavy under the California spring sun.

It was still winter when you'd left Golden Grove, but in the 'everything is brown, dead, muddy, and waiting for spring' way. The hustle and bustle of arriving and departing travelers and the chaotic symphony of car horns made you feel suddenly out of place.

But then you heard your name called over the crowd of moving people. You squinted, shielding your eyes from the sun to see Qiu waving their arm to make themselves known. Their face broke into that smile that still made your heart flutter. Seeing them made you feel silly for being so emotional over a simple change of scenery.

As you crossed the lanes, weaving between idling cars, the nervousness building during your flight disappeared. Qiu greeted you with a hug, and you returned with equal fervor, breathing in their familiar scent and letting out a sigh of contentment.

The two of you had started dating after your confessions, which was surprising to exactly no one. Still in that new relationship, figuring it out kind of way. The progression of your romantic relationship slowed slightly due to the long distance.

That's what made this spring break trip so special. You were coming to see their world for the first time, leaving the confines and safety of Golden Grove.

As the two of you separated, you finally noticed the man who'd been standing next to Qiu. He was tall, wearing a tailored purple suit jacket and dark hair, and his face was vaguely familiar despite the years that had passed.

"Long time no see," they nodded, using a smooth voice that sounded like a dog whistle, though it was deeper now.

"Woah! Baxter?" You exclaimed in surprise. He gave a casual smile that had you smiling back.

"In the flesh." He confirmed with a smirk, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Qiu mentioned they needed assistance picking up a friend today, and I was more than happy to oblige them. I'm glad I did."

His eyes held a glint that made you wonder how much Qiu had been telling the former Boy's Club co-member about you. Your eyes bounced between the two, your smile growing wider.

"I'm glad you did too," you replied sincerely.

The rest of the day was a blur as Baxter chauffeured the two of you to Qiu's dorm, which they shared with three other students. Tomorrow, Tamarack would be joining you, but for now, you had time to settle in with your partner.

Meeting Micah had been nerve-wracking, but afterwards, you could see why Qiu had grown fast friends with them. Their kindness and comradery was infectious. Hard to dislike someone who was just so likable and you were thankful that Qiu had someone in Prism Vista they could depend on.

The ragtag group of friends dragged you all over Prism Vista, showing you the campus and city highlights and their favorite food spots. The city was very different than Golden Grove. It was louder, more vibrant, and filled with a diversity of people and experiences that made your hometown seem even smaller in comparison.

However, rather than feeling intimidated, you found yourself curious and interested in the world Qiu wanted to introduce you to.

By evening, the group had brought you to the beach. The sun was just beginning to set over the far-off horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. While the others were hanging out, looking for shells, you found a quiet spot to sit in the sand.

Digging your toes into cool grains, you let the setting sun warm your face. With your eyes closed, you focused on the sensations around you – the gentle crash of waves, the distant calls of seagulls, Qiu's friends laughing down the shoreline, and the salty air filling your lungs.

Even with eyes closed, you still knew it was Qiu as they sat beside you.

"Doing your mindful practice?" Qiu asked, breaking pleasantly through the meditation. Your eyes opened slowly, and you leaned your head on their shoulder.

"Yeah, my goal is to do it once a day while I'm here," you explained with a relaxed hum.

"I'm happy you're clicking with this therapist more than the last," they commented, their tone free of judgment.

"Yeah, me too," You agreed contentedly. You shut your eyes again, letting the feeling of the setting sun on your skin and the sand beneath your feet ground you. You listened to the waves lapping against the shore, the seagulls calling in the distance.

The last four months have surprised you. Finding the right therapist took time, with two false starts before landing on someone who truly understood your struggles. Qiu had been undertaking their own therapeutic journey as well. Together, you worked to understand yourselves better, communicate more openly, and stop hiding behind the masks you'd worn for so long.

It had not been pretty in some instances, and the road was far from done being traversed. There had been difficult conversations, moments of backsliding into old patterns, times when the distance between you felt insurmountable.

Qiu had stayed at Prism Vista for Christmas break, though they'd come home for Christmas Eve and Day, a compromise that had felt like progress for both of you. They were learning to say no and prioritize their needs rather than constantly bending to please others.

You were learning to reach out when the darkness crept in, to take small steps toward a future rather than remaining paralyzed by fear of failure. Now the idea of a future where you weren't hiding behind the safety net of being nonchalant and aloof, and where Qiu didn't feel the need to bend backwards for everyone, wasn't so daunting.

You'd even begun taking a few classes in person this semester, a choice that had allowed you to start making tentative friendships. Small steps, but significant nonetheless. You didn't feel so alone for the first time in a long time.

"I missed you," Qiu's voice broke the silence, their tone gentle and nostalgic.

"Missed you more," you admitted readily with a hum. "Long distance isn't so bad but…okay it really sucks, but at least we get to do stuff like this." You lifted your head from their shoulder to meet their gaze.

The waves lapped at the sand, and the warm air held the promise of summer. Golden hour had cast everything in a warm glow, including Qiu, their eyes sparkling affectionately.

"Yeah," Qiu agreed, their voice wistful.

Their hand reached down and tentatively grasped yours. The weight of it was familiar now and always comforting. You smiled softly, squeezing theirs in response. "I can't believe you and Tam are going to be here all week," they added.

"Right? Mom practically shoved me out the door this morning," you laughed, recalling the memory. "I'm pretty sure she's excited to have the house to herself for a little bit." Qiu chuckled along with you.

Your mom had been more than supportive of your decision to visit. In fact, she'd been your biggest cheerleader, helping you with the logistics and even offering to drive you to the airport. You'd been surprised by her enthusiasm, but grateful nonetheless.

It was a far cry from how things had been before and showed you how relationships could be repaired. The ocean breeze rustled through your hair as you both watched a surfer ride a wave off in the distance.

It felt surreal to you, like a movie scene. The colors were vibrant, the sun reflecting off the water like glitter under a spotlight. You felt Qiu's gaze on you, and your traitorous cheeks blushed.

"What?" you asked, feeling a little self-conscious. They shook their head, a soft smile pulling at the corners of their lips.

"Just happy you're here. And…really proud of you." You felt a swell of emotion in your chest, a mixture of happiness and pride.

Some days were still hard, but you reminded yourself that you had something and someone to fight for. When you messed up, you knew you'd be back on track in no time with the support of Qiu and Tamarack, but especially Qiu.

This person, this wonderful, amazing person who had stuck by you through it all, who loved you. It was almost dizzying. Sometimes you felt so much love for them and couldn't quite understand why you were so lucky.

Someone from behind shouted, pulling you out of your thoughts. Qiu's eyes were still on you, the warmth in their brown irises making your stomach flutter. Their cheeks held the slightest of dustings of a rosy tint.

At that moment, you knew that you wanted Qiu Lin beside you, no matter where you went or how your life looked in 20 or 50 years. The last sun's rays had sunk beneath the horizon, casting everything in a dusky pink glow. The sky was painted in vibrant pinks, purples, and blues, a breathtaking backdrop to the moment.

"Can I kiss you?" Qiu's words sent a shiver down your spine. This was still new and rare.

The two of you shared your first kiss under a snowy sky and a lam post outside their home on the night of Christmas. You were so nervous you thought you were going to throw up. However, seeing how red Qiu's face was gave you reassurance that they were feeling just the same then.

Now under a sun-kissed sky, you nodded, unable to suppress your smile. Qiu leaned in, their lips pressing against yours, gentle and tentative. It sent a spark of electricity through your body. You couldn't help but smile against their mouth, happiness impossible to contain.

You'd missed them, but to be here now, in California, under a watercolor sky— it felt right in a way you hadn't thought possible.

A teasing whistle and a chorus of "ooohs" erupted from behind you, causing you both to jump apart. Micah and Qiu's other friends stood watching the scene unfold, a few recording the moment.

"I'm gonna kill them," Qiu muttered under their breath, but the smirk told you they didn't mean it. Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't stop smiling, your joy too big to be ruined by a little embarrassment.

"Get a room! Not the public beach," a joking voice you knew to be Micah's voice rang out over the beach.

"You guys suck." You called out. It didn't have much bite to it.

"We'll be at the car waiting," another called out before their head of dark red disappeared from view down the beach path leading to the parking lot.

You sighed, knowing you needed to join, but not before stealing one more quick kiss from Qiu.

"Okay, we should go now," you said reluctantly.

"Yeah, let's head over to them," Qiu agreed, though their lingering gaze suggested they wanted to do anything but.

With a final glance at the breathtaking sunset and a warm smile, you both rose to your feet. You reached down to scoop a handful of sand. The grains fell between your fingers, and you watched, mesmerized as they fell back to the beach. It was another memory to tuck away and cherish, even though it was over.

Qiu stood at the top of the slope to the path, hand extended to you, their face relaxed and gazing at you fondly. You took their hand, squeezing tightly, not caring if your palm was sweaty, or maybe it was Qiu's. It was impossible to know.

Things still weren't perfect. Nothing ever is. You were all a bunch of dummies still, trying your best. Tamarack still worried too much, Qiu was too giving, and you were still stubbornly avoidant sometimes, but you'd learned so much in the months since that snowy night.

Grown in ways you hadn't thought possible in the short time. There would be hard days, mistakes, miscommunications, and things would not work out how you had wanted.

Still, in that moment, with the sunset painting a portrait and the sand between your toes, it didn't matter. What mattered was that you would work it out. You would try, and you would work with the rolling waves as best as you could.

And with people like Qiu in your life — people who saw you at your worst and still chose to love you and created spaces where you could always come home to yourself — you knew you could do it. You could face whatever came next.

Counting stars and collecting universe points along the way.

Big thanks to everyone who stuck around to read my first fully finished fanfic! I can't tell you how much your support and encouragement kept me going to complete this. It's been a very hard five months, so to be done had been a relief. I really hope you enjoyed this story and that I did it justice even with the huge gap in posting. Now on to other things in the Our Life fandom!

[lavnder311]

In Another Life, Maybe

Synopsis: Nanami x Reader. breakup, soft tension, soft angst, unresolved feelings. Seeing each other for the first time after breaking up.

—————————————————————————-

Gojo had a way of dragging people out of hiding. Even Nanami.

It was supposed to be a casual get-together—just drinks, light food, a few familiar faces scattered around the low-lit rooftop of his building. Nothing big. Just an excuse for people who used to know each other better than they do now to cross paths again.

Nanami hadn’t expected to see you there.

You hadn’t expected to see him either.

The breeze was mild, laughter floated around you like background music, and there he stood across the space—glass in hand, sleeves rolled up, hair a little longer than before. He looked the same and not the same, like a book you once read every night but hadn’t touched in months.

He noticed you at the same moment you noticed him.

Your breath hitched. His chest rose, almost imperceptibly. You didn’t look away, didn’t smile either.

But neither did he.

It wasn’t awkward. It was… full. Thick with everything you used to say and everything you never could. Eventually, he approached. Of course he did. Nanami wasn’t the type to hide.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice gentler than you’d meant it to be.

“Hey,” he replied. His voice was calm as always, but his eyes lingered just a second longer than they used to. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

You glanced around. “Gojo’s persistent.”

A faint huff. “That he is.” There was a pause then. Comfortable and heartbreaking.

He looked good. Healthier. Worn down a little, maybe. But grounded. Anchored in that life he chose to keep—one you couldn’t quite reach, no matter how hard you’d tried.

You toyed with your glass, thumb tracing the condensation. “You still working missions?”

“Yes,” he said. “Same old schedule.”

You nodded. “Dangerous, lonely, draining… same old?”

He looked at you with those eyes that used to see straight through you. “It’s what I’m good at.”

You gave a soft smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “I know.”

He glanced down, lips pressing into a thin line. There was no malice. No lingering anger. Just that heavy awareness of what was.

“Do you ever regret it?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “Us?”

His jaw shifted slightly. “No.”

You swallowed. “I don’t either.” The silence that followed was more intimate than it should have been. You could still feel what he meant to you—like muscle memory. The way your body leaned toward his without thinking. The way your heart ached a little slower in his presence.

But you had your life now. And he had his. Two lanes running parallel that couldn’t quite merge.

“I still think about you,” he said suddenly, quietly, like it was a confession. Your eyes lifted to his. The city lights painted his profile gold.

“I think about you too,” you replied. “Sometimes I forget I’m not allowed to.”

He looked away, then back, and for a moment you thought he might reach for you. Might take your hand the way he used to, thumb over your knuckles, grounding himself in your warmth.

But he didn’t.

Because this wasn’t a story about what could be fixed. It was just a moment. A sweet, aching one.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured.

“You too, Kento.” And then you stepped away.

Maybe in another life, you would’ve walked back.

—————————————————————————-

A/N: I’m gonna pretend like I wasn’t gone for a few months lol. I also might post a part 2 idk idk idk

[iwtv-az-hours]

Armand: 😭😭😭 I thought I would be able to prevent it, but the coven pulled the big guns on me

it was the vampire samuel with a prop scythe How could I have defended myself Louis oooh how they managed to outthink us

[prentisssbxtch]

An experience.

summary: the woman you slept with the night before, ends up being your boss.

relationship: wanda x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, hits to smut, lil make out, uhh i think that’s it? bad writing <3

this is my first time writing a fanfic so… bear with me

also not proofread !!

part 2

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

waking up confused and disoriented, i looked around my surroundings to see i was in my living room… naked.

i turned to see a naked woman’s back facing me as she lied passed out. i could see she had gorgeous red hair; which was going in every direction possible.

the color of her hair suddenly brought back memories or the night before:

the two of us stumbled through my apartment door before my back was pressed up against it. wanda’s lips never left mine as she gripped my waist, which definitely left bruises.

as her lips moved down towards my neck, i let out a soft moan, gripping her hair tightly between my fingers.

i let out a soft whimper as she nipped my neck. i could feel her lips turn up into a grin before i pulled her head back up to kiss me.

i suddenly snapped back to the present when i noticed the woman on my floor moving. wanda is her name, if i remember correctly.

i quickly pulled the blanket off her body to cover my own. i threw a pillow down to cover her ass, giving her at least some decency.

i wrapped the blanket around my body before standing as wanda began to full awaken.

i moved to stand behind my couch as i watch wanda wake up. she turned her head towards me after a moment of silence.

she has gorgeous eyes

“hey, um i have to be somewhere really soon, so if you wouldn’t mind, uh, leaving… that’d be great,” i said awkwardly, trying to avoid small talk.

“what don’t wanna go for round two?” was her only response, with the most cockiest smirk i’d ever seen.

i felt my eyes widen before quickly recovering, “as great as that sounds, i have somewhere to be. so i’m gonna go to my bathroom and take a shower, and when i come back, you’re going to be gone. okay?” i said as i slowly started backing away towards the bathroom.

she gave a small sigh before standing, completely nude. i quickly turned to give her privacy after being caught off guard.

“uh it was great meeting you…” i paused not wanting to get her name wrong.

“wanda” she said, filling in the blank, while she picked up her belongings.

“wanda,” i said repeating after her as i slowly turned to look back at her. “well, bye.”

was my final response as i turned to leave to the bathroom, again.

——

after my… eventful morning, i quickly rushed through my shower before putting on work appropriate clothes.

i was starting an internship at a law firm here in new york. it was one of the biggest companies in the city, Maximoff Industries.

the fancy name already had my scared, but the fact of a whole new building, which could make or break my career… i felt as if i could throw up at any moment.

i was luckily able to grab a taxi, before having a small panic attack in the car. i put my headphones in, turning on music to hopefully calm my nerves.

it didn’t.

as the taxi pulled up outside the building, i felt as if i was shitting bricks.

i turned to pay the driver before quickly exiting the car.

i slowly walked towards the building, trying to even my breathing as i neared the main entrance.

the second i walked through the door, i was greeted by marble floors with a gorgeous chandelier.

i walked to the front dest asking where to go. she told me all the interns were to go to the 5th floor, where we would meet Ms. Maximoff, the owner of the building.

i nodded my head before saying a quiet thank you. i moved towards the elevator, quickly pressing the button calling it to my floor.

once the doors opened i stepped in, pressing the button for the fifth floor before leaning against the back wall.

suddenly i began to realize i had no idea what any of the maximoffs looked like. they had a very house hold name, everyone knew of who they are. i thought of googling the name before realizing it was pretty pointless. i would be seeing her in person in just a few minutes.

as the elevator dinged, alerting me of my arrival to the fifth floor, i felt my anxiety suddenly jump even higher than before.

which i didn’t think was possible, but clearly it was.

i stepped out as i politely smiled at the people getting in. i saw another front desk for the floor, quickly making my way towards the woman sitting there. she quickly directed me towards a room off to the left, which already had several people sitting around it. i gave a small thank you before walking to the area.

i looked for an open seat before quickly sitting. as time passed more people began to walk into the room. once the clock on the wall turned to 2:30, two people walked into the room.

the first, a tall man with blond hair, slightly blocking the person behind them.

the person being him stepped to stand beside him, i cast a glance to the woman who stepped out. only for my jaw to drop once i realized who it was.

the woman from this morning. wanda.

the man cleared her throat, regaining my attention, “this will be the internship that could potentially make or break your future. you have all been picked on how well you did in school. do not think because you are here, you’re safe of future problems. we will not hesitate to let you go, if we see fit.”

i turned my attention back to the woman standing next to the man, seeing her already looking at me. i could tell from her expression, she too was surprised by my presence. within a blink, she looked completely neutral.

this was definitely going to be an experience.

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

thank you for reading🫶🏻

part two

[whatsupsonnyboy]

the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The first time you and Joe meet, something clicks—quiet but unmistakable. Like the start of something that doesn’t need to be explained. And really, who were you trying to fool?

wc: 7.3K

warning: smut (mdni!!), p in v sex, protected and unprotected sex, fluff, midly slow burn (but not really lol), there's just lots of sweet boy joe and amazing sex

a/n: hey, so as i've already post about, i've been writing a bunch of one shots of how it might feel (in my mind ofc) to be in a relationship with this golden boy... so here it is, the first one. I'll post more eventually, it’s not really a story with parts but more like a collection of scenes that pop into my head. They’re not directly connected, but they all belong in the same universe. Hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏾

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

Just a drink or two. Say hi to Wes. Smile politely, maybe sneak out before midnight with the excuse of a fake early morning.

But then he was there.

You didn’t even notice him at first—just another face in the mix, half-shadowed by the glow of string lights and the low thrum of music. But then he laughed. God, that laugh. Low and rough and golden around the edges. And when you turned to look, really look, he was already looking at you.

That was the first hit. The first crackle of something electric and new.

Wes introduced you. Casual. Effortless. And suddenly you were standing closer than necessary, drinks in hand, eyes locked, trading names like they meant something more.

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option. 

-

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

-

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need. 

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need. 

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear. 

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

- 

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

-

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

-

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

-

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn’t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

-

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face. 

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold.  It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm. 

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”. 

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower���devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

Only answers written on skin, on sighs, on mouths still swollen from too much kissing.

[duvetchico]

25 clips that had us looking like :0

summary it's jimin’s birthday, and what better way to celebrate than by dragging out every single suspiciously couple-coded thing she’s ever done with y/n?

genre crack / fluff overload / lowkey romantic documentary / "they're dating but we’re all playing dumb" energy / yu jimin turns 25

pairing yu jimin x added!member reader

masterlist.

channel: user-duvetchico

[INTRO — 0:00] hey what’s up it’s me again back with another delulu edit that may or may not be grounded in actual real evidence. today we’re counting down 25 moments between our mother jimin and the added member of aespa, y/n, who are just besties except they act like they’re already married. anyways. it’s jimin’s bday so we’re being sickeningly sentimental.

[clip 1 – 0:13] from aespa’s behind-the-scenes vlog at music bank jimin’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall, in full stage makeup but with a sleepy dazed look. y/n walks by and throws her a juice box. “what’s this?” “your personality, because u get grumpy when ur dehydrated.” jimin smiles without looking at her, pokes the straw in, and sips. “love u.”

-

[clip 3 – 0:28] aespa's live chat: “what are you two doing later?” jimin: “cuddling.” y/n, not missing a beat: “duh.” dead silence and then y/n bursts out laughing while jimin just sips her drink and smirks like she got away with murder.

-

[clip 2: 0:44] staff "karina, your mic—" jimin, already walking off “hold on i have to fix y/n’s hair first.” camera pans to her literally babying y/n, fixing her bangs and whispering "there. pretty."

-

[clip 3: 0:56]

aespa's live

comment: “who’s your favorite member in aespa?”

jimin: “obviously the one i sleep next to.”

camera cuts to y/n throwing a pillow at her while everyone else screams.

-

[clip 4 – 1:10] backstage fancam y/n’s adjusting jimin’s in-ears. jimin closes her eyes. y/n says something too quiet to hear, but jimin smiles so wide she almost forgets to go onstage.

-

[clip 5: 1:26]

concert footage during the ending ment, jimin lowkey leans over and whispers something to y/n. y/n nods. jimin kisses her on the cheek. yeah. fans SCREAMED.

-

[clip 6: 1:39] camera catches jimin tracing little hearts on y/n’s arm while she’s talking to staff. y/n doesn’t even flinch. like this is NORMAL.

-

[clip 7: 1:46]

q&a segment question: “who’s the most clingy?” everyone simultaneously: “jimin.” jimin: “i am NOT—” camera cuts to jimin literally holding y/n’s pinky in hers under the table.

-

[clip 8: 1:58]

cafe vlog jimin feeding y/n cake while saying “say ahhh.” y/n: “you’re so annoying.” jimin: “say that again after i just bought you a $7 slice of cake.”

-

[clip 9: 2:12]

idol room game task: “call the person you love the most” jimin immediately dials y/n. y/n picks up like “why are you calling me we’re literally in the same room.” jimin: “bc i love you. duh.”

-

[clip 10 – 2:30] training room y/n’s struggling with choreo. jimin just sits next to her and holds her hand. “wanna try again?” “not yet.” “ok. i’ll sit here with you.” cue soft music and hearts exploding

-

[clip 11 – 2:48] instagram live fan: “what do you like most about y/n?” jimin, looking up: “her heart.” y/n, offscreen: “and my ass right??” jimin: “....also that.”

-

[clip 12 – 3:00] concert footage during aespa’s ment, jimin’s talking, and y/n walks behind her and lightly tugs at the back of her jacket. jimin pauses, leans back a little like muscle memory, and they just stand there like that for 10 seconds before realizing 10,000 people are staring.

-

[clip 13 - 3:10]

random interview

jimin holding y/n’s hand during an aespa interview. she lowkey rubs circles with her thumb. they ask what jimin does to relax. “i hang out with y/n.” and everyone goes “awww” while y/n blushes hard and tries to disappear into the floor.

-

[clip 14 - 3:33]

award show red carpet

they’re standing side by side, hand on lower back, classic pose. interviewer: “you two are very close—any messages for each other?” jimin looks at y/n and just goes: “thank you for existing.” y/n’s face goes FULL red. “bro. you could’ve just said ‘you look nice’ like a normal person.” jimin: “no fun in that.”

-

[clip 15 - 3:49]

aespa behind ep, japan tour

camera pans to jimin sleeping in the van, head on y/n’s shoulder, mouth slightly open. y/n's literally just scrolling through her phone with one headphone in, unfazed.

staff voice (off-cam): “you could move her head if it's heavy.”

y/n: “nope. it’s fine. she only drooled once.”

-

[clip 16 - 4:01]

instagram live

y/n, half-asleep: “jimin just texted me to eat something. do i look like i wanna chew right now.”

chat: “why does she know you haven’t eaten?”

y/n: “bro she tracks me like a damn fitness app.”

-

[clip 17 - 4:10]

airport candid

jimin places her coat on y/n’s shoulders and walks off like nothing happened. y/n stares at the camera like “y’all saw that right.”

-

[clip 18 - 4:18]

concert moment

they pass the mic to y/n to talk. jimin's behind her mouthing every single word she says.

-

[clip 19 - 4:25]

q&a fan event

fan: “describe each other in one word.”

jimin: “mine.”

crowd: “???!!?!?”

jimin: laughs nervously “LIKE—like she’s my member. i mean. like she belongs to the group. yk?”

-

[clip 20 - 4:37]

fan spotted them at a café together

jimin and y/n laughing so loud jimin actually hits the table. y/n wipes whipped cream off her lip and flicks it at her.

-

[clip 21 - 4:49]

award show ending

jimin offers her hand to y/n to help her off stage. doesn’t let go until they reach the dressing room.

-

[clip 22 5:00]

concert ending

they’re waving goodbye. y/n reaches over and links pinkies with jimin. “did you have fun?” “only because you were there.” “gay.” “you love it.”

-

[clip 23 - 5:13]

jimin's birthday at their concert

jimin’s on stage during a concert, gets handed the mic for her birthday. she turns to y/n in the crowd. “thank you for being my person. even when i’m annoying. and weird. and obsessed with you.” y/n shouts something back. jimin laughs and covers her face. “okay stop i’m gonna cry now.”

-

[clip 24 - 5:20]

last night a phone cam video. the members are singing happy birthday. jimin’s about to blow the candles out when she glances at y/n. “make a wish,” y/n says. jimin: “already got it.” y/n: freakin dies

-

[clip 25 - 5:33]

aespa surprise live for jimin

scene opens with aeri filming the cake. arguing in the background. ningning is yelling something about lighting the candles properly. minjeong is just... eating frosting. and then—

jimin walks in, eyes all sleepy but smiling, and y/n’s already standing behind the couch like she’s been waiting for her or some shit. she immediately pulls jimin into a hug, and you hear aeri screaming in the background like “OH MY GODDDD GUYS GET A ROOM.”

they don’t even flinch. y/n’s arms are wrapped around her waist from behind, chin resting on jimin’s shoulder while jimin just leans back into it like it’s second nature. they're swaying. it’s disgustingly adorable.

then jimin turns her head slightly and says (into the mic she didn’t realize was ON) “i told you i only wanted to spend my birthday with you first...”

y/n literally freezes. everyone heard that. the silence was LOUD. ningning drops a spoon.

jimin realizes. blinks. “WAIT—THE MIC—”

minjeong collapses on the couch laughing. aeri is wheezing. live goes mess. jimin turns bright red and tries to play it off like “hahaha i meant like... metaphorically... like you... the fans... plural...”

[OUTRO – 6:00]

anyway. if they’re not dating, then i’m dating them. happy birthday to jimin, aespa’s leader, and certified simp. if they’re not really dating, then i’m deleting this video. but like… i’m not deleting shit. and for y/n.... go give your gf forehead kisses rn or i’ll do it first.

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[w1w2]

Twin

Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 13k

Synopsis: After leaving Jennie before their debut, Y/N never truly moved on. But when she hears Jennie’s latest song, old wounds resurface along with unanswered questions. Will they finally face the past they never truly left behind?

Requested by Anon

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The dim glow of the studio monitors cast long, flickering shadows across the empty room. The only sound was the soft hum of the speakers, filling the space with something hauntingly familiar. Y/N sat motionless before the mixing board, fingers resting against the cool metal fader, her other hand curled into a loose fist on her lap.

A slow inhale. A sharp exhale.

She had produced this track for an artist under SM, a rising soloist with a delicate voice, the kind that carried emotion effortlessly. But no matter how hard she tried to separate herself from it, the song was not theirs.

It was hers.

The chord progression, the way the notes stretched like fingertips reaching for something already gone, the way the vocalist’s voice wavered, just barely, on the high notes. It wasn’t just music. It was a memory.

The kind of song that felt like déjà vu, like standing in the middle of a dream where you already knew the ending but wished, desperately, that this time it would be different.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Y/N allowed herself to sink into it.

And then the chorus hit.

Her breath caught, the sound cutting through her like glass. The ache in the melody, it wasn’t just familiar. It was identical.

Identical to the way Jennie’s voice used to tremble at 2 AM when exhaustion pressed too heavily on her bones. Identical to the way she used to hum mindlessly between practice sessions, back when they were just kids chasing a dream too big for their hands.

Identical to the way she had sounded the night Y/N walked away. A phantom pain bloomed in her chest, sharp and unforgiving.

Jennie.

The name echoed through her mind like an unfinished lyric.

Before she could stop herself, Y/N’s fingers twitched against the console and pressed pause. The silence that followed was deafening. A deep, suffocating kind of silence, the kind that filled the spaces where words were never said.

The kind Jennie had left behind.

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as if it would push back the burn in her eyes. She had spent years perfecting the art of walking away, leaving the past where it belonged.

But some things, no matter how much time passed, never really left.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her pulse still uneven from the song that had been playing just moments ago. The weight in her chest hadn’t lifted, it had only settled deeper, like an anchor dragging her down.

Without thinking, she turned away from the soundboard, her gaze landing on the wooden desk drawer beside her. A familiar habit. A dangerous one.

Her fingers hesitated for only a second before curling around the handle.

The drawer creaked open.

Inside, a neat stack of envelopes lay in quiet confession. The edges were worn, yellowing slightly with age, some folded so many times the creases had nearly torn through the paper. A graveyard of words left unsaid.

Letters.

Dozens of them, written in moments of weakness. Moments when the silence was too loud. When she had wanted to reach out but couldn’t. When she had almost broken her promise to stay gone.

Her fingertips ghosted over the stack, tracing the curves of her own handwriting on the front of each envelope. Always addressed to the same person.

Back then, writing had been the only thing that kept her from drowning. Because if she wrote to Jennie, she could pretend, just for a little while, that Jennie was still listening.

Her hand wavered before settling on the letter at the very top.

The first one.

She had written it the night she left. Alone in a hotel room, the city lights blurring through the rain-streaked window, the world outside moving forward while she sat frozen in place.

She lifted the fragile paper, its corners slightly curled, the ink smudged in places where her hands had gripped it too tightly. Her handwriting was smaller than usual, hesitant. As if even the letters had known they weren’t meant to reach their destination.

But she didn’t need to open it. She already knew what it said.

Jennie, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I need you to know. I never wanted to leave you…

Her chest tightened.

The words had felt like a confession then. Now, they felt like a wound that never fully healed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the letter so tightly it crumpled slightly between her fingers. How pathetic was this? After all these years, Jennie’s name still had this power over her.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. 

Y/N inhaled sharply, stuffing the letter back into the drawer, slamming it shut before turning around. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just been holding the past in her hands.

The knock had barely faded when the door creaked open.

“Y/N, you in here?”

Minhyuk stood in the doorway, a tablet in one hand, a takeout coffee in the other. His usual easygoing expression was tinged with something more hesitant today, like he wasn’t sure if he should be here.

“You didn’t answer my messages,” he said, stepping inside and placing the coffee on the desk. “Figured you were drowning in work again.”

Y/N forced a small smile. “Lost track of time.”

“Figured.” He gestured to the screens. “You working on the final mix for the new soloist?”

“Yeah, just tightening up the chorus.” She reached for the coffee, grateful for the excuse to keep her hands busy. The warmth seeped through the cup, grounding her.

Minhyuk hummed in approval, but then his gaze flickered, just for a second, toward the drawer she had shut only moments ago. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell he’d noticed her tension.

And then, just as she was about to steer the conversation back to work, he said it.

“Oh, have you heard? Jennie Kim is releasing an album.”

Y/N froze, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

Minhyuk didn’t notice, or maybe he did and chose to ignore it. “You must’ve heard about it. Everyone’s been talking about it since Mantra dropped. But there are rumors that the album includes a really personal song.”

Her stomach twisted.

She pressed her lips together, keeping her expression neutral. “Good for her.”

Minhyuk took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. “Looks like it’s gonna be a big one.”

Y/N nodded, forcing herself to appear indifferent. “She always does well.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, but there was something searching in his gaze, something cautious. “It’s just… a lot of people are saying it’s different this time. That it’s, like, deeply personal.” He paused, as if debating whether to say more. “Some fans think that one of the songs is about someone specific. Her ex to be exact.”

The words hit her somewhere deep, but she refused to let them show. Instead, she let out a small, dry laugh. “Fans say a lot of things.”

Minhyuk studied her for a moment longer before shaking his head with a smirk. “You really never crack, huh?”

She only shrugged.

Minhyuk hesitated but didn’t push further. Instead, he tapped his tablet against his palm. “Anyway, we have a meeting in twenty. Thought I’d remind you before you bury yourself in work again.”

“I’ll be there,” she assured him.

With that, he nodded and stepped back into the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar. 

The room fell silent again.

Y/N let out a slow breath, turning back to the desk. Her gaze fell to the drawer, the one that held years of words she never said, years of pain she never let herself feel.

She didn’t reach for it this time.

Instead, she grabbed her headphones and pressed play on the track she had been working on. She drowned out the silence with music.

The track she had been working on filled the studio, soft yet aching, each note stretching like a half-formed memory. It was a good song, melancholic, intentional, but something about it felt unfinished. Like a letter that trailed off before the final words.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes flickering to the coffee Minhyuk had left behind. The steam had faded, but the scent still lingered, warm, familiar. It reminded her of another time, another studio.

A different cup of coffee, set beside a messy pile of lyric sheets. Fingers wrapped around hers, a quiet giggle in the dimly lit room.

"Here, try mine. You’ll like it better."

A decade had passed, but the memory was still sharp. Y/N let her eyes close, just for a moment, letting it pull her under.

And just like that, she was back.

The YG practice rooms were never truly quiet.

Even at 3 AM, the building still pulsed with life. Music drifted through the halls, some tracks half-finished, others playing on a loop as trainees pushed through exhaustion. Sneakers scuffed against polished floors. Distant voices hummed unfinished melodies, notes blending into the steady hum of the air conditioning.

Inside one of those rooms, Y/N sat with her back against the mirror, legs stretched out in front of her, damp strands of hair clinging to her skin. Her limbs were sore, but it was the kind of ache that felt good. The kind that reminded her she was getting closer.

Across from her, Jennie lay sprawled on the floor, arms stretched wide, her chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. She was still catching her breath from their last run-through, sweat glistening at her temples.

“We’re insane,” Y/N muttered, tilting her head against the cool glass. “It’s literally the middle of the night.”

Jennie turned her head, dark eyes glinting under the fluorescent lights. “So? You’re still here.”

Y/N huffed, but a small smile tugged at her lips. 

“Yeah, well. Someone has to make sure you don’t pass out from overworking yourself.”

Jennie grinned, slow and lazy, rolling onto her side to face her. “That’s cute. You think you’re the responsible one.”

Y/N nudged her shin with the tip of her shoe. “Shut up.”

Jennie laughed, that soft, breathy sound that Y/N had grown to love. It wasn’t the polished laugh Jennie used for cameras, nor the teasing one she shared with their members in training. No, this was different, quieter, realer, something only meant for moments like this.

The room settled into silence, the kind that stretched without pressure.The track they had been practicing to had ended long ago, but neither of them moved to play another.

With Jennie, silence never felt empty. It wasn’t the kind that begged to be filled with meaningless words or restless movements. Instead, it settled around them like a familiar melody, unspoken, but understood.

Jennie shifted beside her, pushing herself up onto her elbows, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling. 

"Do you ever think about it?"

Y/N turned her head slightly, studying the way Jennie’s expression softened in thought. "Think about what?"

Jennie let out a slow breath, her voice quieter now. "The future. What it’s going to be like when we debut."

Y/N smirked, tilting her head. 

"When, huh? Not if?"

Jennie turned to her then, one brow arched, eyes sharp despite her exhaustion. "Are you planning to fail?"

Y/N chuckled, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "Fair point."

Jennie rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the small smile playing at her lips. "Come on, just humor me."

Y/N sighed, leaning her head back against the mirror, pretending to think. “Alright. Let’s see… We debut, obviously. Become the biggest girl group in Korea. You’ll be the ace. Rap, vocals, visuals, everything. I’ll be the chaotic fan favorite.”

Jennie let out a quiet snort, shaking her head in amusement. 

"Obviously."

Y/N’s grin widened. "We’ll travel the world, win Daesangs, perform at Coachella… make history." She said it like it was inevitable, like the universe had already carved their names into the stars.

Jennie’s smile softened, the teasing glint in her eyes fading into something quieter, something more fragile. She hesitated, just for a second, before murmuring, "Together?"

Y/N’s breath caught.

It was one word, simple, almost careless. But it wasn’t casual. Not when Jennie was looking at her like that, like the answer meant everything. Like Jennie was asking about more than just debuting.

Y/N swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. The air between them felt heavier, warmer, charged with something unspoken.

She wet her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Together.”

Jennie held her gaze for a second longer before dropping her head back against the floor with a soft sigh.

“Good,” she whispered.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Their bodies were exhausted, but their hearts felt light. They were young, stupid, reckless, and completely convinced they could take on the world.

The countdown to debut should have been the most exciting time of their lives. Instead, it was suffocating.

Every morning began with a weigh-in. The number on the scale determined everything, how much they ate, how much they trained, how much they were worth in the eyes of the company. If it wasn’t low enough, there were consequences. Extra hours of cardio. Meals taken away. A warning that they were replaceable.

“Idols don’t have baby fat,” the trainers would sneer. “You either lose it, or you lose your spot.”

Y/N quickly learned how to quiet her hunger, how to sip on ice water until the gnawing in her stomach became something distant, something easier to ignore. Jennie was better at pretending it didn’t bother her, but Y/N saw the way she gripped the sink each morning, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

Then came the rehearsals.

16-hour training days that stretched long into the night. Choreographers drilled them relentlessly, barking corrections that burned like lashes across their skin.

“Again. Again. Again.”

It didn’t matter if their legs shook from exhaustion, if their bodies screamed for rest, they weren’t allowed to stop. Mistakes weren’t tolerated. Trainees who couldn’t keep up disappeared without warning.

Evaluations were worse.

Every month, they stood in a cold, silent room while executives picked them apart like livestock at an auction. Their singing, their dancing, their faces, their bodies, everything was up for scrutiny.

“Your voice lacks color.” “Your expressions are lifeless.” “Your thighs are still too thick.”

Each critique carved into them, piece by piece, until they were hollow enough to be filled with whatever the company wanted them to be.

Privacy was a luxury they no longer had. Cameras watched their every move, managers monitored their diets, and every word they spoke felt like it could be overheard. They weren’t just trainees, they were investments, carefully molded into perfection. People stopped seeing them as girls with dreams and started seeing them as future idols, marketable and polished.

At first, Y/N convinced herself it was all part of the process. The exhaustion, the hunger, the bruises, just stepping stones on the path to success. Endure it now, and the reward will come later.

Jennie believed that, too.

“It’s just for now,” she’d murmur against Y/N’s temple in the quiet hours of the night, when the world outside the practice room ceased to exist. “Once we debut, it’ll get better.”

In those stolen moments, half-asleep, bodies aching, they allowed themselves to dream. They whispered about the future, about the world tours they’d conquer, the awards they’d win, the music they’d make together.

"Just a little longer," Jennie would say, fingers brushing against Y/N’s wrist, grounding them both. "We’re so close."

And Y/N wanted, desperately, to believe her.

But it didn’t get better.

The closer they got to debut, the worse it became. Training days stretched into sleepless nights, their bodies pushed beyond their limits, their minds fraying at the edges. Hunger settled in their bones, exhaustion blurred the weeks together, and there was no room to stop, no space to breathe.

Speaking out wasn’t an option. Complaining wasn’t tolerated. Refusing wasn’t allowed. Instead, they were met with the same cold reminder.

“Do you know how many girls would kill for this opportunity?”

So Y/N forced herself to keep going. She swallowed down her doubts, shoved away her exhaustion, ignored the nagging voice in her head that whispered, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

And then the rumors started.

Trainees gossiping in hushed voices, stolen glances from staff members, managers suddenly checking their phones more often when Jennie and Y/N were around.

At first, they ignored it.

Rumors were always circulating in YG. Someone was dating. Someone was getting kicked out. Someone had secretly undergone plastic surgery. It was just noise, the kind that came with living under constant surveillance.

But this time, the whispers followed them wherever they went.

“Did you hear?” “I thought they were just close, but…” “They’re reckless. Don’t they know how strict the company is?”

Jennie brushed it off, insisting it would pass. But Y/N saw the way she glanced over her shoulder more often, how her fingers hesitated before reaching for Y/N’s hand when no one was looking.

Then, the instructors started watching them more closely.

At first, it was just glances, lingering a second too long, a shift in tone, corrections that felt more like warnings. Then, it became something else. Their critiques grew sharper, no longer about technique but about image. Something had changed. Someone had been watching.

One night, as they were gathering their things after practice, a voice cut through the air.

"Jennie. Y/N. The executives want to see you."

A slow, sinking feeling settled in Y/N’s stomach, heavy and inescapable.

They knew.

The office was eerily silent when they stepped inside, the kind of silence that made it impossible to breathe. A long table stretched before them, lined with YG’s higher-ups, their faces blank, detached, impossible to read. The air was thick with something unspoken, pressing against Y/N’s ribs like a weight she couldn’t shake.

Jennie sat beside her, back rigid, hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles turned white. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them had to.

One of the executives leaned forward, threading his fingers together, his voice slow and measured, as if he were delivering nothing more than a routine business report. "We’ve been hearing things."

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, the cold weight in her stomach turning to ice.

"Things that cannot be tolerated."

The words were devoid of emotion, as if everything they had given, the sleepless nights, the injuries, the sacrifices, meant nothing in the face of company policy. It didn’t matter that they had spent years molding themselves into perfection, shaping every breath, every movement, every thought to fit into the carefully curated image of an idol.

As if they were disposable. As if they hadn’t bled for this dream.

"You know the rules."

No dating. No distractions. No personal lives. The meaning was clear. Idols belonged to the company. Not to themselves.

Jennie inhaled sharply beside her, the sound barely audible, but Y/N could feel the way she tensed, her fingers twitching slightly before curling into fists.

She already knew what they were going to say, but still, when the words came, they hit like a knife straight to the gut.

"End it."

Jennie didn’t move. She didn’t argue, didn’t beg, didn’t fight, not here, not in front of them, but Y/N could feel the way her body locked beside her, the way her breath turned unsteady, the way her silence screamed louder than any words ever could.

"If this continues, there will be consequences."

It wasn’t a warning. It was a command.

Silence stretched between them, suffocating, unyielding. Y/N forced herself to lift her gaze, to meet their eyes even as her throat burned with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

Debut or love.

They weren’t allowed to have both.

The practice room was empty, yet the air felt thick, pressing down on them like a weight neither of them could shake. The mirrors stretched endlessly around them, reflecting back the ghosts of everything they had been, everything they were about to lose.

Jennie sat cross legged on the floor, her head bowed, strands of dark hair falling over her face like a curtain. Her hands were clasped in her lap, fingers curled too tightly, as if she were trying to hold herself together. Y/N stood a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, but it did nothing to stop the unraveling.

It was almost cruel.

This room had been their sanctuary once. The place where late night practices blurred into whispered dreams, where exhaustion faded into laughter, where stolen moments made all the suffering feel worthwhile. Now, it would be the place where it all ended.

Jennie exhaled slowly, but Y/N could hear the tremble in it.

"Stay with me."

The words were soft, barely more than a breath, but they struck like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

Y/N’s hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to stay. God, she wanted to.

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t keep starving, breaking, hiding. Couldn’t keep swallowing herself whole just to fit inside someone else’s mold. Couldn’t keep hoping for a future that had never really been theirs to begin with.

Jennie lifted her gaze then, eyes glossy, filled with something raw and desperate.

"Just a little longer."

Her voice cracked, splintering at the edges, and Y/N felt something inside her shatter along with it.

That was all Jennie had ever asked of her. Just a little longer. Just a little more pain. Just a little more sacrifice. Just a little more of herself.

But what was left of her to give?

Jennie was built for this world. Born to endure. Made to shine. She could withstand the pain, the hunger, the scrutiny, because she saw something beyond it, something worth all the suffering. Y/N didn’t. Not anymore.

Her throat tightened. She forced herself to swallow, to breathe, to push past the ache clawing at her ribs.

"I can’t."

Jennie flinched, a sharp inhale, like she’d been struck.

Silence stretched between them, heavy, unbearable. Y/N’s body screamed at her to take it back, to say anything to ease the hurt in Jennie’s eyes, to promise that they would find a way to survive this.

But Jennie said nothing.

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to fight, to beg, to convince Y/N to hold on just a little longer, but the words never came. Slowly, her shoulders dropped, her fingers loosened, her posture crumbled just enough for Y/N to see the heartbreak bleeding through the cracks.

And Y/N knew.

Jennie would never beg. Not for this. Not even for her.

Even with unshed tears clinging to her lashes, Jennie was still Jennie Kim. Poised, composed, unshakable. The girl who was meant to stand beneath the brightest lights, adored by millions.

Y/N had never felt smaller. She took a step back. Then another.

Jennie’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move. She wouldn’t stop her. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she loved her too much to make her stay.

At the door, Y/N hesitated. She looked back at the girl who had been her best friend, her first love, her home. She wanted to say something, anything, to make this hurt less.

But there was nothing.

So she turned and walked away. Jennie didn’t call after her.

The memory lived in the back of her mind, untouched for years, buried beneath time and distance. But some things never truly fade. Some moments linger, surfacing when least expected, like now, as she stood in her apartment, heart pounding, breath unsteady.

Y/N wasn’t running. Not really.

She told herself that over and over again as she threw a few essentials into a duffel bag, grabbed her headphones, and booked the earliest train out of the city. This wasn’t avoidance. It was just… space. A temporary retreat. A weekend to breathe.

But even as the train pulled out of Seoul Station, she could still feel it, the weight of the day pressing against her chest, the buzz of the city trailing after her like a shadow. It was inescapable.

Jennie Kim had finally released her first full-length solo album, and the world was losing its mind.

Seoul had been unbearable today, an electric storm of flashing billboards, trending hashtags, and endless conversations orbiting around one person. It didn’t matter where she went, studios, streets, every screen, every voice, every radio station played the same name on repeat.

Jennie. Jennie. Jennie.

The Jennie Kim. Global icon. Record breaking artist. The kind of star who didn’t just shine, she burned, leaving an imprint on everything she touched.

The album had dropped at midnight, and the industry had erupted.

Critics were already calling it a masterpiece, the kind of project that defined not just a career, but an era. Fans flooded social media, dissecting every track, every lyric, every hidden meaning buried in Jennie’s music. Industry giants were hailing it as one of the most important albums of the decade.

Y/N had spent years in the industry herself, just on the other side of it. She knew exactly what today meant.

And she wanted no part of it.

For years, she had kept her head down, working behind the scenes as a producer, crafting music for idols who still had stars in their eyes. She had built a name for herself in a different way, one that didn’t demand cameras flashing in her face, one that let her create without suffocating under the expectations that came with it.

She had done everything right. She had moved forward. She had left that life, that dream, that person behind.

And yet, no matter how much distance she put between herself and the past, some things never really let go.

So she left.

Booked a train ticket to Busan, let Seoul shrink behind her, let the rhythmic hum of the tracks drown out the noise in her head. Maybe, if she was lucky, a different sky, a different city would quiet the ache that still refused to fade.

The waves stretched lazily toward her feet before slipping away again, their rhythm steady, hypnotic. The scent of salt lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of grilled seafood and coffee drifting from the boardwalk behind her. Somewhere in the distance, the city hummed, soft, unobtrusive, distant enough to fade into the background.

Busan was quieter than Seoul, but even here, life pulsed on. Couples wandered along the shore, their laughter carried by the wind. A few kids chased each other near the water, their shrieks of joy rising over the waves.

Y/N stayed where she was, hoodie pulled low over her face, sneakers half buried in the cool sand. She had been sitting here for hours, watching the sky melt from soft blue to gold, then to dusky pink.

Her phone lay beside her, screen dim, playing through an old-school R&B playlist. The kind of music that had always been a comfort. Something soft. Something familiar. Something that didn’t hurt.

Ashanti’s voice drifted through her earbuds, blending seamlessly with the crash of the tide. She wasn’t really listening. The songs bled together, fading into the background, nothing more than a quiet hum to fill the silence.

She let her mind drift, let the wind pull at the loose strands of her hair, let herself breathe. For the first time in a long time, there was nothing pressing down on her chest.

And then.

"It’s like I’m writing a letter And I put in a twelve-ounce bottle of Heineken…"

Y/N’s breath stilled. 

A quiet tension gripped her muscles before her mind could even process why. Something about the voice, the melody, the way the words settled in the air around her, it struck like a presence she hadn’t expected, hadn’t prepared for.

Then, recognition crashed into her, swift and unforgiving.

Jennie.

She jolted upright so fast that her hands slipped against the sand, sending grains spilling over her jeans. Her heart pounded as she fumbled for her phone, barely registering the cold metal beneath her fingers. The screen lit up in the dimming light, and there it was, staring back at her.

twin – JENNIE

The world tilted slightly.

Of all the songs in the world, of all the tracks that could have shuffled into her playlist, it had to be this one. Out of the millions of possibilities, it had to be her.

Jennie’s voice poured through the speakers, smooth and deliberate, carrying a weight that settled deep in Y/N’s chest. There was something sharp beneath it, something quiet and unrelenting, threading itself between her ribs like a whisper she couldn’t ignore.

"I didn’t leave ya, I still see ya When I’m bumping Ashanti, yeah, on the beach, yeah."

A slow, unsteady breath left Y/N’s lips, but it wasn’t enough to steady her. The air caught in her throat, tangled somewhere between disbelief and something heavier, something dangerous.

Her grip tightened around the phone, fingers pressing into the edges as if grounding herself would make a difference. But the truth was, it wouldn’t. Because this wasn’t just a song. It wasn’t some distant, abstract heartbreak ballad written for a faceless love lost to time.

It was them.

Every lyric, every pause, every aching note, it was a story, and she was in it. Jennie wasn’t just singing about the past. She wasn’t just weaving a melody out of old wounds and untold confessions.

She was remembering. She was reliving it.

And now, so was Y/N.

Y/N’s nails dug into her palm, the sharp bite of pain a desperate attempt to keep herself anchored, to keep the past from crashing into her all at once. It was a losing battle. The memories rose too fast, too strong, slipping through the cracks she had spent years sealing shut.

She had told herself that she won’t think about that night anymore, that time had softened it, blurred the edges, made it something distant, something she could acknowledge without feeling.

But music had a way of unearthing things.

And this wasn’t just music.

The practice room flickered to life behind her eyelids, the weight of silence pressing down like it had all those years ago. The air had been thick, stifling, full of things neither of them knew how to say. Jennie’s voice had been so small, so unlike her usual sharp confidence, just a whisper, but it had wrecked her.

Stay with me.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could erase the memory, as if she could unhear the way Jennie’s voice had cracked, as if she could unfeel the unbearable pull in her chest that had begged her to say yes.

But she hadn’t.

She had walked away.

And now, years later, sitting on a quiet beach miles away from the life she had once fought to escape, it didn’t matter how much distance she had put between them. The ache still lived inside her, dormant but never gone.

She had left Seoul to avoid this, to escape the inevitability of Jennie’s voice reaching her, pulling her back into a storm she had spent a decade outrunning.

And yet, here she was, sitting on the sand, staring at a name on her screen, heart breaking open like it was that night all over again.

The ocean stretched endlessly before her, waves lapping in a steady rhythm, unbothered, indifferent. She wished she could feel the same. But no amount of distance, no amount of salt air, could drown out the weight pressing against her ribs.

Two more days. That’s what she told herself. Just two more before she returned to Seoul, to reality, to the mess she had abandoned in her wake.

She should have known better.

Because the past had a way of finding her, no matter how far she ran.

The message came on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday, arriving with the kind of casual audacity that only Wendy and Irene could manage. Y/N had been lost in work, headphones slipping from her ears as she focused on layering harmonies, smoothing imperfections, and details only she would notice. It was muscle memory by now, adjust, refine, perfect. A process that left little room for distractions.

Her phone vibrated against the desk.

She ignored it at first, fingers still moving over the controls, mind still tethered to the track. But the messages kept coming, insistent, persistent. With a sigh, she reached for her phone, expecting nothing more than another dinner invite, another inside joke.

Group Chat.

Wendy: “Guess who has an extra VVIP pass for The Ruby Experience?”

Y/N frowned, the words not quite sinking in at first. The Ruby Experience. She had heard the name countless times in the past days, but never aloud, never in direct relation to herself. The realization settled slowly, creeping in at the edges before striking all at once.

Jennie’s concert.

The first solo concert. The one that had sold out in minutes. The one that was already being hailed as historic before the stage lights had even been tested. The one the entire industry had been waiting for.

A second message followed before she could even process the first.

Irene: “No excuses. You’re coming.”

Wendy: “It’s been years, Y/N.”

Years.

The word lingered longer than it should have, wrapping around her like an unwelcome echo.

She should say no. She wanted to say no. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a response forming on instinct.

Y/N: “I don’t think,”

Another message cut her off.

Irene: “You owe me dinner if you decline.”

Wendy: “And drinks.”

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Cowards. They weren’t even pretending this was about the concert itself. They weren’t pushing just because it was an event, they were pushing because of her.

Because no one had to say Jennie’s name for her presence to be felt. Because no matter how much time had passed, Jennie Kim’s name still carried weight in her chest, still felt dangerous in her mouth.

Like something sacred. Like something broken. Like something she had never really learned to live without.

Y/N: “Fine. But if it gets weird, I’m leaving.”

Her fingers hesitated for the briefest second before pressing send, but it was too late. The message was out, irreversible, the decision made. And yet, as the confirmation flashed on her screen, a sharp knot twisted in her stomach, the finality of it settling in too quickly, too heavily.

She told herself it was just an event. Just one night. A fleeting moment in a crowded venue, nothing more.

But deep down, she knew better.

Because the past had never been content to stay buried, especially not when Jennie Kim was a part of it.

The venue pulsed with energy, an undercurrent of anticipation vibrating through the walls. Even from the seclusion of the VIP lounge, Y/N could feel it, the unmistakable electricity of a sold-out arena, the collective breath of thousands waiting for one woman to take the stage.

Ruby’s signature red bathed the space in a warm glow, a stark contrast to the sleek black leather couches and glasses balanced on polished tables. The industry’s elite moved around her, exchanging handshakes and half-empty compliments, but Y/N barely heard them.

She tried to focus on Irene and Wendy’s conversation, nodding at the right moments, laughing when expected. It should have been easy, pretending, performing. She’d spent years perfecting the art.

But then, the sound of her name, spoken with a mixture of disbelief and something softer, made her shoulders stiffen.

"Y/N?"

She turned.

Rosé stood just a few feet away, a champagne flute hanging loosely from her fingers, forgotten. Her blonde hair framed her face in soft waves, and despite the dim lighting, there was no missing the flicker of recognition in her gaze.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Years.

That’s how long it had been since they had last stood face to face. Since they had last spoken without a stage, a screen, or a continent between them. But there was no hesitation in Rosé’s expression. No bitterness. Just quiet surprise.

"You’re here," she said, as if confirming it for herself.

Y/N swallowed, forcing a small, knowing smile. "So are you."

Rosé let out a breath, shaking her head with a quiet huff. "Flew in from LA yesterday. There was no way I’d miss this."

Of course not. 

This was Jennie’s night, the kind of moment no one who had ever truly known her would dare to miss, and they both understood that without needing to say it.

Rosé studied her for a moment, head tilting slightly, something curious, maybe even cautious, flickering in her eyes.

"I didn’t know you’d come," she admitted, her voice softer now, like she was searching for something unspoken in Y/N’s expression.

There were countless ways she could answer, a hundred variations of the truth sitting on the tip of her tongue, each one easier than the one before. But in the end, honesty slipped through before she could stop it. 

"Neither did I."

Rosé stilled, lips parting just slightly, something shifting in her gaze, not quite surprise, not quite understanding, but something close to both. Y/N hadn’t planned to be here. She had spent years avoiding moments like this, convincing herself that distance was the only thing keeping her upright.

And yet, despite every reason not to, she had come anyway.

A beat passed, the noise around them fading into something distant, inconsequential. Then, as if remembering herself, Rosé straightened, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You know, I was going to say something smug about how you finally decided to show your face, but…" She hesitated, eyes softening. "I’m just glad to see you."

The sincerity in her voice caught Y/N off guard, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She exhaled, looking down briefly before meeting Rosé’s gaze again.

"Congratulations, by the way."

Rosé blinked, caught off guard for just a second.

"For Rosie," Y/N clarified, her voice even, measured. "And for APT."

For a moment, Rosé said nothing, but something flickered in her expression, first surprise, then warmth, settling into something quieter, something understanding.

"You kept up."

Y/N didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to. The silence between them spoke louder than any words could, carrying years of history, of distance, of things left unsaid.

Slowly, Rosé’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her voice light but edged with something fond. "You’re still terrible at pretending you don’t care."

Y/N exhaled, rolling her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. She shook her head, already regretting this conversation. "Shut up."

Rosé chuckled, and just like that, the years between them felt a little less heavy. There was still distance, still space carved out by time and choices, but in this moment, neither of them were looking at the past.

Only at what remained.

The moment the lights dimmed, the stadium roared to life. A wall of sound crashed over Y/N, the force of it rattling in her chest, reverberating in her bones. It wasn’t just excitement, it was worship. The kind of adoration reserved for legends.

Thousands of voices called her name.

"Jennie! Jennie! Jennie!"

The ground vibrated beneath her feet, the sheer magnitude of it swallowing the VIP lounge in its wake. And then a single note cut through the chaos.

Low. Resounding.

The stage bathed in red, and Jennie rose.

She emerged from the floor in a slow, deliberate ascent, bathed in crimson light, a vision against the darkness. The opening chords wove through the air like a spell, wrapping around the crowd, pulling them into her world.

The moment she lifted the mic to her lips, the stadium erupted again, the sound near deafening.

And still, she remained untouched by it.

Effortless. Untouchable. A force of nature.

From the lounge, Y/N sat frozen.

She had told herself she was prepared for this. That she was here as a producer, an industry professional watching a fellow artist perform. It was just a concert. Just music.

But as Jennie moved, fluid, commanding, every step measured, every glance deliberate, Y/N felt the slow, creeping realization settle deep in her stomach.

She wasn’t ready.

Not for this. Not for the way Jennie’s voice curled around the lyrics, each note rich and powerful, each song a declaration of who she had become. Not for the way she owned the stage like it had been built for her.

And certainly not for the way she still looked like the same girl Y/N had once loved.

And lost.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the glass in her hands. She forced herself to focus on the technicalities, the impeccable production, the seamless transitions, the live band swelling beneath Jennie’s vocals.

But it didn’t help.

Not when the stage lights cast shadows along Jennie’s face in a way that felt achingly familiar. Not when the rasp in her voice dragged up memories Y/N had spent years trying to bury.

Jennie was everywhere.

In the way the crowd moved in unison, hanging onto every syllable she uttered. In the way the cameras captured the curve of her smirk, the flicker of something dark and playful in her eyes. In the way she carried herself, not as an idol, not as a performer, but as someone who knew she had already won.

This was the Jennie Kim the world saw. Untouchable. Limitless. A star so bright it was impossible to look away.

But Y/N knew better.

She knew the Jennie behind closed doors. The one who had once held her hand like she was afraid to let go. The one who whispered secrets into the hollow of her throat late at night, voice small and uncertain. The one who had begged her to stay.

Y/N blinked, inhaling sharply, pushing the memory away before it could fully form.

She was fine. She had to be.

This was just music. Just a concert. Nothing more.

And yet, as Jennie’s voice carried through the air, wrapping around the stadium like something tangible, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, she had already lost all over again.

It should have been over.

The hardest part was over, song after song, each a reminder of everything Jennie had become, everything she had achieved. Y/N had watched from a distance, hands curled into fists beneath the table, heartbeat steady even when it shouldn’t have been. She had endured the spectacle, the flashing lights, the deafening cheers that followed Jennie’s every move.

She had made it through. 

But then, the arena went dark.

A hush swept through the crowd, anticipation thick in the air. Even before the first note played, something inside Y/N twisted, coiling tight like a premonition she wasn’t ready to face. The silence stretched, unbearably long, until a single beam of light pierced through the darkness.

Jennie stood alone.

Gone was the grand production, the dancers, the elaborate staging that had framed her for the past hour. Now, it was just her, a lone figure bathed in silver, shadows stretching long behind her. No distractions. No escape.

Y/N barely had a moment to exhale, to convince herself that it was over, that she had made it through the night without falling apart. 

But then, the first few notes filled the stadium.

Soft, slow, unmistakable.

Her entire body tensed, breath stalling in her chest as a sharp, invisible thread coiled tight around her ribs, pulling mercilessly. She knew this melody. She knew it in the way one knows an old scar, in the way a phantom pain lingers long after the wound has closed.

No. 

Not this song.

Not the one that had been theirs before either of them had the words to admit it. Not the one that carried every memory she had tried to outrun.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails pressing hard against her palms, as if she could ground herself, as if she could stop the way the past was crashing over her like a tidal wave.

The crowd erupted in recognition, thousands of voices gasping, screaming, chanting Jennie’s name. But Y/N barely heard them. The first lyric was already slipping through the air, delicate yet devastating.

"It’s like I’m writing a letter…"

It hit like a fist to the ribs. Her nails dug into her palms.

Jennie’s voice carried through the vast arena, rich and aching, wrapping around every syllable like a confession. This wasn’t just a song. It never had been.

Y/N had spent the past week trying to avoid it, switching the radio station, leaving cafes when it played, pretending she didn’t recognize the melody. But here, now, there was no running.

Her lungs tightened, her body refusing to move, as if any small motion would shatter the fragile hold she had on herself.

Jennie stood beneath the spotlight, singing their story to an audience that would never understand what it meant. The lyrics unraveled between them, each word unearthing things Y/N had buried deep, late night conversations whispered between shared breaths, fingers laced together beneath trembling city lights, the weight of a promise that had never been kept.

"I didn’t leave ya, I still see ya..."

A flicker of something passed through Jennie’s expression.

She wasn’t just performing. She was remembering.

The weight of it hit Y/N all at once, a force so sudden and overwhelming that it felt like the air had been stolen from her lungs.

This wasn’t for the fans. It wasn’t for the press or the charts. No, this was something else entirely, something raw, something intimate, something meant for one person alone.

For her.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the roar of the crowd, the lights, the thousands of eyes watching Jennie pour her heart into every note. A hand brushed against her arm, Wendy, a quiet attempt to steady her, but the touch barely registered. Y/N was already slipping, already spiraling, already being pulled back into a place she had sworn she would never go again.

The memories bled into her vision, sharp and vivid, slipping through the cracks she had tried so desperately to seal. Jennie laughing, head thrown back, warmth curling at the edges of her smile. Jennie whispering her name like it was something sacred. Jennie standing in the practice room, eyes wide, voice breaking on the words asking her to stay.

Her throat burned.

She clenched her jaw, willing herself to keep it together, but it was impossible when Jennie stood there, putting every ounce of herself into a song that had never stopped belonging to them.

The final chorus rose, a wave of sound crashing over the arena, but it was Jennie’s voice that cut through everything else. It wasn’t perfect, not in the way it usually was. There was something raw in it, a slight tremble hidden between the notes, a crack so faint that most wouldn’t notice. But Y/N did.

She felt it like a ripple in her chest, a pull deep in her ribs, as if the weight of Jennie’s voice alone was enough to unravel something she had fought to keep buried. It was in the way Jennie held herself, poised, effortless to anyone who wasn’t looking too closely, but Y/N saw the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of emotion in her gaze, the way her fingers curled ever so slightly around the microphone like she was holding on to something unseen.

And in that instant, every carefully constructed lie Y/N had told herself over the years began to crumble.

The distance she had put between them, the silence she had forced herself to accept, the belief that time would dull the ache, it had all been for nothing. Because no matter how far she had run, no matter how much she had tried to convince herself that she had moved on, the truth was right there, woven into every note Jennie sang.

Jennie Kim had never let her go.

The realization struck hard, pressing against her ribs, making it difficult to breathe. Y/N’s fingers tightened in her lap, nails digging into her palm, as if grounding herself could stop the way her pulse pounded against her skin. The weight of it was suffocating, terrifying, undeniable.

And worst of all, it wasn’t one sided.

Because as much as she had wanted to believe otherwise, as much as she had tried to move forward, as much as she had convinced herself that she had done the right thing, her body betrayed her. Her heart, hammering against her chest. Her hands, trembling where they rested. Her eyes, locked on the woman she had spent years trying to forget.

She had never let Jennie go either.

And now, with the music still ringing in her ears, with the memories clawing their way back to the surface, she wasn’t sure she ever would.

Y/N sits stiffly on the couch, fingers curled around the glass in her hands, the condensation damp against her skin. The ice has melted, pooling around her fingertips, but she barely notices. Her grip is tight, almost too tight, as if the glass is the only thing anchoring her in place. Around her, the room hums with energy, laughter, clinking drinks, the lingering excitement that always follows a concert of this scale. Voices rise and fall in waves, but they feel muffled, like she’s submerged underwater, like she’s observing the scene from behind glass rather than truly existing in it.

Irene and Wendy are still buzzing, animated in their conversation, their voices threaded with unfiltered joy. They’re already making plans, talking about heading backstage, about their turn to go see Jennie, about how incredible she was tonight. Y/N should join in, should laugh along, should pretend that she belongs in this space. Pretend that being here doesn’t make her feel like she’s standing at the edge of something dangerously steep.

She should go with them.

She should walk into that room, lift her chin, and pretend that time hasn’t twisted things between them. That she isn’t haunted by the past. That Jennie’s name doesn’t taste like nostalgia and regret every time it passes through her lips.

But the thought of it, of stepping into the same space as Jennie, of seeing her up close, of hearing her voice directed at someone else, warm and familiar, like Y/N was never a part of it, makes something in her stomach twist so violently she feels almost sick.

“I’ll stay here,” she says, forcing a smile that feels too tight, too rehearsed. “You guys go ahead.”

Irene hesitates. Wendy’s brows knit together. They don’t buy it.

“You sure?” Irene asks, already glancing toward the entrance leading backstage. “I mean, we can all—”

“I’m fine,” Y/N cuts in, light and easy, as if this is nothing. As if she isn’t unraveling at the edges just thinking about what waits on the other side of that door. She waves them off before they can argue, pasting on a look that she hopes is convincing. “Really. Go.”

They exchange a look, clearly unconvinced, but eventually, they relent.

Y/N watches them disappear into the crowd, their excitement carrying them forward. She waits, stomach tight, pulse steady and controlled. She keeps her posture relaxed, keeps her gaze focused on the swirl of bodies moving around the lounge, keeps herself still just long enough to be sure they won’t turn back.

Backstage is alive with the high of the concert, the air electric with celebration. The energy is infectious, staff members exchanging high-fives, dancers still breathless and exhilarated, the lingering echoes of the final song reverberating in their bones. Jennie should be basking in it, soaking in the afterglow of another unforgettable night.

“Y/N was here.” Rosé’s voice is quiet, almost careful, but it cuts through the noise like a blade.

Jennie freezes.

The world around her distorts, the sounds, the movement, everything suddenly muffled as if she’s been thrown underwater. Her pulse slams against her ribs, erratic and unsteady.

The words take a moment to register, but when they do, they land like a punch to the gut.

“What?” The word barely makes it past her lips.

Rosé looks at her, gaze searching, cautious. “She was here,” she repeats, voice gentle but firm, as if she already knows the impact this is about to have. “I saw her at the lounge. She didn’t come backstage, though. I think she left.”

Left.

Jennie swallows hard, but her throat is suddenly dry, the weight in her chest pressing down with something sharp, something almost unbearable. Y/N was here. She was here, in the same crowd, in the same space, breathing the same air. And she left.

Y/N left.

Jennie doesn’t remember making the decision to move. One second, she’s standing there, frozen, heart stuttering in her chest. Next, she’s pushing past people, slipping through the sea of bodies with single minded determination. Someone calls her name, congratulatory and bright, but she barely hears it.

There are things she’s supposed to do, press photos, a post-show debrief, a room full of people waiting to celebrate. But none of it matters.

She doesn’t care. She needs to know.

Her body moves on instinct, urgency propelling her forward, past the dressing rooms, past the equipment cases, past the dimly lit hallways that stretch toward the exit. Every step feels too slow, every second a widening gap between her and the answer she’s chasing.

She doesn’t stop to think. Doesn’t stop to consider what she’ll say, what she’ll do, if she even has the right.

She just runs.

The hallway is quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet, the kind that settles gently, that allows space to breathe. No, this quiet is sharp, heavy, pressing against Y/N’s skin like an unseen force, wrapping around her throat, making each breath feel just a little too shallow. The muffled hum of the arena lingers somewhere in the distance, but here, in this dimly lit corridor stretching toward the exit, there is nothing but the sound of her own footsteps.

She moves quickly, purposefully. One step, then another. Just a little further. She tells herself she won’t look back.

She almost makes it.

"And after all this time, you can’t even come say hi to me?"

The voice slices through the silence, smooth but edged, laced with something unmistakable, hurt, disbelief, something dangerously close to anger.

Y/N stops.

Her breath stutters, chest tightening as if invisible hands have reached inside, curling around her ribs. Her fingers twitch at her sides, a reflex, a tell.

Slowly, because she knows she has no choice, she turns.

Jennie stands a few feet away, still in her stage outfit, the remnants of performance clinging to her in the form of sweat-dampened hair and the subtle rise and fall of her breath. The stage lights may be gone, but they might as well still be shining on her, because she looks stunning, untouchable, every inch the Jennie Kim the world adores.

But Y/N doesn’t see the idol.

She sees the girl beneath it, the one whose eyes burn, dark and deep and brimming with something unspoken. The weight of that gaze settles over her like a storm, pressing against every carefully constructed barrier, seeping into the cracks she thought she had long since sealed shut.

The air between them is thick, charged, unstable. Years of silence, of distance, of unfinished conversations stretch out between them, coiling tight like a wire ready to snap.

Y/N swallows hard. Forces her spine to stay straight, her face unreadable. Tells herself to stay composed, to keep the past buried where it belongs.

But Jennie isn’t letting this go.

Not this time.

Y/N exhales sharply, pressing her nails into her palms as if the dull sting can ground her, keep her steady against the storm building in front of her. She forces herself to meet Jennie’s eyes, even as every instinct screams at her to look away.

"What do you want me to say?" she finally mutters, voice tight, brittle.

Jennie laughs, but there’s no warmth in it, just something hollow, something sharp enough to cut. "Maybe start with why you even came," she says, tilting her head, her expression unreadable. "If you were just going to leave again, why bother?"

"It was a mistake," Y/N blurts out, too quickly, too defensive. She hears it the moment it leaves her lips, the way it rings false, and from the flicker in Jennie’s gaze, she knows Jennie hears it too.

Jennie’s jaw tightens. "Right," she echoes, voice quieter now, but somehow heavier. "A mistake."

The word lingers between them, bitter and unforgiving.

Jennie shakes her head, her jaw tightening as something dark flickers across her face. “You always find a way to leave,” she says, her voice steady, but there’s something raw beneath it, something that cracks at the edges. “You show up just long enough to remind me you’re still out there, and then you disappear again like none of it ever mattered.”

Y/N flinches.

Because it’s not fair, but it’s not wrong either.

"It’s not like that," she says, but even she can hear the weakness in her own voice.

"Then tell me what it’s like," Jennie presses, stepping closer. The hallway feels smaller now, suffocating, as if the walls themselves are caving in. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like running away."

Silence.

Y/N’s breath shudders out of her. "I didn’t—"

"Coward."

The word is soft, almost a whisper. But it cuts deeper than any scream ever could.

Y/N’s chest tightens, a fresh wave of something painful curling in her stomach. She should leave. She should end this before it spirals into something neither of them can take back.

Jennie’s gaze shifts, just barely, something unreadable flickering in the depths of her eyes. And when she speaks again, her voice, her voice is different. Softer. Frayed at the edges, laced with something dangerously close to breaking.

"Do you know why none of my relationships ever worked out?"

Y/N doesn’t answer. She doesn’t think she can.

Jennie exhales sharply, shaking her head like she hates herself for saying it, like she already knows it’s too much, too late.

"Because none of them were you."

Y/N stops breathing.

Jennie lets out a quiet, shaky laugh, one that barely conceals the weight of the words that just shattered the last of the distance between them. "You’re my first love, Y/N. The one that still lingers in my heart. The one I never really let go of." Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t stop. 

She can’t.

"Every time I tried, I just ended up leaving them. Because they weren’t you."

The confession settles between them like shattered glass, too sharp to step over, too painful to ignore.

Y/N’s throat closes, something clawing its way up her chest, something she doesn’t know how to contain.

Because this? This is what she always feared. This is what she never wanted to hear. Because there is no fixing this.

And they both know it.

Jennie isn’t done though.

She takes a step forward, and suddenly, the air shifts, crackling with something volatile, something just waiting to combust.

"You don’t even care, do you?" Jennie’s voice trembles, but not with sadness, this is something else. Something furious. "You stand there, acting like this is nothing to you. Like you didn’t just rip open a wound I’ve spent years trying to close."

Y/N swallows, but the lump in her throat refuses to go down. "I never wanted—"

"Don’t," Jennie cuts in, eyes burning. "Don’t tell me you never wanted to hurt me. You knew you would. You always knew. And you still left."

Y/N flinches, but Jennie presses on, the words tumbling out now, reckless and unrestrained. "Do you even feel anything, Y/N? Do you even care that I spent years wondering what the hell I did wrong? Why nothing was enough for you to stay?"

"Jennie"

"Do you know what it’s like to love someone who won’t even look at you?" Jennie’s voice breaks, but she doesn’t stop. She’s too far gone now. "To spend years convincing yourself they were just a dream, just a stupid, reckless mistake you were never meant to have?"

Y/N’s breath shudders out of her.

Because she does know. She knows all of it. She just never let herself say it.

"I looked at you," Y/N says, voice barely above a whisper. "More than you ever knew."

Jennie lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Right. And that’s supposed to mean something now? After everything?"

Y/N exhales, shaking her head. "I didn’t know how to stay."

Jennie’s eyes darken, disbelief flashing across her face, her frustration spilling over, unchecked. “Didn’t know how?” Her voice is sharp, cutting through the space between them like a blade. “That’s bullshit. You knew how to leave. You knew how to disappear. You just never tried to stay.”

She takes a step closer, the weight of years pressing down on every word. “We could’ve found a way. We could’ve figured it out, been together without them knowing. But you never even gave us a chance.”

Y/N clenches her jaw, her own frustration rising to the surface, raw and messy. "You think it was easy for me?"

"You made it look easy," Jennie spits back, arms crossing over her chest, a poor shield for the way she’s unraveling. "You walked away like I was nothing. And now what? You show up after all these years and act like you’re some tragic ghost, like we’re just unfinished business and not a fucking disaster you caused?"

Silence.

Heavy. Unforgiving.

Y/N inhales sharply, hands shaking at her sides. She could say something cruel. She could end this right here, throw up every wall she’s spent years building. But none of that would be true.

Jennie exhales, some of the fight leaving her, but none of the fire. "Would you have stayed if I asked you to?"

The words cut through the tension, raw and unguarded.

For a second, Y/N almost lets herself lie. She almost reaches for something soft, something that could make this hurt less.

But there’s only one truth left to give.

"You did."

Jennie goes still. Her lips part slightly, like she wants to argue, like she needs to, but the answer is already there, carved into the silence between them.

She had asked and Y/N still left.

Jennie blinks, and for the first time since this confrontation started, the fight drains out of her. She looks at Y/N like she’s seeing her for the last time.

Maybe she is.

The silence between them is suffocating. Final. Jennie doesn’t stop her this time. Maybe she’s too tired. Maybe she finally understands that Y/N won’t stay.

This time, she doesn’t even ask her to.

Y/N walks away, and Jennie doesn’t watch her go. She just stands there, rooted in place, listening to the quiet click of the door shutting behind Y/N, the finality of it settling into her bones like an ache she’s long since learned to live with.

The gift bags sit untouched in the corner of Jennie’s house, an afterthought amid the soft glow of the dimmed lights and the quiet hum of the city beyond her windows.

The night stretches on, heavy and unrelenting, pressing into the spaces between her ribs, curling around the edges of her exhaustion. The adrenaline that had once surged through her veins, keeping her upright, keeping her moving, has long since faded. The roar of the crowd, the flashing stage lights, the euphoria of performing, it’s all nothing more than a distant echo now, swallowed by the vast, suffocating silence that fills the room.

And yet, despite the quiet, despite the stillness, something lingers, something she can’t shake. A weight in her chest, a dull ache that refuses to ease, a ghost of something she thought she had buried years ago.

She tells herself it’s nothing. That she’s just tired, that the concert drained her, that the remnants of the night are clinging to her skin like dust. She tells herself she won’t look inside the bags, that there’s nothing in it worth her attention, nothing worth losing sleep over. Just gifts. Just the usual things. Just meaningless tokens of appreciation, wrapped up in pretty paper and tied with silk ribbons.

And yet.

The hours drag on, the stillness stretching thin, fragile. She remains on the couch, motionless, her mind a battlefield of warring impulses. She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t want to look. But the longer she sits there, the harder it becomes to ignore the way her gaze keeps drifting to that corner, to the forgotten bags sitting patiently in the shadows, waiting.

Eventually, she exhales, a slow, quiet surrender, and reaches for it.

Her fingers brush over the smooth edges, slipping past expensive perfumes, delicate jewelry, handwritten notes from friends who adore her. Everything feels distant, impersonal, nothing more than what she expected. 

But then. Something different.

Not the weight of a designer box or the crispness of a formal letter. Something softer, thinner. Her brows knit together as her hand moves instinctively, fingers finding the texture of old paper tucked between folds of tissue. She freezes.

A thin envelope, barely noticeable, buried beneath the rest.

Her breath catches in her throat.

The handwriting, she recognizes it instantly.

A sharp, involuntary inhale.

Her chest tightens, her grip faltering as a tremor runs through her fingers. It feels impossible, like some cruel trick of the universe, like a fragment of the past has broken through time and landed in her hands. 

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares down at the letters scrawled across the front, her pulse pounding so loudly that it drowns out everything else. And for a long moment, she doesn’t dare touch it. Because she knows. She knows what this is. Knows who it’s from.

And she knows that whatever’s inside will change everything.

A wound that had never quite closed threatens to split open all over again. She tells herself to put it down, to forget she ever saw it, to leave it buried in the past where it belongs. But her body betrays her.

Her fingers tighten around the edges.

And, against every ounce of self-preservation left in her, she unfolds the paper.

Jennie reads it once.

Then again. And again.

Her eyes trace the familiar curves of the handwriting, the ink pressed into the page by a hand she once knew better than her own. The words blur together, not because she doesn’t understand them, but because she understands them too well. They pull her under, deeper and deeper, until she’s drowning in memory, past and present colliding so violently she can no longer tell them apart.

She grips the letter tighter, as if holding it firmly enough might stop the ache rising in her chest, might keep her from unraveling completely. But it doesn’t. It only makes it worse.

Because this letter, it’s not just words on a page. It’s Y/N. It’s every unspoken conversation, every almost, every what if. It’s the version of them that never got the chance to exist, a piece of a love that never truly ended, just stretched thin over the years, frayed at the edges but never severed.

Her vision blurs, but one sentence stands out through the haze, clear and sharp as a blade. The last one.

"We will make up, make things right when we get older."

A promise. A belief that there would be more time, that eventually, one day, they would find their way back to each other. That what was broken could be fixed, that the love between them could withstand the years, the distance, the choices that pulled them apart.

Jennie’s breath shudders out of her, ragged and uneven, as if her body is struggling under the weight of the truth she’s tried so hard to avoid. Her fingers tremble, the delicate edges of the letter crinkling under her grip, but she doesn’t loosen her hold. She clutches it to her chest, pressing it against her heart like it’s the only thing keeping her together, like if she holds it tightly enough, she can stop herself from falling apart completely.

Like if she holds it tightly enough, maybe, just maybe, she won’t feel the empty space Y/N left behind. Maybe it won’t hurt so much. Maybe she’ll stop waiting for a door to open that was locked long ago.

But the truth settles in her bones, heavy and unyielding. There is no making up. No fixing things. No someday.

Only this. Only a letter written in a time when they still believed in second chances.

The night outside is still, heavy with the kind of quiet that settles deep into your bones. The city is alive somewhere in the distance, but in Jennie’s apartment, there is only silence.

Only the sound of her own breathing, uneven, too fast.

She sits on the edge of her couch, shoulders hunched forward, elbows pressing into her knees, the letter clutched so tightly in her hands that the paper is starting to curl beneath her fingers. The ink has smudged slightly from the heat of her grip, but it doesn’t matter. The words are already burned into her mind, impossible to forget.

A bitter laugh bubbles up in her throat, but it dies before it can escape.

Older was supposed to mean a future. A someday. A second chance waiting on the other side of all the things that had once stood between them. But the years had passed, the world had kept spinning, and Y/N had never come back.

Jennie had spent so long trying to forget, burying the ache beneath sold out shows, flashing cameras, voices calling her name. She had told herself it didn’t matter anymore, that some things are meant to be left behind.

But now, here it is. Unfolded in her hands. A wound torn back open, and Y/N is gone. Again.

Jennie exhales sharply, chest tightening as she stares down at the letter like it might suddenly rewrite itself, like it might change into something she can handle. But it doesn’t.

She feels sick.

Not because of what Y/N wrote. But because Y/N never said it. Never gave her a chance to fight. Never told her the truth when it mattered, when it could’ve changed things. She had just… left.

Like she always did.

Jennie squeezes her eyes shut, jaw locking, trying to breathe through the frustration clawing at her ribs. It doesn’t work. The silence is suffocating, pressing in on her, thick with all the words Y/N never said.

Then, before she can stop herself, before she can think, she grabs her phone. Her fingers move on instinct, opening her contacts, scrolling fast. She already knows what she’s looking for, who she’s looking for. But the moment she reaches the end of the list, her stomach drops.

Y/N’s name isn’t there.

Of course, it isn’t.

Jennie swallows against the lump in her throat, gripping her phone tighter. It shouldn’t surprise her, not after all these years. But somehow, it does. Somehow, the reality of it, the fact that Y/N is so far removed from her life that she doesn’t even have her number anymore, hits harder than she expects.

Her heart pounds in her ears, too loud, too much. She stares at her screen, fingers hesitating over the empty space, over nothing.

Then her jaw clenches.

Fine. There’s another way.

She flicks back to her contacts with renewed purpose, scrolling with intent. She stops at one name, barely even registers the hesitation before she presses call.

The line rings once.

Twice.

A rustling sound, then a groggy voice, hoarse with sleep, thick with confusion. “...Hello?”

Jennie doesn’t waste time. “Irene.” Her voice is sharp, controlled, but there’s a demand woven into it. A raw edge she can’t soften. “Give me Y/N’s address.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Irene sighs, and Jennie can already hear the exhaustion in it. “Jennie, it’s late.”

“I don’t care.” She’s already standing, already grabbing her keys, yanking a hoodie over her head with jerky, impatient movements. She feels like she might combust if she stays still. “You knew, didn’t you? About the letter.”

Another pause. Irene doesn’t confirm it, but she doesn’t deny it either. That’s all Jennie needs to know.

She exhales harshly, fingers tightening around her phone. “Then you know I need to see her.”

A long silence stretches between them. Jennie waits, her pulse drumming against her ribs.

Then, finally, Irene speaks. Her voice is careful, slow. Like she’s bracing herself for what might happen next.

She gives Jennie the address, and Jennie doesn’t thank her. She doesn’t even say goodbye. She’s already moving, already shoving her feet into her shoes, already reaching for the door.

Outside, the city waits. But Jennie isn’t thinking about the streets stretching ahead of her, or the distance between them.

She’s only thinking about one thing.

This time, Y/N doesn’t get to run. This time, Jennie won’t let her.

Y/N stands by the window, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the endless sprawl of the city. The lights shimmer below, stretching far beyond what her eyes can take in, a thousand lives moving at once, laughing, talking, living.

But inside this apartment, there is only silence.

She should feel lighter. Should feel relief. The letter is gone now, sitting in the hands it was meant for. The weight of it, the words she never had the courage to say out loud, should have lifted.

But it hasn’t.

If anything, it’s heavier now, sinking deep into her chest, pressing against her ribs like something clawing to get out. Because no matter how many times she tells herself she did the right thing, that she walked away so Jennie wouldn’t have to, so Jennie could move on, so Jennie could hate her and finally be free of this. It still feels like she’s suffocating.

Her gaze flickers toward the table, where her phone sits untouched, the screen dark. She hasn’t checked it in hours.

She could. She could pick it up, unlock it, see if there’s a message, a missed call, something.

But she doesn’t.

Maybe because she already knows the truth. That there won’t be anything there. That this is done. Or maybe, just maybe, because she’s afraid that there will be something.

That Jennie won’t let her go so easily.

She exhales sharply and turns away from the window, blinking against the burn in her eyes. Enough. She made her choice. She has to live with it.

Her feet move slowly, dragging across the wooden floor, each step heavier than the last. She is so, so tired.

But the night doesn’t stay silent for long.

The sharp, unrelenting knocks cut through the silence, sending a jolt straight down Y/N’s spine. The sound echoes through the apartment, rattling through the stillness, too loud, too sudden, too desperate.

She freezes.

The air shifts, thickens, pressing in on her from all sides. The walls feel smaller, the floor unsteady beneath her feet. Her heart lurches against her ribs, hammering so hard she can hear it in her ears, a frantic, uneven rhythm.

Another knock, louder this time, harder, shaking the door on its hinges. There is no hesitation in it, no patience left.

Her breath catches. She doesn’t need to check. Doesn’t need to move, doesn’t even need to think. She already knows who it is.

The knocking comes again, forceful, demanding, a silent refusal to be ignored.

And that’s when she hears it.  A voice. 

Low. Rough. Angry.

“Y/N.”

Not a question. Not a plea.

A demand.

Her breath catches, her fingers twitching at her sides. She could pretend she isn’t here. Let Jennie stand outside, let her knock until she gets tired, let this moment slip away like all the others.

But she knows Jennie. Jennie doesn’t let things go.

The space between them feels thin, like something fragile holding back the inevitable.

Y/N forces herself forward, each step slow, uncertain, the air growing heavier the closer she gets to the door. Her fingers wrap around the handle, tight, too tight. She hesitates. Just for a second.

Just long enough to wonder if she’s making another mistake.

She pulls it open, and there she is. Standing in the dim glow of the hallway, hoodie rumpled, hair messy, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Her hands are clenched at her sides. Her eyes are dark, stormy, burning. But it’s not just anger. 

It’s betrayal. It’s hurt. It’s something else, something deeper, something breaking wide open right in front of Y/N’s eyes.

Jennie swallows hard, her jaw tight, the muscles in her throat working like she’s trying to hold something back. Her breath is sharp, her hands shaking where they curl into fists.

For a long, stretched moment, neither of them speak. The air crackles, charged with everything unsaid, with every word that was written in ink instead of spoken aloud.

Jennie exhales, sharp and unsteady.

“Say it to my face.”

A challenge.

And Y/N? Y/N doesn’t know if she can.

[philistiniphagottini]

Take Me in Your Arms Part 2

Thank you to everyone who helped me come up with this second list. I appreciate the help and the love that you have shown to this silly little series. I really hope you enjoy the second part. Comments and reblogs would be highly appreciated if you want me to do a third part :D

cw. fluff, established relationships, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

Featuring: Topaz, Wriothesley, Zhongli, Boothill, Aalto, Yinlin, Gepard, Jiyan & Xiao

Part 1

Topaz:

Topaz invited you to morning tea, consisting of hot drinks and expensive, delicious pastries. You joined her everyday around the same time, without fail. You found her sitting at the table, a piping hot cup of tea in one hand while she looked at the digital tablet placed in front of her. Without even casting a cursory glance in your direction, she pats the empty spot beside her, inviting you to sit down and join her for your regular tea time break. You accepted her cordial invite and went to sit next to the empty spot beside her, completely missing the mischievous little smirk that painted her lips when you looked away from her. A small squeak was wrenched from your plush lips as she snagged her arm around your plump waist and drew you into her warm lap, your thick thighs draped over hers as she held you close. 

“Topaz” you sputter, swallowing around the nervous lump in your throat as you squirm in her lap. “I’m too heavy to be sitting on you.”

Topaz shot you an incredulous look. “Nonsense” she scoffed. “You’re not heavy at all.”

Her words made your cheeks burn with the force of a raging sun and you struggled to come up with a coherent response, pressed so close to her that you could smell the scent of her flowery perfume lingering on her skin. Her grip around your soft waist was firm, indicating that she wasn’t going to relinquish her hold on you easily as she reached for one of the delicious cakes sitting by its lonesome on the table. 

“These treats are delicious, you have to try them.”

She offered it to you, holding the sweet treat against your lips until you were tempted to have a bite. You spent the rest of the morning like that, having Topaz feed you delicious cakes while you sat pretty in her lap. Numby eventually decided to crawl into your lap, allowing you the honour of pampering him with ear scratches and chin rubs as you enjoyed your snack time with your girlfriend. 

Wriothesley:

You were sitting in Wriothesley’s office while he filled out a stack of paperwork. You were sitting on his couch, flipping through a fantasy novel while the phonograph softly played music to fill the void of silence. Your fingers tapped along the spine of the book to the gentle sway of the music. You were so engrossed in your reading that you didn’t notice that Wriothesley had stopped writing until you were engulfed in his shadow. You paused in your reading, casting your wide, doe eyes up to him with a hint of curiosity sparkling in their depths. A small smile played on his lips as he politely bowed before you, a hand placed over his heart as he offered his other hand out to you.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, a hint of playfulness to his voice. 

Your cheeks felt warm as you awkwardly cleared your throat. “I have two left feet” you explained. “I’ve never been taught a proper waltz.”

Wriothesley’s patient smile still tugged at the corners of his lips as he wriggled his fingers, trying to entice you to take his hand. “I can teach you. Just stand on my feet and I’ll do the rest.”

His suggestion makes you quickly shake your head from side to side, a timid look passing over your features as you shyly avert your gaze. “I’ll just squish your toes” you lamented. “I’m too heavy.”

The despondent tone of your voice only makes him worry. With the patience of a saint, he slowly reaches for your hands, making you drop your book as he wraps his large hands around your wrists and pulls you to your feet. Your surprised squeal quickly pivots into warm laughter bubbling up your throat as Wriothesley twirls your plump figure in a circle, strong arms catching you around your plump waist and pulling you closer until your chests are touching. You have to crane your neck back to look up at him, his ice blue eyes glimmering like crystals as he stares back at you. His thick arms wrap around your soft waist as he easily lifts you and hoists you until your feet are planted firmly on top of his. You shuffle awkwardly, scared that you’re too heavy to be standing on top of his toes like this but Wriothesley casts all doubt from your mind.

“You’re not a burden. Just follow my lead. You’ll be fine.” 

His strong arms squeeze your plump waist as you reach up and coil your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the baby hairs lining the nape of his neck as he leads you in a close, intimate dance. His heavy boots tap rhythmically against the floor as he slowly dances with you along to the soft melody, a smile playing on his lips as the tension slowly eases from your shoulders. Your soft body squishes under his touch as he spins you in place, eliciting a warm smile from your soft features. Only for you to erupt with laughter as he suddenly dips your body before wrenching you upright once more. 

“See look at that, you’re a natural” Wriothesley chimes as he spins you once more. 

You hum softly, eyes occasionally glancing at the placement of your feet. “It’s because you’re a good teacher.”

Wriothesley softly snorts in response, holding you closer as you both indulge in the dance just a little longer. 

Zhongli: 

You were dead tired after a long, hard day at work. A warm bath soaking in essential oils was a welcome treat and you simply melted into a warm puddle of goo as you relaxed your weary, plump body in the warm waters. Zhongli joined you as well, but not in the tub. Instead, he sat by the porcelain rim, helping to wash and detangle your hair of any knots. He even helped wash your back as you recounted the day's events, his deep voice calm and soothing to your ears as he washed your hair of any remaining soap suds. 

“And the worst part?” you added at the end of your story. “I get to do it all again tomorrow.”

A warm chuckle breezed past Zhongli’s lips, his rich voice sending a pleasant tingle down your spine as he carded his fingers through your damp hair. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the side of your temple and making you purr in content as the firm touch of his hands eased the aches and pains in your sore muscles. 

“You’ll survive, dear” he replied. “You’re strong.”

You lapped up his attention eagerly, practically glowing with content. You soaked in the tub for a little longer, only considering getting out when your skin started to prune from being in the water for so long. Zhongli noticed too and he stood up to fetch your towel, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as it cut through the wisps of steaming stemming from your bath. 

“I believe it's time for you to get out now, dear.”

You hummed in agreement as Zhongli’s shadow fell over you, small ripples dancing along the water’s edge as you tucked your knees closer to your chest. It wasn’t that you were reluctant to get out, but your legs felt like the consistency of jelly and you didn’t know if you’d be able to stand without some semblance of pain lancing through your nerves. 

“I don’t think I can get up” you said. 

You were only half joking. You really weren’t sure. You still weren’t keen on getting out. But Zhongli did not scold or reprimand you, telling you that you were exaggerating or rolling his eyes at your antics. He pursed his lips as he hummed thoughtfully, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled past his elbows to expose the gold and amber engraved into his strong arms. 

“Then I’ll just pick you up myself.”

You only just registered his words as he reached into the tub, arms looping under your armpits when he was suddenly lifting you. With a surprised squeak you followed his movements, standing on shaky legs only to have them swept out from underneath you in the next instance. Your head was slightly dizzy as your plump thighs rested over Zhongli’s arm, the other looped around your soft middle as he effortlessly lifted you out of the tub, water sloshing and spilling over the lip of the tub to wet the tiled floor below. You knew Zhongli was strong and he had picked you up several times before, but it never failed to make you swoon when he handled you like your weight was not a burden to him. You were dripping wet in his arms but he didn’t seem to mind the contact of your soft body as he placed you down on an old, wooden chair that was seated in the corner of the bathroom. You were only shivering for a few, brief seconds before Zhongli wrapped your big, fluffy towel around your plump body, placing another on top of your head as he assisted you with drying your hair.

You stayed nice and still for him as he ran the towel through your hair, massaging his fingers through the damp strands as he scratched a pleasant itch along your scalp. You peeked up at him beneath the towel once he was done, a little smile dancing on your lips as your eyes shimmered with amusement. He cocked his head to the side, waiting patiently for you to speak.

“Can you carry me back to bed too?” you asked.

It was more of a suggestion. A hopeful suggestion. And to your delight Zhongli nodded along, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“I can do that, little love.”

Boothill:

You noticed that you had been gaining weight recently. And that revelation made you feel miserable. Boothill started to notice your shift in mood as well. It was particularly concerning to your cyborg space cowboy when he noticed you picking at your food one day, a sullen look weighing down your features as you poked and prodded your food with the tip of your fork. He was sure he hadn’t seen you take a bite yet.  

“What’s wrong, darling?” Boothill asked, mechanical voice whirring with concern from the other side of the table.

Your gaze flickered over to him, the chair he was sitting in creaking when he leaned forward. You shook your head as your gaze travelled back to your plate of food. 

“It’s nothing” you denied, voice despondent. 

“Ah fiddlesticks, don’t say it ain’t nothing darl. You’ve barely touched your food. Come on, you can tell ol’ Boothill what’s got you so down in the dumps.”

So you tell him. You lament to him how you’ve noticed your recent weight gain and how it is making you feel miserable. You can’t bring yourself to eat. Food doesn’t bring you joy anymore. Eating just means you’re going to gain more weight. Boothill only interjects when you start comparing yourself to other people who have perfect, flawless bodies and how you could never hope to achieve something like that.

“Hold up doll” Boothill said, brows pinched together in a fierce look. “Has anyone been saying something about your weight? Because I’ll go and get the muddlefudger and give ‘em a real good shake down.”

And you reply that no, no one has been saying anything to your face about it. But Boothill could still see the sadness lingering in your stare and it made him draw you into his arms. You resist at first when he tugs on your wrists, but with enough gentle coaxing you get up from your seat and make your way over to Boothill. You fall into his lap as he loops an arm around your plump waist, his other metal hand resting on your back as you balance yourself on his knee. 

“Hey sweet pea, you’re not doing yourself any favours by stressing about it” Boothill said, his voice soft. 

You hummed in response, still weepy eyed and looking miserable. It only made Boothill want to coddle you further. He tipped your chin in his direction, the cold bite of his metal fingers on your warm skin only stinging briefly before the cool touch started to heat up from the warmth of your skin. 

“Now I know I could tell you not to worry about it until the cows come home and you’ll think I’m full of hogwash. But you’re the prettiest person I know and ain’t nothing gonna change that. It doesn’t matter to me if you gained a little weight. Hell, you need me to pick you up like last time and prove that I can still toss you around?”

His words eventually started to sink in the more he talked and that last part made you snort a little. Boothill was beaming that he finally was able to at least make you smile a fraction. He squeezed your soft waist, running his hand along the ridges of your spine as you settled more comfortably in his lap. 

“Come on darl. You’ve got to eat. And if you’re still upset about all this later? We’ll work something out, I promise.”

Aalto

You had been feeling down a bit lately and Aalto started to notice your sullen mood. When he asked you what was wrong one day, on a warm spring day where the flowers were just starting to bloom once more, you told him what was wrong. 

“I think I’ve been gaining weight again” you lamented, eyes downcast and shy as you avoided looking at your boyfriend. 

A thoughtful hum stirred in the back of Aalto’s throat as he peered at you beneath the rim of his sunglasses. “Are you sure? Here, let me check.”

You barely register his words in your head, a soft “huh?” falling from your parted lips as Aalto waltzed over to you, wrapped his arms around your plump waist and lifted you up. You barely had time to brace yourself, hands scrambling for purchase on his sturdy shoulders as he held you aloft with ease, arms hugged tight around your soft waist as he flashed you a cheeky grin. 

“Nah, you weigh the same to me” Aalto replied. “Light as a feather.”

A soft snort stirred in the back of your throat and you started to smile at his goofy attitude. Aalto was obviously impressed with himself, preening under your attention as you fondly shook your head, rotten thoughts dispelled as you pinched his cheeks until they were cherry red. 

“You’re such a charmer” you playfully bit. “And a bit of a dork.”

Aalto playfully wriggled his eyebrows as you cupped his warm cheeks. “Yeah, but I’m your dork, hun.”

You couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him stupid.

Yinlin

Yinlin’s lap is reserved for you and you alone. Whenever you’re having a particularly bad day or whenever you start complaining that you’re just a tad too heavy, she’s immediately pulling you to her lap to coddle you. She babies you a little as she wraps her arms around your plump waist and balances you on her knees. She means well as she pinches your chubby, round cheeks between her fingers and tugs until you are smiling at her, giggling shyly as you playfully swat her hands away. Yinlin is good at weaving her words, validating your feelings and making you feel desired despite your complex relationship with your body image and weight. You feel pleasant tingles run along your spine as her fingers dance along your back, drawing soothing patterns into your body as she gives your soft waist a squeeze. 

“Don’t beat yourself up, sweet thing” she coos. “I think you’re perfect, just the way you are. And no one can tell you otherwise. Not even you sweetie.”

You give her a bashful smile and nod, playing with the long strands of vibrant red hair as you silently start to knot braids into the silky smooth wisps, making yourself comfortable as Yinlin let you stay in her lap for a little while longer. 

Gepard

You were running through the streets of Belobog, very, very late to a meet up with Serval. You were hoping, praying, that you weren’t going to be scolded for your tardiness as you rushed through the streets, dodging and weaving past people as you rushed to her workshop. Unfortunately for you, just as you reached the front door, you slipped on some ice in your haste, the heels of your boots making a terrible, shrieking noise that grated against your ears as you skidded. But fortunately for you, you ran straight into Gepard just as he left his sister’s workshop and if it wasn’t for his quick thinking, you would have smashed your face into the pavement. 

Your head was spinning as Gepard caught you and saved you from a nasty fall, his strong arms wrapped tight around your plump waist as he held you aloft and completely halted your momentum. You swear you went cross eyed from the abrupt stop, your gut lurching and you felt like you were about to choke on the raggard breath that got lodged in your throat. You were panting like you were currently fighting for your life, your legs aching something fierce from having sprinted all the way from the other side of Belobog just to get here. You groaned in pain and squirmed in Gepard’s hold.

“Woah easy there” he said, arms squeezed tight around your soft waist as he continued to hold you. “Slow down and take a deep breath.”

You were both stunned from what just happened and unbeknownst to you, Serval was snickering at you both from the doorway, subtly reaching for her phone to take a sneaky picture of you two both in the moment. You absentmindedly pat Gepard’s arm as he helps to put you the right way up, yet he still refused to let you go easily as he examined you head to toe for any sign of injury.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine, Gepard. Thanks for catching me.”

“You need to be careful. You shouldn’t be running through the streets like that” Gepard lightly reprimanded. 

You opened your mouth to say something but you swallowed your words when you realised that he was still holding you off the ground in his big, strong arms. It was like your weight meant nothing to him and you were starting to swoon from the sight. Your head was spinning again for a different reason. 

“Um, hey Gepard?” you asked, interrupting his small tirade about safety as you timidly licked your lips. “Can you please put me down?”

It took a long moment before Gepard realised just exactly how he was holding you and that you were a tad flustered because of it. He immediately apologised, stumbling over his words as he carefully placed your feet back on the ground. You hummed in appreciation, sparing him a sheepish smile as you straightened your clothes out. Serval snickered from the doorway again, a little louder this time and you both heard it this time as she playfully waved her phone, the screen displaying the awkward moment in clear, high pixel resolution. She crowed about it the entire week, calling you the cutest couple she had ever laid her eyes upon.

Jiyan

“Is something the matter?” Jiyan asked. 

His question caught you off guard and the first thing to fall from your mouth was a very undignified:

“Huh?”

He’s not perturbed by your response. He actually thinks it’s a little endearing the way you had been caught in a seemingly peaceful daydream as you blinked owlishly up at him, the flutter of your lashes over your round, chubby cheeks an adorable sight that he smiled fondly at. He politely cleared his throat and started again. 

“I’ve noticed you stealing glances at me for quite some time now” he explained. “Is everything alright?”

You feel your cheeks get warm under his soft gaze and you can’t help but fiddle with the flaking skin around your nails as a small distraction. You obviously hadn’t been subtle enough with the longing glances you had sent his way, staring at him for longer than was probably appropriate but given how intimate you already were with the General, he didn’t take offence to it. It looked like you had something on your mind as he patiently waited for you to carefully pick the words out of your brain and form a coherent response. 

“I was just thinking…” you started. “I…have a request.”

You stole another glance at him, feeling your cheeks get hotter by the second as you squirmed on the spot and let your thoughts come tumbling out. 

“I…Can you-Could you please pick me up in your arms?”

Jiyan stared at you in mild surprise, the request not at all what he was expecting. Before he even got the chance to respond, you immediately cut him off, waving your hands in the air as you tried to swat the words out of the air and dismiss the request. 

“I’m sorry, that probably sounded a little weird. It’s just I let my thoughts wander but you don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable” you rambled, going off on a tangent like you needed to give a satisfactory explanation for your behaviour. “Just ignore it, I know it’s a strange request and you-”

You only stop short when you realize Jiyan was standing right in front of you and bundling you into his arms without a second thought. You squeaked loudly, every muscle in your body locking up as Jiyan easily picked you up in a bridal carry, your plump legs thrown over his arm while he hooks the over around your soft waist. You stared up at him in a daze, words stuck in your throat as you stared at his handsome face as he offered you a kind smile.

“Like this?” he asked. 

You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat as you started to nod your head vigorously in agreement. He made it look so effortless and you felt weightless being held in his arms like this; a complete dream come true.

Xiao

“Are you coming?” Xiao called down at you from atop the roof of Wangshu Inn.

You nodded in response as you slowly climbed the winding branches interwoven throughout the humble inn. Dusk was just settling in and tonight was going to be a clear night. Perfect for sitting under the stars and gazing at them for hours on end. A small huff puffed passed your plump lips as you reached for the next branch, pulling yourself up as you neared the shingled rooftops. Xiao stared down at you from above, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line as he took keen observation over your footfalls. You insisted that you could climb up here yourself and that Xiao didn’t need to use his teleporting capabilities to whisk you up. It was partial because whenever he did use that ability on you, it left you feeling nauseous for several, terrible minutes. 

He was only able to stand watching you clamber up for barely a minute before he vaulted over the edge and decided to help you up himself. It’s not that you couldn’t do it by yourself, you were capable. It’s just he couldn’t think of all the possible cuts and splinters you would get, blemishes on your soft body that he highly adored. The thought irked him enough that he decided to help you the rest of the way. He wordlessly landed beside you and before you could get a word out, Xiao wrapped his arms around your plump waist and hoisted you up before he took a mighty leap and landed back on the rooftop. 

Your head was spinning but in a pleasant way as Xiao slowly lowered you back down until you were standing back on your feet. You offered him a shy smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The sunset was gorgeous from where you were standing and as you admired the view, Xiao gently grabbed your wrist and guided you to sit down. Only for you to fall into his lap as he purposefully tugged you down on top of him until you were firmly seated on top of his legs. You figured Xiao must have been in a good mood if he was being so bold with you and the thought made you feel a little warm and fuzzy on the inside. He silently wrapped his arms around your soft waist once more, tugging you closer as he hooked his chin on your shoulder and watched the sunset with you.

[megapteraurelia]

COMFORTABLE SILENCE.

🫧 SUMMARY; — kozume kenma and gn!reader have a status quo to keep! only glances, only pining, yep, yep, nothing more.

🫧 WARNINGS; — none! just super fluff if you don't have a sweet tooth.

🫧 WORD COUNT; — 1309.

🫧 AUTHOR'S NOTE; — i love kenma. that's all!

please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | final pt.

his hair fell into his eyes; dark strands slowly transitioning into blonde at the tips. even though the hair must be in his vision, those eyes of his were sharp. they always reminded you of the gaze of a predator. he wasn’t looking at you, yet as always, you felt a certain energy buzz around your skin at the watchfulness you could feel radiate off him. as if he was thoroughly and exceptionally aware of every fibre on your body.

kozume kenma did end up blowing the stray tangle of hair out of his way, “mhm, this level’s annoying.”

you looked away from your book again — it seemed like you couldn’t keep your eyes off him for more than a few minutes. he shifted a little on the couch, and his knee brushed yours by accident. ever so slightly. 

neither of you two acknowledged it, but your skin was humming at the contact, and a certain blush unfurled on your neck. a tinge of pink dusted the tip of his ears, and you tore your gaze away from him to the words swimming on the page in front of you.

you nodded at his words, your throat slightly dry and you peeled your tongue off the roof of your mouth, and despite not being done with the page you were reading, you turned to the next one, anyway, “must be an intense one. you haven’t looked so concentrated for the past ones.”

kenma glanced up to you, even though he had complained about having to time his attacks perfectly to be able to parry his opponents, but just as swiftly — lest anyone could accuse him of always getting distracted by you — his eyes wandered back to his console. 

for a while, there was only the noise of the clock ticking in the background, the boss music of kenma’s game, a page being flipped, the couch squeaking when somebody displaced their weight differently, slow breathing. you enjoyed those moments with him, when neither of you had the need to talk; basking in each other’s presence, warmth at the almost contact between both of your arms, a graze of skin, the sheepish glances stolen when neither one of you were looking.

“i like when it’s like this, you know?” you ended up muttering, quietly, almost to yourself, “when it’s quiet.”

“yeah. i get that.”

silence enveloped you both again, though not for too long.

kenma pressed the menu button, and the boss music dimmed into a muted version of itself. surprised, you looked up from your book, though you couldn’t even remember the last sentence you had just tried to pronounce in your head. your eyes met those of his, and he stared at you for a second, completely unabashed; the very golden of his iris growing smaller. your chest felt tight at the beat of your heart growing stronger, the centre of his attention. his throat bobbed and you half-expected him to say something, soft voice carrying words that meant something, but then his head lowered and his fingers were quick to return back to the game. 

you forced yourself to restore to the status quo, tearing your eyes away from him, even though your blood was rushing a thousand miles per hour through your ears, even though your breath was shaky when you exhaled quietly. you could swear that the air got a little heavier this time around, like a pause on your fragile friendship, teetering on the edge of unspoken sentences; potential large and unused in your hands.

you contemplated saying something, fingers creasing the edge of the page, eyes staring at the words, following the curve of the letters, wondering and yearning.

“...you’re here a lot lately,” when he spoke, his voice was soft, hesitant, hands caught in the automatic movement of trying to clear the level.

your own fingers stilled, and then you nodded, one shoulder heaving up defensively, “yeah. i like it here.”

“me too. it’s interesting.”

he responded quickly, like somebody who knew the answer to a question and didn’t bother to wait with the reply. like a fact, he said it and you couldn’t help it — glancing up to him, memorising the lines of his side profile, the soft curve of his nose, those watchful, scrutinising eyes of his, the brush of his lashes on his cheeks when he blinked, the slight twitch of his eyebrows at the concentration. he was pretty. kozume kenma was so pretty.

trying to evade your thoughts of painting him on your mind’s eye — the way you had done a thousand times during each and every moment you could lay your eyes on him — you allowed a small smile to grace your features.

“what is?”

kenma copied you, a swift meeting with golden attentiveness, and his voice seemed even smaller than before. his hand tightened around the console, and he cleared his throat, “you. i don’t know — you’re always here. always around. it’s...comfortable.” he was silent for a second, and he shifted again. this time, his shoulder grazed yours. warmth. again, it wasn’t acknowledged, but the small proximity felt different, “not everyone is, you know.”

you closed your book slowly — no chance that you could get any reading done anymore, “well. that’s good, because it would be impossible to get rid of me now.”

another stretch of silence passed between you, and it felt like something unnamed was lingering between you, a breath away from existing. kenma paused his game again, and now neither one of you had an excuse to divert your attention. except kenma really was a master at it, so he was still looking down, but your skin prickled; a cat playing coy yet giving the mouse all his utmost attention. 

his fingers scratched the skin next to his nail as he admitted, “not impossible. but…” — a quick lick of his dry lips — “i don’t want to...i guess i’m used to it now.”

he glanced up to you again, “i guess i don’t mind it.”

you were sure he could hear your heart beating for him, that he would still be able to discern the thunder of the muscle even if there were construction workers right next to you stealing the air and all its promises away. now it was your turn to clear your throat, and the music of the boss fight returned to its full volume. 

slowly, you got up, and though you weren’t going anywhere, his body turned slightly, following yours, a certain longing clear in the tautness of his shoulders that relaxed as soon as you spoke, “i don’t mind it either. i think i’ll get some water. you want some?”

“nah, i’m good.”

“okay then.”

you were about to leave for the kitchen, when you turned around, swiftly, not leaving him any space and chance to react, your heartbeat galloping through your entire body and carrying you along with its nonsense. an action that you were sure to embarrassedly mull over on the walk to the kitchen, but that grasped you with such conviction, you feared that you were not the owner of your own body anymore. 

a light kiss onto his cheek. lips meeting soft skin, his hair brushing your cheek, the surprised widening of his eyes, the gold darting over to you, but by then, you had already turned around to hurry away for some water. 

kenma wished he had said yes to your offer because his throat dried up instantly. thankfully, you also missed the very deep tulip red that rose from his neck, to his cheeks, to his ears; the hair on his neck rising in attentiveness to how close you had been, the feeling of your mouth, the residue of warmth on his cheek.

in the neighbouring house, kuroo tetsurou’s phone chimed once.

from: kenmaaaaaaah raaahhhh sjkhfdjd=(jdhfh”k hf ?????????? H EL PpPP

[neo-nomatrix]

10 Things I hate about you

Hobie brown x reader

word count: 1120

(My) Nuisance masterlist

Synopsis: You have hated your neighbor for one year, 3 months, and 8 days. You hate his hair, his boots, his obnoxious music, and most of all you hate the way you love him

a/n; This is the last part of the main (My) Nuisance story! Other installments will be on parters about reader and Hobie before and after the main plot. Thank you to everyone who loves this story it means the world to me!

Being neighbors with Hobie has been one of the most frustrating, exhausting, and confusing experiences of your life. He has truly put you through hell and back.

1. I hate the way you talk to me and the way you do your hair.

If someone had told you one year ago you would be completely head of heels for Hobie you most likely would have laughed in their face. If someone had told you he was the man under Spider-punk's mask you would have jumped off a bridge right then and there. Yet here you are, searching your brain for answers about Hobie and his feelings wondering what you got yourself into.

2. I hate the way you lie to me and your stupid boot buckles.

The unbearable truth was, Hobie got to you. Most importantly he hurt you in the process. You weren’t supposed to get close to him, you weren’t supposed to fall in love with him but you did. He had completely forgotten about the night before and it hurt you more than anything. You genuinely thought he liked you, as luck would have it he confessed to you that he was a compulsive liar when he drank too much. Leading you into realizing he didn’t mean it, why would he? He seemed like the type who would flirt with you just as a fun game, you didn’t know what you were expecting.

3. I hate you so much it makes me mad, it makes my head spin, my stomach ties into knots, makes me weak in the legs.

Was that what this was? A sick joke? A game to him? Just thinking about that made you want to scream at him. Yell at him, tell him how angry you were with the fact that he played with your feelings. You wanted to scream at him and give him a piece of your mind. Yet you couldn’t. You have always been able to yell at Hobie, always. Even over dumb things like the way he talked. But now, it’s different. You wanted to get up and yell at him but you stayed sitting on the ground. Legs to your chest and you just sat there. Unable to move, frozen in that position.

4. I hate it when you’re out all night drinking and the way it makes me worry, worry so much that I stay up all night waiting to hear your stupid boots.

You hear a knock at the door and know it’s him. Of course it’s him, in your time living here he was the only person to ever knock on your door.

“Love? I- I want to talk to you. Can you let me in?” He asked, his voice quiet.

5. I hate your stupid smile and the way you purposefully play your guitar too loud just so i’ll come over.

He takes your silence as an answer, he’s about to say something and then pauses.

“When you were in my room you found a box. It had your stuff in it and a letter. I wrote the letter for you. You deserve to read it. I have your necklace and ring too, sorry bout that,” he gave you an awkward laugh.

“No, I shouldn't have even known about it,” you’re surprised you could even speak to him, “I don’t want to read it either,” you say quickly.

“You have a right to know what it says, okay? At least let me tell you.”

6. I hate that you were so easy to fall in love with.

A few seconds after he finished talking he turned the doorknob and walked into your flat.

“I don’t know what I said to you last night but I'm sorry. Whatever-“ you cut him off before he can finish.

“Don’t. I know you didn’t mean it so don’t. It doesn’t matter now I'm over it,” you brush him off.

“So uhm, what did i say exactly?” He questions

“I said it doesn’t matter, piss off!” you snap.

You both look away from each other, unable to speak.

7. I hate the way you hurt me and the way you made me get close to you. It would be so much easier to despise you if you weren’t so handsome.

“The letter talks about how much I love you, alright? Ever since the day we met and you gave me that stupid note I have been in love with you. You really don’t see the way I look at you? Or- or how I'm extra loud when I know you're trying to sleep? I would do anything just to look at you, that is how in love I am with you. I don’t know if you’re really just clueless or you’re trying to ignore the signs but I am pulling every string to try and make you fall in love with me. Is that what you want to hear?” He’s out of breath by the time he finishes. Tears are brewing in the corner of his eye.

8. I hate it when you say exactly what I want you to say.

“Yeah, actually it kind of is. You told me that it hurt when I didn't show up for our date. I thought you did like me, but then you said you lied when you were drunk. And I don't know why but I believed you,” You confess.

9. I hate it when we don’t talk and the way you make me feel. I hate that I didn't understand those stomach knots were me falling in love.

“No no no, I thought I said something that would upset you. Of course I meant that, Love,” he said, holding your face in his hands. The cold metal of his rings touching you.

“You mean that?” you ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything else,” he smiles. God that stupid smile.

“You also, kind of told me something else. You said you were uhm, Spiderman?” you nervously asked.

He visibly tensed up.

“Oh that, well I guess there’s no point in lying huh?”

“So you are?”

“Yeah, for the last three years. But I don’t believe in labels, they’re stupid,” he shrugs

“That’s pretty embarrassing for me then, hm?” you look around your spiderman themed room.

“Nah, I think it’s pretty cute,” he says, making you blush.

“Why don’t we start over? We can go out on a proper date, forget any of this happened. I promise, no standing each other up and we’ll be so happy,” He says, grinning ear to ear.

“Alright then, where should we go?”

10. You especially hate the way you don’t hate him at all. You don’t like him either. You love him. You’re in love with Hobie Brown, your nuisance.

Taglist: @clown420cunt @good-so @anonima-2 @ghOst-spider @miracleboylene @natthernandez @frenchbaddie @loislucky @juo6uvr @gaychaosgremlin @skiedrr @the-golden-goldie @hellok1ttycake @theleftkittycollection @xbI00dy-rOs3x @diamondroxypie @erensbbg @change-up-lozers @persondoingstuff @thepjofanqueen @eli-pitch-does-art @naarraa @pascaliscult @regulus-black-223048 @couchpotato2006 @anonoussy @bruhhvv @miyalou13 @meowmeowmau @michael-21stfu @yeyrpp2 @panicosis @yuli3tt @omgitstatertot @bythe-water-fountain @lIstarx @landrysg @yn-hamato @fisshil @peaktora @thatmaladaptivedaydreamer @urmotherswhor3 @hunniiebe @ashjustlikesthings @imthesadsad @spiderpunkzgf @single2dsimp @anonymousfleshbag @aesolane @gloomdoomraccoon @nightshxdex @kenstan

*If your user wasn’t tagged and showed up as just text it’s because you have something changed in settings

[bittersw33t-lotus]

Romeo and Juliet

Ghosting series pt. 2

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem! Reader

Cw:mentions of fighting, blood, pregnancy (this is gonna be on the whole series so…), hospital visit, reader is mentioned to listen to rock music :)

A/N thank yall for the love and support, I love yall (platonically of course)😘

Edited? Yes

part 1 here

part 3 here

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve been living with Stacy and her husband, Jared.

It’s been good so far, they’ve been kind to you, you’ve been helping around as much as you could, they’ve been doing a lot to make sure you were okay and willing to help you with anything.

Jared has been fairly nice and generous. Today you had your first check up at the hospital and ultrasound appointment. Jared offered to take you to your appointment, which you accepted since your car battery decided to take a crap right as you returned home from the store the other day, so now you have to wait for the battery to arrive at the mechanics before you get take it over to get fixed. This leaves you with no independent transportation for at least a week. Luckily Stacy had been able to take you to and from places but today she wasn’t able to take you to your check up due to having to work late. Thankfully, Jared offered to take you to the doctors, to which you gratefully accepted.

On the way there you started some small talk with him. “How long have you and Stacy been together?” You ask him as you watch the trees pass by along with building around the area as he enters the highway.

Jared looks at you for a quick second before focusing back on the road. “Been together for about four years now. Two years since we’ve been married.” He says with a small smile, you’ve seen all the things they’ve done together, so many adventures, dinners, vacations, you would’ve thought they’ve been together for more than that if he hadn’t said anything.

You realize that Stacy seemed to move on to marry him pretty quickly, which wasn’t a bad thing, as long as you know that Jared has the best intentions for your sister. It was the same with her last boyfriend, taking any chance she got to up and move in with him at any chance she got.

But you aren’t worried, Jared seems to be a sweetheart, you've seen it over the few weeks you’ve spent here. He wasalways engaged and doing anything around the house that he could do. He and Stacy worked like a team. You also saw the way he looked at Stacy like she held all the stars in the sky. You wouldn’t admit it out loud but, you were jealous.

“We’ve been best friends since high school. Of course, she ended up with her boyfriend before I could confess my feelings to her. long story short he tried to have her cut contact with me but with a lot of persuasion she ended up leaving him and we got together in collage shortly after I beat the shit out of him." he chuckled seeming to be a bit ashamed at admitting it, but he wasn’t sorry though.

That took you by surprise, you never expected him be a guy to use violence just by looking at him. He seemed more like a lover than a fighter. Reguardless, you’re glad he stepped in, in any way, just to get that prick away from your sister. "Well, I'm glad Stacy has you. I remember seeing that guy before she moved out and he never gave me a good feeling." You say as the car gets off the freeway on the road that leads stright to the hospital. You can see the street changing to one of a more fancy and modernized road with trees every few feet, fancy black fencing, and lighting.

Jared smiled at you, noticing that your compliment took him by surprise. "Thanks." he says and focusing on driving, a small pause of silence between you two before he speaks up. "If you don't mind me asking, your sister told me a bit about the history between you two and how life was growing up but, how did you meet that guy?" He asks, you feel yourself start to think back on the memories between you and Simon, it was bittersweet and made the strings in your heart tug. "You don't have to tell me; I respect your privacy." Jared is quick to say noticing your face drop a bit.

You shook your head and wave your hand in a unbothered manner. “No, no. It’s alright. I don’t mind.” You say as you look at ahead of you towards the road. “I met him in my freshman year of high school, Simon was a sophomore. I first saw him when he got into a fight, but I didn’t talk to him until a week later when I got detention one day.”

✯Flashback✯

You were making your way to your fourth period, walking through the schools' hallway past others students walking trying to get to their next class. As you're about to turn the corner down the hall, you hear a sudden grunt before a loud metallic bang echos through the hall. A few feet away from you, you see everyone looking in one certain area from the origin of the sound hearing continuous grunts and chatter form other students looking intrigued, some shocked and others unbothered with what they saw. You make your way towards the crowd getting a sense of what could be happening which was soon confirmed to be true when you manage to look between the gaps of the crowd to see two guys duke it out. The guy pinned against the locker getting multiple shots of fists to the face you recognized him as Todd Hanes. The renowned senior asshole in school. He always picked and tormented other kids younger, or others who seemed weaker than him.

The other guy punching him had his back turned to you, he had short blonde hair and wore a grey t-shirt that really defined his muscles well. You can see he worked out a lot with the way his bicep flexed as he pinned Todd against the locker. You moved closer to get more of a clear view of the fight and watched as the blonde guy raised his fist and socked Todd square in the face, repeating the action over and over again as your peers around you watched the fight. Todd tried to fight back but to no avail with the fists he was received to his face repeatedly. The students around cheered or reacted verbally to the fight as you heard "ooo's' and a few other words being said as they all watched Todd practically get beaten to a pulp which was much deserved. Todd looked pathetic trying to fight back and ended up shielding his face ultimately giving up on fight back.

it wasn't long before a teacher stepped in and tried to pull the blonde off Todd, whos' face was now battered with his own blood, nosebleed and busted lip dripping blood down his shirt. it took two teachers to pull the blonde off Todd and once they did Todd slid down the locker to the floor barely conscious and seemingly dazed and confused as everyone stared in shock. You finally got to see the blonde guy's face and immediately, you felt your stomach flutter. He was downright breath taking, his brown eyes look like there was a raging fire in him, he heaved heavy breaths as he stared down Todd, whos' face was all swollen, battered and bloody. Meanwhile he only had a bloody nose.

As weird as it was but looking at him like that really awoken something in you and had your brain go fuzzy with just the image of him. As he was pulled away to what you assume was to the principal's office you watch as the teachers helped walk Todd to the nurse's office supporting him up and walking him over.

After that, you didn’t see the blonde guy. However when you asked your friend about him, they told you his name was Simon, she knew since she had a class with him. But it wasn’t long until you saw him again.

You had gotten Lunch detention for two days, you had gotten the note during you second period after you showed up to your first period late for the hundreth time. You sighed in annoyance and crumble up the paper dreading for your upcoming punishment.

When finalllylunch came by you made you way to the library where lunch detention was being held, where you had to sit there in silence for 15 minutes. Walking through the doors you look around and see how surprisingly full it was, all of the round tables had a few students sitting in every single one of them, all except for the one table in the far corner back. Where you spot Simon sitting at, your heart did a back flip at the sight of his blonde hair that peaked through the hood of his sweater. Seeing that he was the only table with less students, and it would be reasonable to sit at his table instead of the other full ones, you began contemplate on wether you wanted to sit at his table or the table next to him where a group of boys sat, you hardly judged anyone but these guys just by the looks of them seemed to be ones to torment girls just for fun, so the easier option was to sit with Simon.

It was nerve wracking walking into the library seeing so many students in the room, you expected there to be only five but there was almost twenty in here, you feared one little noise could cause everyone to turn and stare at you if you so much as breathed the wrong way.

As you walked and approached the table where Simon sat at you began to notice and take in his appearance, his blonde hair was slicked back, a bandage on his nose, from the fight with Todd, and a bruise, it was odd, it looked to be a fresh bruise on his jawline. It had been over a week since the fight, he wouldn’t have a bruise or to the least bit, just have faint bruising. Did he get into another fight?

Your thought were short circuited when his honey brown eyes move up to meet yours, he stared at you through his blonde lashes. You’re surprised and quickly avert your gaze towards the floor ahead of you before you finally reach the table and pull out the chair adjacent where he sat, sitting down trying your best to make the least amount of noise possible. You can feel his eyes linger on you until he moves his arm out to pick up his pencil and focus on the papers on the table that you assumed was his class work.

You try your best to calm your heart that’s currently beating rapidly, it’s absurd how much he’s had an affect on you just by his appearance and a singular glance he gave you. No way you’re this down bad, you thought.

You quietly settle into your seat and set you bag down before opening it up and pulling out your own homework while you steal a few glances at him, an continue to do so as you “work on your homework,” unaware of how obvious you’re being.

At the end of detention the teacher dismisses everyone as you pack away your papers and pencil back into your binder, slipping the binder in your bag your pencil slipped out and falls to the floor rolling a feet away from you. Before you lean down to pick it up, a hand lowers down and grabs the object, you look up and meet Simon’s eyes as he leans back up and extends his arm out to you with your pencil in hand.

You’re dumbfounded for a second, staring at him like a deer in headlights. You manage to mutter out a ‘Thanks’ before reaching your hand out to grab it from him, trying your best to not show how shakey your hand is. As you grab your pencil you try you best to avoid touching his fingers with yours, but your index finger barely grazed his own before you pulled away and slipped your pencil back in your bag.

“Is there something on my face?” He spoke to you, you couldn’t tell if he was genuinely asking you a question or threatening you right now. You’re taken back by how deep and rough his voice sounded, its wasn’t very deep yet but it sounded like his voice was in the process of getting there.

“Sorry…” You say with a puzzled look on your face.

Simon continued to look at you seeming unfazed. “You kept staring at me, did you need something or you just have a staring problem?” He asks, his voice unchanging from his unfazed tone, along with the blank look in his eyes.

You quickly shake your head and try to think of something, then you remembered how you noticed on his backpack he had set on the table. You saw he had a Misfits keychain hanging on the zipper of his bag so you quickly use that as an excuse. “I noticed you had a misfits keychain on your backpack and thougt it was cool-” You blurt out, you words coming out so fast as you grew nervous, Simon almost couldn’t understand what you said at first.

You see him raise a brow at your response as he looks at his bag that was still on the table, then looks back at you and takes in your appearance, his eyes glazing over your body from head to toe. “You listen to the Misfits?” He asks seeming unconvinced by your words.

You figured he may not believe you- possibly with your outfit and appearance, however he shouldn’t be one to judge. All he was wearing was a plain black sweater and jeans, didn’t give much of a hint that he listened to rock. As for you, you did listen to rock and metal music. You recently got into it thanks to your friend. So lucky for you, you knew some songs and information about the Misfits. You nod your head, “Yeah, I’ve been getting into rock music lately and Misfits were one of the first bands I listened to. They’re pretty good.” You say as a small smile makes its way to your face hoping that he’ll believe you were only looking at his backpack and definitely not checking him out.

Simon seems like he wanted to say more but shook his head but the teach had dismissed detention as the fifteen minutes were up. “Alright then.” He says before grabbing his bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder and walking out the library to wherever it was he was going.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and take notice of how hot your face felt. Crap, you were blushing. He definitely knows you were checking him out!

After that, you suddenly saw him everywhere, you noticed him in your English class— apparently he’s been in your class this whole time, you just never knew. You saw in the halls between passing periods, and of course you saw him again on your second and last day of lunch detention.

There were less kids in the library for your second to last day of detention—which meant a couple of tables were empty. When you first entered you expected to see Simon already sitting there, but you noticed the lack of his presence, you assumed his days in detention were over which made you a bit disappointed. But at least you still got to see him in English class though. As you took your seat at the same table you pull out your essay you were working on for English class, you were almost done with it, just needed to add any finishing touches. Your essay was about the recent book your class read, Romeo and Juliet. The teacher had the class take a theme or idea of what you thought about what the book would be about and how it could relate to readers universally.

As you worked, you had your head looking down and hyper focused on your paper, too busy to see movement around you and a certain figure approaching your table. It wasn't until you heard a thud against the table that made you jump slightly and look up to see Simon at your table setting his bag down on the table before sitting down across from you, you look around and take notice that there were still a couple of empty tables left for him to sit at but he still opted to sit at the table where you were at, why?

Not wanting to overthink and get ahead of yourself, you figured it was because he's been in detention longer than you that table this was his designated table that he preferred to sit at.

He looks at you as he sits in his chair, you look back down at your paper and tried your best to refocus on your essay but much to your dismay Simon was clouding your mind as your mind went into overdrive with him around, and suddenly you began to struggle to write anything.

As you tried to get the cogs in your head to start functioning again, unbeknownst to you, Simon was looking at you. He was watching how focused you— your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. He takes notice of your paper and from what he can see from his view, he can see the pictures printed on the paper next to the long paragraphs typed out beside the picture. He recognizes the paper to be the latest assignment in English class, one you and Simon have together. He hasn’t really started it yet, he only knows the assignment has something to do with writing about Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’. He wondered if he should ask for your help—since he saw how you had two pages of your essay written. Maybe you could give him an idea of how the story is since he hardly bothered to read the book and get the assignment done, like with all his other classes.

He debates if he should say something to you— ultimately says 'fuck it' and leans in his forearms leaning on the table, whispering to you with ease as to not get caught. "You doin' the assignment for English?" He asks you in a whisper, careful not to get caught talking but the librarian was currently too caught up on whatever work she was getting done on her computer and the soft music she played was loud enough to blanket over his whisper.

you look up at him again and stare at him for a second processing what he's said to you. "Oh yeah— I'm just adding some finishing touches before I submit it." You tell him watching his eyes flicker to you and your paper.

"You think you can help me out a bit on mine? Been having some trouble with it. " He asks you as you set down your pencil down and focus on talking with Simon.

You look at him a bit taken back on the fact he wants your help. This means you get to talk to him more, perfect! "Yeah, would you be okay if we did this once detentions over? I'm not trying to get caught and have to stay here for longer." You tell him as you sneak a glance at the teacher seeing she's still occupied with her computer.

Simon nods and leans back in his chair. "Yeah, sounds good." he tells you. You try your best to fight back the smile that threatened to break through before you nod and look back at your paper completely not bothered to work with your thoughts clouded with just Simon.

Once detention was over, Simon gets up while you place your items back into your bag. Once you put everything away you see Simon standing there waiting for you, you zip up your bag slinging it over your shoulder and begin to walk towards the exit of the library, Simon following right beside you. “Were did you want to go?” You ask him as you both walk down the hall.

Simon thinks for a moment before pointing to the hallway to the right. “We can head down to the hallway of the band room.” He said as you look down the hall before nodding your head as you both turn right and make your way through the hallway. You figured the band hall would be best to study, there’s hardly anyone in there minus the teachers but some kids go there to be alone, away from everyone else. You assume that’s why Simon wanted to go there. It’s quite and isolated.

Once you reached the hallway, you both spot a little lounging area at the end of the hall where the elevator was to go upstairs. Walking up to the table you set your things down and take your seats next to each other but Simon and you still kept a good distance from one another. You bring out your papers from your bag, Simon doing the same.

Once you both settle in your seats, you look at Simon. “So what exactly did you need help with?” You ask him.

“All of it.” He states nonchalantly. “I haven’t really read the story much, just skimmed through a few chapters so I have a slight idea of what is going on but I don’t know what to write about it.” He tells you and keeps his eyes on the paper as if he was avoiding your gaze in case he saw the dissatisfied look etched on your face. He’s a bit worried you’ll think just he’s asking for your help simply to just copy off you.

“Oh well— you’ll basically just choose a theme in the book and write about how you interpret the idea yourself and how it would make readers feel about it as a ‘universal thought.’ ” You explain to him. “So from the little information you’ve gathered from the book, what do you think one of the themes are?” You ask him.

Simon sighed and thought long and hard about it. “From what I knows is that the two are in a forbidden love story, something about family drama between their families. After the death of the two lovers, both families came together and let their resentment for each other go.”

You smile and nod at him, “That’s pretty much what the entire story is about. So write about that.” You tell him as you motion to his paper.

Simon nods and writes down a couple of notes to keep in mind. While he was writing he asked you, “What did you write about?”

You look at him and then at your papers. “It might sound a little silly…” You mumble as you avoid his gaze.

Simon raises a brow. “How so? Either way, I’m not one to judge considering I didn’t bother to read the book all the way.”

You glance at him as you fidget with your pencil. “Well, I focused on reincarnation and how cruel the world can be sometimes. The reincarnation part, I was worried the Mr. Jones would tell me not to include it but he told me to keep it, said it would be interesting since some people do believe in reincarnation.” You explain as you see that Simon seems to have his full attention on you, much to your surprise.

“So I wrote about how love isn’t always a fairytale love story, life can be cruel and i believe we’ve lived many lives before our current one, our souls are old and our bodies are a temporary thing. Romeo and Juliet never got their happy ending due to some petty drama between their families that ultimately caused them their happiness and eventually their lives. But I like to think that, reincarnation is a thing, their lifetime may not have been kind to them but maybe their next will be. They’ll find each other again and get to live the life they deserve.” You explain and as you do, Simon listens to every word, he watches you as you explain watching you ramble on about your thoughts of the matter, he watches the way your eyes dart between looking at him and then around the room, you lips moving with every word.

Unbeknownst to you and Simon, he was falling in love with you.

"I believe soulmates are a thing, Romeo and Juliet are soulmates and soulmates always find their way back to each other in every lifetime, romantic or not everyone has a soulmate." You explain as you glance over your papers.

"How do you know you've found your soulmate?" Simon asks confused on that part.

You then turn to Simon as you both stare at each other for a period of time. “You ever meet someone; and within seconds of your first interaction, you feel an immediate connection with them— like being around them just feels… right?” You ask him.

That question made something switch in Simon in his mind as he looks at you. “Yeah… I think I know what you’re talking about.”

✯Flashback end✯

You arrive at the parking lot of the hospital as you finish telling Jared how you met Simon, of course a shortened version of your story, just the main things. “But yeah, after that day we started hanging out more and more and eventually we began dating in my freshman year of collage.” You tell him as you Finish up your story, Jared turns the car into the parking lot, quickly finding an empty spot.

“He seems different compared to you. I guess opposites really do attract.” Jared chuckled as he sets the car in park and turns off the car.

“You could say that, I guess.” You say, considering your current situation with Simon.

You step out the car and Jared follows behind you as you both enter the hospital building. “I’ll be in here for a bit. You don’t have to stay, you can do your own thing and I’ll let you know when my appointment is over.” You tell him as you close the car door, Jared doing the same.

He shakes his head as you both make your way to the building. “It’s fine. I don’t mind, besides I figured you could use as much support as you need.” Jared says giving you a small smile.

You return one back and nod accepting his offer before you turn to the assistant at the desk. “Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Raven for my check up.” You tell the woman as she nods looking up on her computer to check.

“Prenatal check up for y/n l/n?” She asks you as you confirm it with a nod. “Alright, Dr. Raven is currently still with her patient but she should be done in the next ten minutes. Feel free to sit in the waiting room and she’ll be with you shortly.” The assistant smiled at you as you nod back with a smile.

“Thank you.” You mutter as you head over to the lounging area and sit in a chair seeing other woman in the room, some by themselves, some with a relative or another male which you assume may be their partner but you’re not quick to assume. You notice Jared looking at few pamphlets displayed on the wall. He picks up a couple of pamphlets before sitting down in the chair next to you.

He begins to read one, the title read ‘Fetal Development’, another pamphlet was about how pregnancy affects the woman during and after pregnancy, and the last one for expecting fathers. You’re a little confused on why he’s reading, possibly to pass the time but there are magazines laid out on the little table next to you that he could read. He notices your confusion and points to the pamphlet before speaking. “It’s good to know this stuff, ya know be prepared,” He said as he skimmed over the information.

You him and nod your head. “That’s good.” You reply back as you examine the pictures on the pamphlet.

You can tell there’s something else he wants to say as he takes a deep breath. “Uh… Stacy and I are planing to have kids soon in the near future, kinda thought this would be a good opportunity to read up on this for when the time comes.” He says as you notice his smile becomes wider at the thought of it.

You look at Jared and raise your brow in surprise. “Really? That’s great.” You say as Jared nods continues to smile.

“Thanks. We decided to wait till we settled down, and now that we’re getting there we decided it was time.” He says.

You didn’t think your sister would ever want any kids, you took her as the type to be childfree and live her life being single and on her own. But now that she has Jared by her side, she’s really changed, in a good way of course. “That’s amazing to hear, looks like my baby will have a cousin soon.” You say as you feel your bag vibrate and a chime sounds, opening your bag you fish out your phone and read the screen seeing there’s a message from Stacy.

Stacy: How’s the check up going?

You: Still in the waiting room, just got here but it’s shouldn’t be too long.

You send the message and revive a reply a few seconds later.

Stacy: Oh, well let me know how my little niece or nephew is doing, make sure you follow whatever your doctors says to keep you and the baby healthy. Also when you come back I have a surprise for you ;)

You look at the message a bit confused but smile, a bit excited for the surprise.

“Yn.” A voice calls out to you, you look up to see a nurse with a clip board in hand scanning around the waiting room looking for you.

You stand up letting yourself be known, “Right here.” You say with a smile.

The nurse looks at you and offers you a kind smile. “Perfect, Dr. Raven is ready to see you.” She says.

You nod your head and look at Jared, “You okay with waiting out here?” You ask him as he looks up at you and nodded.

“yeah, I’ll be fine,” Jared says and gives you a reassuring smile and nod. “Good luck.”

You smile at him before making your way towards the nurse feeling anxious and antsy for some reason. You didn’t know why you felt like this but then again, you’ll be seeing your baby for the first time at least through a screen until the big day you deliver the baby.

As you walk through the halls with the nurse leading you through. You spot a couple in the distance, the woman with a noticeable bump as he husband smiles at her as the walk into a room with his hand around her waist leading her into the room. You feel a emptiness overcome you as you suddenly feel your body grow cold, if you didn’t feel alone before, you definitely felt it right now. You imagine what could’ve been if Simon wanted to stick around, how these visits would be less lonely and filled with more joy then the melancholy feeling you were experiencing right now. He would’ve been able to see your growing baby, see your bump grow bigger over the month before you finally get to meet them and live the rest of your lives as parents.

Thought of your memory with Simon, talking to him about Romeo and Juliet you found it amusing with how your life had played out, almost like the story, life didn’t play out the way you wanted with Simon. Life really can be cruel.

꧁————————꧂

Taglist

@leehoonii-i @blackhawkfanatic @kylies-love-letter @natashamea18 @demonking-69 @thegreyjoyed @nobodycanknoww @andoraamore @leonsgirlie @blarba-girl @going-through-shit @thychuvaluswife @nicolebarnes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn’t all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Stevie Nicks drones in your ear, her tones added to the airiness of the condo space. The melody guides your diligent work along with the list on your phone. The shelves should be done before the counters, so as to not do the same job twice. 

You look around for the step stool. There was a collapsible one there, nestled by the pantry. It’s not there that day. You guess Bucky wouldn’t have much use for it. He can probably reach everything just fine. You don’t want to be nosy by going on a full-blown search. You’ll just have to do your best. 

You stand on your toes and reach up blindly. Great. You’ll not get close to even the second highest shelf. Instead of cupboard doors, the plates are stacked openly on the shelves that line the brick. You like the look. Simple but tidy. 

You are going to have to find the stool if you want to do it right-- 

“Oop!” You exclaim as pressure clamps around your hips and suddenly, your feet are off the floor. You wriggle and grab onto the shelf to keep from flailing. 

You crane to see over your shoulder, looking back at Bucky as he holds you aloft. There’s no effort in the act. You’re nothing but a feather in his hands. You feel powerless in his grasp. You don’t dare to tell him to put your down or ask why he snuck up on you. 

“You can reach?” He asks. 

You nod and turn away from his stern expression. Despite the helpful act, he remains stoic and unreadable. You hate the sensation of having nothing between your feet and the height makes you slightly woozy. You’ll just have to be quick. 

You wipe along the top of the shelves as he sidles you along the length. An awkward tension crawls up your body from beneath his hold on you. His fingertips dip into your flesh as he keeps you steady. 

You do the next shelf, moving the plates to wipe beneath them before placing them back. It’s a delicate balance. Once you get to the third, you find your voice. You pause your music as you eke, “I can reach the rest, sir.” 

“You sure?” He checks with you. 

You nod. He puts you down gently, crowding you against the counter for a moment before he moves away. He turns and opens the metal fridge. You focus on your task, peeking briefly over as he pivots back to the other end of the counter. 

His hair is pulled back behind his head but several strands hang loose around his face. He has a black tank on, his thick arms exposed, flesh and metal, and a pair of shiny track pants on the bottom. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he loads the blender. He clears away the scraps and rinses off the spoon and knife he dirtied in his task. 

He hits the button and the blender whirs loudly. He angles to lean on the arm of the counter and reaches into his pants pockets. He takes out a long strip of fabric and stars to wind it around his wrist and hand. You’ve seen those. The things that boxers wear. 

He does only his real hand. The blender stops and he turns to fill a shaker with the smoothie. He goes for the sink and you clear your throat. 

“I can get that,” you offer. 

He glances over and shrugs. He grabs his shaker and doffs it at you with a nod. He passes you and heads for the stairs. You peek after him then move to rinse out the blender. That wasn’t terrible. You hope.  

You’ve done your best not be in his way since that first day. You’re still paranoid by his cryptic stares and long silences. You never minded quiet but this is the sort that gnaws at you. Aside from that, the job is manageable. 

You shiver as your hip brushes against a draw. You’re reminded of the weight of his hand there. Both his hands, around you, so easily holding you up. And what did you do but let him. 

The first heavy thump makes you wince. You spin and look up to the open hatch. He must have a bag up there or something. That makes sense since he wrapped his hand. He looked ready for a workout. It must be good stress relief to just punch something you can’t hurt. 

You tap play on your music. Heart starts to play. Your taste is a bit out dated but there’s no one to judge you. At the same time, you don’t have anyone to share it with. Sadly, most of the artists you love, you can’t even see in concert anymore. If you could ever afford that. 

The steady pounding of the punching bag continues from above. After a while, it’s almost comforting. You finish the kitchen and move on to the front room. As you fluff the couch pillows, the beating stops. There’s a hiss and Bucky snarls as he comes down the stairs swiftly. 

“Shit,” he hops past the last few steps and marches into the kitchen. You watch him in confusion as he raises his metal arm. He holds it up as he looks down and touches his side. He curses again as he swipes paper towel from the roll mounted to the wall. 

“Some help, doll?” He tosses over his shoulder. 

He’s talking to you. Right? You drop the pillow and take your earbud completely out. Something’s wrong. 

As you come around the arm of the counter, he turns to you, revealing the wet stain on his tank top. He holds out the paper towel with his other hand. “Pressure.” 

He gestures to his ribs. You take the paper towel with a tremble and push it against his middle. He puffs behind his teeth and reaches to his extended metal arm. You see the panel sticking out. It must’ve cut him. 

“Damn thing.” He growls. 

You blink and look at your hand. His blood seeps through and stains your fingers. You can smell the iron. You gape at the crimson smear as your heart pumps wildly. He pushes the panel flat and lowers his arm. He puts his hand over yours, spreading his thick fingers to completely cover yours. 

“You don’t like blood, do you?” He says. “I can hear your heart.” 

You slip your hand from beneath his as he takes the paper towel. He crumples up the sopping square and tuts. You turn and rush over to your kit. You fish out the pouch you keep tucked behind the sponges. You unzip it and return to him as you pluck out the roll of gauze. 

He considers the offer before he accepts it. Your eyes meet as his fingers brush yours. You quiver as his gaze bores through you. 

“You should wash your hands,” he takes the pouch too. “I got this.” 

He turns and stirs through the contents. You look at your hands then the sink. You go to the counter and twist the faucet on. What an unusual day. 

[xuchiya]

married to the stage || choi san || chapter 1

| genre: fluff. marriage-of-conviniece. angst. idol! san. ceo! female reader | mentions: sasaeng. scandal. SA . cursing. fake marriage. also getting a divorced.

back to masterlist || chapter 2

He was untouchable. Unstoppable. A king in his domain.

And yet, even kings had shadows lurking behind them.

San exhaled deeply, his gaze drifting over the sprawling cityscape from Mingi’s apartment window. The neon lights flickered like distant stars, the streets below alive with movement, yet his mind wandered elsewhere. Ateez’s latest comeback had taken the world by storm, and ever since the music video dropped, his name had dominated the headlines. After months of keeping the secret under wraps, the overwhelming rush of success felt like floating on cloud nine.

But that wasn’t the case of his uneasiness at this very moment. 

She was waiting for him. She always was.

She had been a ghost in his shadow for years, lurking at the edges of his world. The letters smeared with red lipstick, the eerie DMs that found their way to private accounts, the glimpses of an unfamiliar figure outside his dorm, the company building, every place he once considered safe. Security had tightened, but she was relentless. Every comeback only fueled her obsession, and latest comeback had pushed her to new extremes.

It wasn’t just about watching him anymore. She wanted more. She wanted him.

San ran a hand through his hair, tension winding tight in his shoulders as his phone buzzed beside him.

Hongjoong [10:47 PM]: You okay? Seonghwa said you haven’t come home since yesterday.

San [10:47 PM]: No and please tell Seonghwa-hyung I’ll be staying at Mingi’s for a while. 

Hongjoong [10:48 PM]: Okay, but is she still following you?

San [10:49 PM]: She’s outside again.

Hongjoong [11:05 PM]:  I told the company. We added extra bodyguards. Don’t go anywhere alone.

San [11:06 PM]: I won’t. But she won’t stop, hyung. She sent me something earlier.

He hesitated for a moment before forwarding the message.

I want to see you up close this time, San. And I will.

A few seconds later, Hongjoong’s call lit up his screen. San sighs, the heavy truth of the reality settling on his shoulder as he answers his Captain’s call. He leans against the window, gazing mindlessly.

“You’re not going back to your place,” his leader’s voice was firm, laced with concern. “Stay with one of the members tonight.”

San sighed, rubbing his temple as he paced the room. “I'm already at Mingi's and I wasn’t planning to come home tomorrow, tell Seonghwa-hyung I’m sorry.”

A soft crackle of static carried through the line before Hongjoong spoke again. “He says it’s okay and that come back home when everything has calmed down… “ There was a short silence before Hongjoong spoke again, “You need to lay low. Maybe even disappear from your usual routine for a while.”

San dropped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. His mind drifted to the invitation he’d received from Johnny, his childhood friend. Johnny had worked his way up in a multi-media company and was hosting a party to celebrate not just the success of their new CEO but also his own promotion to COO.

“This party tomorrow—Johnny invited me,” San murmured. His situation right now could only heighten the risk of that sasaeng being near, but at the same time he had made a promise.

“Is it important?” Hongjoong asked after a pause.

San’s gaze flickered to his calendar, where he had circled the date in red. He and Johnny had been through everything together—childhood, struggles, triumphs. Through every high and low, they had promised to stand by each other. When San debuted, Johnny had been there. Now, when Johnny was achieving one of his greatest milestones, San couldn’t bear to miss it.

“I promised him, hyung. I have to go.”

A heavy sigh came from the other end. “I know how much this means to you. If you’re going, at least take security with you.”

Despite the tension coiling in his gut, San felt a wave of relief. Hongjoong wasn’t forbidding him. There was still a looming threat, but for one night, he could still be there for his friend.

“I will,” he promised, a small smile breaking through the worry that clouded his mind.

The party was in full swing by the time he arrived, the venue bathed in golden light, a soft hum of laughter and music filling the space. Time must have been so slow that San wasn’t sure how long he had been gripping his drink, but he could feel his fingers growing cold around the glass.  He should’ve been enjoying the night—celebrating Johnny’s promotion, breathing in the ease of a well-earned break. And also an excuse to be somewhere she wouldn’t expect.

San scanned the venue, taking in the lively atmosphere. A few familiar faces stood out among the crowd, but most were high-profile CEOs—polished, composed, effortlessly exchanging laughter and deals worth millions. It was a scene he knew well, yet something pressed against his chest, a weight that refused to lift.

The ice in his glass clinked softly as he set his drink down.

"Need an out?"

San turned at the familiar voice, met with Johnny’s knowing smirk. His old friend stood beside him, posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp—too sharp, like he had been watching San the whole night and had finally decided to step in.

Johnny had always been perceptive, picking up on the smallest shifts in San’s demeanor, the barely-there stiffness in his shoulders, the way his fingers toyed with the condensation on his glass instead of actually drinking from it. Even now, in the middle of his celebration, surrounded by people congratulating him on his latest milestone, he still noticed San’s unease.

Johnny’s hand came down on San’s shoulder, firm, grounding. A quiet reassurance.

San exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Johnny’s smirk widened as he scanned the room, “I think I just found your escape, bro.”

Before San could react, Johnny clapped him on the back with more force than necessary, making San stumble slightly. “Come on. Trust me.” San huffed out a reluctant laugh but let himself be led through the crowd. The tension in his chest eased slightly, if only because Johnny had always been good at reminding him what it was like to just breathe.

For the first time that evening, San felt something other than discomfort—relief.

The moment they reached a quieter corner of the ballroom, Johnny finally turned to him, grinning like he had just pulled off the greatest trick of the night, “Man, I can’t believe you actually showed up.” Johnny nudged San with his elbow as he handed him a glass of champagne. San knew how much alcohol he could take and this could be his last glass before he passed out. “When was the last time you willingly went to one of these things?”

San scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

Johnny gave him a deadpan look.

San sighed. “Fine. Maybe I am that bad.”

Johnny laughed, shaking his head. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have felt right without you here.”

San looked at his friend, really looked at him. Johnny had worked hard for this, chasing his dream position with the same relentless determination San had seen in him since they were kids. And now, here he was—standing in the middle of a celebration thrown just for him.

San’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile, patting his friend’s shoulder. “You deserve this, man.”

Johnny grinned. “Damn right, I do.”

They clinked glasses in a silent toast, a moment of ease settling between them. For a little while, San allowed himself to get lost in the comfort of familiarity. Johnny was one of the few people who had known him before all of this—before ATEEZ, before the fame, before the pressure of living under a microscope. Here, San wasn’t an idol. He was just a friend celebrating someone’s success.

It was almost enough to make him forget about the pair of eyes still watching him from somewhere in the crowd. But almost wasn’t good enough.

Because the moment he let his guard down, fate had other plans.

San turned his head at the wrong moment—just in time to catch a glimpse of her.

His heart stuttered.

His stomach twisted.

And suddenly, the walls start closing in.

Johnny noticed the shift instantly, his eyes darting around. He knew about the situation that San is currently in and he expected his friend to decline or won’t show up on his party yet here he is, a champagne in hand.

“San?”

San’s throat tightened. “She’s here.” He felt it before he saw her. A stare, heavy and unshakable. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his gaze swept across the room—then stopped. Near the bar, a woman stood slightly apart from the crowd. Elegantly dressed, she blended in yet somehow stood out, an unsettling contrast that sent a chill down his spine. Her lips curled into a knowing smile as she raised her glass, her eyes never leaving his.

It's her.

His blood ran cold. He knew she would go to lengths to follow him, but this—this was bolder than ever. San could feel it. The way the air in the room felt slightly off, the phantom sensation of being watched, the familiar suffocating tension pressing against his ribs. She wasn’t in the shadows anymore. She was stepping into the light, bold, fearless, and dangerous in ways that made his skin crawl. 

Johnny’s expression darkened, his grip on his glass tightening. “Where?” San wasn’t able to move nor speak and Johnny followed his gaze and cursed under his breath. “Alright,” he muttered, turning back to San. “We need to move. Now.”

San turned sharply, his mind racing for an escape plan—yet he was moving too fast, too recklessly to notice the figure in his path. The moment of impact was sudden. A collision of warmth. A sharp inhale. A startled gasp.

Time seemed to slow.

You stumbled back from the force, the world tilting—but before you could hit the ground, steady hands caught you. Strong, firm. Heat seeped through your back where his fingers curled, anchoring you.

San’s breath hitched. His gaze locked onto yours—wide, startled, unguarded. For a fleeting moment, neither of you moved, held in a strange, breathless pause.

And then, something shifted. His mind had been a storm mere seconds ago, chaotic and desperate, but now—now, it was silent. Suspended in the space between heartbeats.

The soft glow of the lights above cast a halo around you, catching in your hair, tracing your features in gold. For a fleeting second, his thoughts derailed, stolen by the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your lashes fluttered as you processed the moment.

Beautiful.

The word formed before he could stop it. A realization, unspoken yet undeniable, settling into his chest with an unfamiliar weight. His fingers flexed against your arms, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were real, that this moment was real.

Your eyes searched his, confusion flickering across your features, but before you could voice it, something in his expression shifted again—sharp, calculating. Reality snapped back into place. His grip tightened, not in discomfort, but with urgency. A silent message passed between you—something unreadable yet impossible to ignore.

Then, his next words came, low and urgent, barely above a whisper."Play along." It wasn’t just a request. It was a command wrapped in desperation, in something unspoken. Before you could question him, San moved—swift, calculated. His fingers slid from your arms to your wrist, pulling you closer, pulling you into something you didn’t understand yet.

[yena-enha]

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟗, 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 - 𝐋𝐇𝐒

A sequel to ‘2019, Maybe’ (Touch this text to read 2019,Maybe)

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Warning - Angst, emotional baggage, breakup aftermath, grief, slow reconciliation, emotional vulnerability, implied mental health struggles, eventual healing and romance

Note - SFW ANGST & FLUFF CONTENT

Genre - Second-chance romance, angst, slice of life, soft drama

Pairing - Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Song Inspiration - Dream BY LISA

Word Count - 2,300 words

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

“Whenever I close my eyes, it’s taking me back in time,

Drowning in dreams lately, like it’s 2019, baby.

I look at your picture and I smile,

It makes me rewind my mind,

‘Cause in the end, you saved me.

Now it’s 2029, baby.”

----

Heeseung doesn't come home at 2:37 a.m. anymore.

Because it's been almost five years since he had a home to come back to.

Since he dropped his keys on your counter, peeled off his hoodie like the weight of the world sat in its seams, and moved through your apartment like a stranger with memorized steps.

Since you laid in bed, blinking through the dark while his breath filled the silence you used to share.

Since you told him, "I don't think I can keep doing this," and he answered, "I know."

Since he left.

And you let him.

You thought that was the end of your story.

Until today.

---

It's late April 2029, and the rain falls the same way it used to. Soft taps on the cafe windows, mist clinging to the glass like unspoken things.

You hadn't planned to come. You haven't been here in years. Not since you buried that version of yourself—the girl who used to wait across this table for a boy with stars in his eyes and music in his bones.

But you're early for your 4:00 p.m. client. And something pulls you here like muscle memory. Like grief still has a pulse.

The bell above the door rings as you enter. The place hasn't changed. Same scratched-up tables. Same amber glow of lamps. Same faint scent of cinnamon and espresso.

You sit at the same table. Without thinking.

You used to sit here on Sundays when Heeseung was still a trainee, all nerves and neon dreams. He'd scribble lyrics on napkins and hold your hand under the table like it grounded him.

Back then, he kissed you like he had nothing but time.

You're stirring your drink when he walks in.

You don't see him at first. Just the familiar chime of the bell. The hush of rain. And then—the silence that stretches taut when your eyes meet.

Heeseung.

Older now. But unmistakably him. Hair darker. Hoodie oversized. The same way he used to wear it when he wanted to disappear into a crowd.

He freezes. Then walks over.

You both speak at the same time.

"This was our table."

A pause. A breath. A ghost of a smile.

"Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head. "Go ahead."

You don't talk. Not at first. Not for days.

You both keep coming back. You sit across from each other. Order the same drinks.

Heeseung still hums under his breath. You still take your coffee too sweet.

He opens his book but never reads it. You bring your case notes but never write.

You just exist—two people haunting the same past.

Until one day, he speaks.

"I teach now," he says quietly, staring at the foam in his latte. "Vocal coach. I work with trainees. Sometimes idols too."

You nod. "Therapist. Clinic on 6th. Specialize in burnout. And grief."

He looks at you then. Really looks.

"Grief, huh?"

You nod. "It sticks around."

He nods too. "Yeah. It does."

---

Over the next few weeks, the silence turns to soft chatter.

Heeseung tells you about the boy he mentors who reminds him of himself. You tell him about the client who writes poetry instead of speaking.

You both laugh again.

Not like you used to.

Softer. Fragile. Like muscle memory stretching after disuse.

You learn he never dated anyone seriously after you. He learns you stopped believing in forever.

You fall back in love like waves against a worn shore.

In glances. In shared silence. In remembering how his fingers used to play with the sleeves of your cardigan when he was nervous.

One evening, as the cafe empties, he touches your hand.

Just a brush.

You don't pull away.

---

October 18th comes. The date you never say out loud.

You arrive at the cafe. He's already there.

A tiny bouquet of forget-me-nots sits on the table.

Heeseung looks up, eyes glassy.

"I know this day probably means nothing now. But it used to. To me. To us."

You sit down slowly. Words caught behind your ribs.

He breathes in like he’s steadying a tremble.

"I think about that morning a lot. The last one. You offered me breakfast. I said I didn’t have time."

You remember it too. The way his arms felt more like routine than comfort. The way he said, "I love you," like it was an afterthought.

"I knew I was losing you," he whispers. "And I didn’t fight. I chose silence. I chose my dream."

Your throat tightens.

"I used to believe in that dream like it was mine too," you say softly.

Heeseung looks down.

"You were never just a chapter, you know? You were the story. And I... I threw it away."

You don’t say anything for a long time.

Then:

"I’m still trying to forgive you."

His head lifts. He looks at you like he's breathing for the first time in years.

"Then I’ll wait. As long as it takes."

And that’s how it begins again.

Not in declarations. But in promises born from truth.

---

Forehead kisses come first. Tentative. Grateful.

Then laughter. Your first real one since that night in 2024.

Then the way he pulls your chair out. How he walks on the outside of the sidewalk. How he still plays with your fingers like they're notes he's learning again.

One night, in the soft glow of your apartment, he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

Not like a boy chasing dreams.

But like a man who found his way home.

---

He proposes on a quiet Sunday. Same table. Same coffee.

No speech. Just a velvet box. A scribbled note:

"Maybe I outgrew the dream. But I never outgrew you."

You say yes through tears.

---

The aisle is short. But the moment feels infinite.

Heeseung cries before you even reach him.

Your hand trembles in his.

When it's time for vows, he breaks.

"I left you when you needed me most. I chose ambition over presence. And yet you still let me in again. You loved me through the ruin."

His voice cracks.

"This time, I vow to stay. To listen. To hold you when you're tired. To fight when it's hard. To never let silence be louder than love."

Tears stream down your face. You nod.

When the officiant says kiss, he doesn’t hesitate.

Your lips meet.

And this time, there's no distance. No silence.

Just you and Heeseung.

And the home you built between heartbreak and healing.

His forehead presses to yours.

You close your eyes.

You were his dream outgrown.

He was your heart, still.

Now, you are each other's again.

In 2029, Probably

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You guys asked for a sequel, so here it is (with a happy ending ofc)

«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» (open) @strxwbloody

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[riddlesrizzler]

Mini Fic #1

"And it's hard to be at a party with an opened wound, it's hard to anywhere these days when all I want is you" - mattheo riddle

The party was loud. Too loud.

Laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls of the Slytherin common room, bouncing between bodies packed too tightly together, a blur of heat and perfume and clinking glasses. Someone turned up the music with a flick of their wand. Someone else spilled Firewhisky on the rug. No one noticed. Or cared.

Mattheo stood in the corner, back against the wall, arms crossed like armor.

He didn’t want to be here. Not really. But leaving meant thinking. And silence meant remembering. So he stayed. Let the noise drown out the ache in his chest.

The ache you left behind.

It had been weeks since you’d stopped talking. Since you pulled away. Since that night on the Astronomy Tower, when everything cracked between you in a single breath.

“You don’t get to act like I mean something and then run the second it’s inconvenient,” you had said, voice trembling but eyes fierce.

And he-idiot that he was-had stayed silent. Because love was terrifying, and letting you in felt too much like surrender.

He thought maybe you’d come back. But you hadn’t. And now, here he was-at a party with an opened wound.

He watched you across the room.

You were pretending.

Smiling like your heart wasn’t shattered. Laughing like you hadn’t once cried into his shirt at 2 a.m. when nightmares wouldn’t let you sleep. You stood by the fireplace, surrounded by friends, dressed in that way that made it impossible not to look at you.

He hated how beautiful you were. He hated how he still knew you inside out. He hated how the world kept spinning even though you weren’t his anymore.

You glanced toward him-just for a second. Eyes locking.

And for one split moment, the world hushed. The music dulled. The chatter faded.

It was just you. And him. And all the things you never said.

His heart clenched. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just hard to be here. It was hard to be anywhere.

The Quidditch pitch? You once kissed him under the stars after curfew. The library? You used to drag him there and pretend he wasn’t completely hopeless at Charms. Even the damn Great Hall was a graveyard of memories-breakfasts where your legs touched under the table, dinners where he’d steal the marshmallows off your plate just to make you glare at him.

He couldn’t breathe.

Theo said something beside him, but Mattheo didn’t hear it. His eyes were locked on you as you turned, laughing at something one of your friends said-but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

He knew that smile. He missed that smile. And Merlin, he was such a fool.

He downed what was left in his glass and shoved through the crowd, heart pounding, vision tunneled. You didn’t see him coming until he was right there in front of you.

You froze.

He looked like chaos bottled in a boy-messy curls, knuckles scabbed, eyes stormy with too much emotion.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice low.

You stared. “Here?”

“No,” he said, gaze flicking to the hallway. “Please.”

Your friends exchanged glances, but you nodded.

You followed him out into the corridor, the noise fading behind you.

The moment the door closed, the silence pressed in.

“I miss you,” he said. Just like that. No preamble. No armor.

You blinked. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“I know.” His jaw clenched. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m saying it anyway.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, the chill of the dungeon air biting at your skin. “You pushed me away, Mattheo. I tried. I was there. And you just… shut me out.”

“I was scared,” he whispered. “Scared of what it meant. Scared that I’d ruin it. Because everything I touch turns to shit and you-you were the only thing that ever felt good. And I didn’t know how to handle it.”

A pause.

He stepped closer, his voice breaking on the words: “It’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you.”

You looked up at him-really looked-and for a moment, your eyes softened.

“You hurt me.”

“I know,” he breathed. “But I’ll spend every day trying to make it right, if you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched again, thick and heavy.

Then-

Your hand found his. Hesitant. Soft.

“I’m not saying it’s fixed,” you whispered. “But I miss you too.”

And maybe that was enough-for now.