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lilmisssona · 1 month ago

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*ੈ✩Sorry Bestie, I love you *ੈ✩

*ੈ✩Pairing - Han Jisung × Fem Reader

*ੈ✩Plot - After being stood up for the fifth time this year, you've had enough of serial date ghosting. Just when you were about to leave, your best friend Han, whom you vented to , texts back saying to wait because he's coming to meet you. But Han left for another city eight years ago and when he shows up, you're shocked to see your quirky best has turned into someone undeniably hot!

*ੈ✩Genre - Angst, comedy, fluff

*ੈ✩Warnings - Dramatic comedic duo, non idol au, best friends to lovers au, angst, hurt to comfort

*ੈ✩Word Count - 10.7 K *ੈ✩Screenshot Count - 4

*ੈ✩A/N - Episode 5 of Staymas is here! This best friends-to-lovers tale will have you laughing, crying, and dreaming. Dive into this heartwarming and classic tale, albeit a little cliché! you won’t want to miss it! ( This is just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistakes 🙂‍↕️ )

*ੈ✩ SKZ Masterlist *ੈ✩ STAYMAS Masterlist

The candle flickers, the breeze teasing its flame. You try not to look at the empty chair across from you, but it’s impossible to ignore. Five times this year. A record, really. Maybe it’s time to quit dating altogether.

You grab your bag to leave, but your phone buzzes on the table. Glancing at the screen, you see his name....

You frown at the screen. Typical Jisung...cryptic, over-the-top, dramatic. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, debating whether to humor him. But something about his insistence makes you hesitate.

After waiting 20 minutes you were about to respond when the café door swings open. The sound barely registers...it’s a busy place, after all...but then you see him.

And for a moment, your brain stalls.

There he is: Han Jisung.

But not the Jisung you remember - the nerdy kid with mismatched socks and perpetually broken earbuds. No, this version of Jisung looks… different. Sharper. His jawline catches the soft glow of the café lights, and his tailored jacket makes him look almost regal.

When his eyes meet yours, he grins, the same mischievous spark lighting his face. “Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Jisung,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here? You live miles away in Busan!”

“I moved back to Seoul months ago,” he says casually, leaning back. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No!”

“Oops,” he says unapologetically. “Anyway, I couldn’t let you sit here alone. You deserve better than some no-show loser.”

You stare at him, still trying to process. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know. That’s why you love me.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, his tone light but his gaze warm.

“Why, Ji? You didn’t teleport just to crash my pity party.”

Jisung leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips. “When my best friend texts saying their night sucks, I can’t not show up. Besides,” he adds with a mock whisper, “it’s been too long since I’ve played knight in shining armor.”

You snort, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at his words. “If you’re the knight, I’m doomed. What’s your grand plan? Order dessert and roast my date?”

“First, dessert is mandatory. Second, roasting is a given. But I was thinking bigger.”

You arch a brow. “Bigger? Like what?”

He rubs his chin in mock contemplation. “Storm their workplace and give them a lecture on human decency? Or better yet, I’ll write a diss track. Something like, ‘Ghosted Five Times, but I’m Still Fine.’”

You burst out laughing. “Please don’t. The world doesn’t need a breakup anthem about my tragic love life.”

“Too late,” he says, pretending to take notes. “Verse one: ‘Left her at the rooftop café, but she’s too hot for your games anyway.’ Instant hit.”

“Ridiculous,” you say, still laughing.

“And yet, you’re smiling,” he points out, grinning wider.

You shake your head, but the heaviness you felt earlier is fading, replaced by Jisung’s familiar warmth.

“Okay, fine,” you say, gesturing to the menu. “If you’re the hero, you’re buying dessert.”

“Done,” he says, scanning the menu. “But we’re sharing.”

“Deal. But I’m ordering the biggest slice.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d expect less.”

As the waiter approaches, you realize something...this moment, sitting here with Jisung, feels better than any date you’ve had in years.

And that thought terrifies you.

----------------------------------------------------------

The waiter sets down the slice of tiramisu, its rich layers of cream and coffee-soaked cake practically glowing under the café lights. Jisung doesn’t even wait for the plate to settle before scooping up a massive bite.

“Hey!” you protest, swatting at his hand with your fork. “We agreed to share, not for you to inhale the whole thing!”

“Sharing is caring,” he says through a mouthful, utterly unrepentant. “Besides, you said you wanted the biggest slice, not the biggest bite. Details matter.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the laugh that escapes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’ve kept me around all these years.” He winks, his cheek now smudged with a bit of whipped cream.

“You’ve got something on your face, genius,” you say, pointing vaguely at his cheek.

“Here?” He swipes at the wrong side.

“No, the other side.”

“Here?” He misses again, managing to smear the whipped cream further.

“Give me that.” You grab a napkin and lean across the table to clean his cheek.

Jisung freezes, his playful grin fading as you get closer. Your hand pauses, and for a brief moment, you’re hyper-aware of how near you are. His gaze locks with yours, the teasing light in his eyes softening. The sounds of the café blur into a quiet hum, leaving only the weight of the moment.

Then, just as suddenly, it’s gone.

“There,” you say, sitting back and tossing the napkin onto the table. “Crisis averted.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he teases, but his voice is gentler now, his smile smaller yet no less warm.

You look away, focusing on your fork as you take a bite of the tiramisu. The sweetness melts on your tongue, but the lingering heat of his gaze lingers heavier than the dessert.

“So,” you say, eager to steer the conversation back to safer ground, “are you going to tell me why you didn’t mention moving back to Seoul? Or were you planning to keep it a secret forever?”

He shrugs, casually taking another bite. “I wanted it to be a surprise. You know me...I live for dramatic entrances.”

“Mission accomplished,” you mutter. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Believe it,” he says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”

His words hang in the air, heavier than you expect. You glance at him, and for a moment, you see the boy he used to be...the one who chased you through the hallways, who promised nothing would ever come between you....

----------------------------------------------------------

It was a rainy Monday morning. The kind that begged you to stay under the covers and forget the world existed. But skipping class wasn’t an option when you were already on the brink of being dropped for "excessive tardiness." So, there you were, sprinting through the maze of your university’s sprawling campus, clutching your bag to your chest and praying you’d slip into the lecture hall unnoticed.

As you rounded a corner, moving far too quickly for the slippery tile floor, disaster struck. You slammed straight into something— or someone. The impact sent you staggering, and before you could process what had happened, books, papers, and color-coded notes exploded into the air, raining down like confetti in a very unfortunate parade.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” you blurted, dropping to your knees to gather the mess. Your heart was pounding from the sprint...and now from the mortification. So much for keeping a low profile.

“It’s fine,” came a calm, slightly irritated voice.

Looking up, you froze. Of all people, it had to be Han Jisung, the department’s golden boy. His reputation as a straight-A student was almost mythical, the kind of person who turned in assignments early and still managed to ace everything. Even now, in the chaos, he looked annoyingly put together. His navy sweater was pristine, his hair somehow immune to the rain outside, and his expression was a mix of disbelief and mild exasperation.

“Maybe,” he said, crouching down to gather his notes, “you should slow down next time.”

“Right. Slow down. Got it,” you muttered, cheeks burning as you handed him a stack of papers. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry again.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, his gaze flicking to yours. “Thanks. Wait… do I know you?”

“You should,” you said before you could stop yourself. “I’m the one who almost blew up the chemistry lab during first-year practicals.”

Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by amusement. “Oh. You’re that person.”

You grinned sheepishly. “The one and only. In my defense, the safety instructions were... vague.”

“That’s a generous interpretation,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he resumed organizing his notes with practiced precision.

“And you’re Han Jisung,” you added, as though it wasn’t obvious. “Everyone knows you. You’re basically the poster child for academic perfection.”

“And you’re the one who thought shaking the vending machine would make it dispense two drinks at once,” he countered, his tone dry but laced with humor.

“That worked,” you retorted, smiling. “It just wasn’t worth the bruises.”

To your surprise, he laughed, an unguarded, genuine laugh that softened his polished exterior. For a moment, the intimidating image of Han Jisung melted away, replaced by someone far more approachable.

“Here,” he said, standing and offering you his hand. His grip was steady as he pulled you to your feet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just my pride’s a little bruised,” you admitted, brushing off your jeans.

“Well,” he said, smirking, “maybe next time, your pride should walk a little slower.”

You laughed, the last of your embarrassment fading. “Duly noted, Han Jisung.”

He tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand, which he shook with a small, genuine smile.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you quipped, grinning as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

He shook his head, an amused glint in his eye as he collected his books and turned to leave. “See you around,” he said over his shoulder.

And as you watched him walk away - posture perfect, demeanor unshaken despite the chaos...you couldn’t help but smile. Something told you this wouldn’t be the last time your paths crossed.

You had no idea then just how much he’d come to mean to you...or how much trouble the two of you would get into together.

----------------------------------------------------------

The first time Han Jisung saved you, you were knee-deep in a mess entirely of your own making. It had started innocently enough - just another one of your “brilliant” ideas. You’d overheard someone mention that the campus auditorium boasted the best sound system in the city, and naturally, your curiosity had gotten the better of you. The only hitch? You decided to “borrow” a key from the janitor’s office to test the claim.

Your plan seemed foolproof: sneak in, connect your playlist, and revel in the sheer glory of bass that could rattle the walls. What could possibly go wrong? Well, as it turned out, everything.

Barely ten minutes into your impromptu concert, the auditorium doors swung open, revealing a very unimpressed campus security officer.

“Who gave you permission to be here?” the officer demanded, his glare sharp enough to slice through steel.

Panic flooded your chest as you fumbled for an explanation. “I, uh… I was just...”

“Just what? Trespassing and breaking into campus property?”

The scolding was bad enough, but the real horror was the thought of being reported. With your already shaky academic record, one more misstep could mean suspension, or worse. As your mind raced for an excuse, a calm, steady voice cut through the tension.

“Actually, it was my fault,” said Han Jisung, striding into the room with a confidence you didn’t know he possessed.

You blinked at him in shock. Jisung, of all people? What was he doing here?

“And who are you?” the officer asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Han Jisung,” he said smoothly, as if his name alone carried authority. “I’m a student council representative. I was supposed to meet Y/N here to help set up the sound system for a presentation.”

Your jaw practically hit the floor. Presentation? Meeting? What on earth was Jisung talking about?

The officer frowned, unconvinced. “This doesn’t look like a presentation.”

“We were testing the system before the meeting,” Jisung explained with unnerving ease. His tone was so measured, so convincing, that even you almost believed him. “I take full responsibility for not getting prior approval from the administration. It won’t happen again.”

The officer eyed him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Fine. But if I catch either of you here without permission again, there will be consequences.”

“Yes, sir. Understood,” Jisung said, bowing slightly as the officer turned and left.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you turned to him, still reeling. “What the hell was that?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jisung retorted, arms crossed. “Breaking into the auditorium? Really?”

“I wasn’t breaking in! I just… borrowed the key,” you mumbled defensively.

“And you thought no one would notice?” He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it. He wasn’t wrong. “Fine. It was stupid. But why’d you cover for me?”

Jisung let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t want you to get in trouble. Again. Do you have any idea how close you are to being put on academic probation?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait! you keep track of my academic record?”

“It’s hard not to when you’re constantly finding new ways to get into trouble,” he muttered, though his tone was more exasperated than angry. “Seriously, Y/N, you need to be more careful.”

A strange mix of gratitude and embarrassment settled in your chest. “Thanks,” you said softly, looking at him with newfound appreciation.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, his expression softening. “Just… maybe think things through next time?”

You grinned despite yourself. “What, and miss out on all the fun?”

Jisung groaned, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “But admit it...you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

He didn’t answer right away, but the faint smile tugging at his lips said more than words ever could.

Your friendship with Han Jisung was like an unpredictable storm meeting a steady anchor. Where you brought chaos, wild and unapologetic, he brought calm and quiet resilience. Yet somehow, the two of you balanced each other, your mismatched escapades weaving an unlikely but unshakable bond.

----------------------------------------------------------

Take the time you convinced Han Jisung to sneak into the art department’s studio with you. Rumor had it that the seniors had painted a massive mural on the back wall, and you just had to see it before the official unveiling.

“This is such a bad idea,” Jisung muttered, trailing behind you through the dimly lit hallway.

“You say that every time,” you whispered back, stifling a grin as you jiggled the door handle. “And yet, here you are.”

“Only because someone has to make sure you don’t get caught,” he shot back, crossing his arms.

“Relax, it’s just a mural. No one’s going to....”

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, cutting off your reassurance. Your heart leaped into your throat as you instinctively grabbed Jisung’s arm and dragged him behind a stack of easels. The two of you crouched low, pressed shoulder to shoulder, holding your breath.

“I hate this,” he hissed, his voice barely audible.

“You love this,” you whispered, unable to suppress the mischievous smile spreading across your face.

When the footsteps finally receded, leaving the hallway silent once more, you turned toward Jisung, your faces just inches apart. For a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his eyes searched yours, as if questioning what on earth he was doing here with you.

“Let’s just go,” he muttered, breaking the spell as he stood up and dusted himself off.

The mural, when you finally laid eyes on it, was breathtaking: a kaleidoscope of colors and intricate details that left you momentarily speechless. But the real highlight of the night wasn’t the art. It was Jisung’s deadpan commentary as he gestured toward the wall with exaggerated disbelief.

“You risked getting us expelled for this?” he asked, his tone dripping with mock indignation.

“It’s called appreciating art,” you replied, snapping a photo with your phone. “You should try it sometime.”

“Next time, let’s just visit a museum like normal people,” he said, shaking his head. But the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed him.

Your friendship with Han Jisung was a rollercoaster of shenanigans and shared moments that made life vibrant and unpredictable. The two of you were a duo nobody quite understood — him, the straight-laced, diligent student with his color-coded notes and perfectly maintained schedule, and you, the chaotic whirlwind who somehow managed to stumble your way through life with charm and luck.

Whether it was sneaking into the art department to see hidden murals or convincing him to ditch a study session for a midnight run to the nearest convenience store, you were always dragging Jisung into your world of playful mayhem.

And the most surprising part? He let you. He’d complain endlessly...“Y/N, this is the last time I’m letting you drag me into one of your dumb plans...,” But he’d always follow.

But your fun and games came to a crashing halt one fateful afternoon when reality smacked you in the face.

It started innocently enough. You and Jisung were sitting on the grass in the quad, eating snacks after one of your shared classes. He had a notebook balanced on his knee, going over notes while you dramatically recounted your latest “battle” with your statistics professor.

“Y/N, you can’t keep ignoring deadlines,” Jisung said, laughing as he stole one of your chips. “At some point, it’s going to catch up with you.”

“It’s fine,” you said breezily, leaning back and looking at the sky. “I always figure it out in the end.”

But you didn’t.

The next week, the results of your midterm exams came out, and the sinking feeling in your stomach as you saw your grades was undeniable. You were failing. And not just in one class;several.

You didn’t want to tell Jisung. Admitting it felt like admitting defeat, like proving to him that you were the chaotic mess everyone thought you were. But Jisung wasn’t the type to let things slide.

When he saw you sitting alone in the library, looking dejected, he plopped down across from you with his usual confident grin. “Alright, what’s up? And don’t even think about saying ‘nothing.’”

You sighed, burying your face in your hands. “I’m failing, Jisung.”

He blinked, momentarily surprised. “Failing what?”

“Exams,” you mumbled.

“Right, you're failing. I know."

"You know?" you asked, shocked.

"You bombed the last three quizzes, skipped half the study sessions, and I saw you playing games on your laptop during class last week,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If you keep this up, you’re not going to pass the finals.”

You scoffed, running a hand through your hair. “Rubbing salt in the wound, much? Okay, I get it. I'm a horrible person… I don’t know how to fix it.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, his expression softening. “We’re going to fix this. Together.”

And just like that, he took charge. Over the next few months, Jisung practically became your shadow. He made you a study schedule, sat with you during every session, and patiently explained concepts you didn’t understand.

“Focus, Y/N,” he’d say when he caught you doodling in the margins of your notes.

“You’re like an annoying older brother,” you grumbled one evening as he forced you to redo a particularly difficult essay for the fifth time.

“Older?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally younger than you.”

“Then stop acting like my dad,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“You’re lucky I don’t charge for all this,” he’d mutter, shaking his head but unable to hide his fond smile.

Despite the grueling sessions, you couldn’t deny that it was working. And as the exams approached, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

The day the results were posted, you practically sprinted to the bulletin board, your heart pounding in your chest. Jisung followed behind, a calm presence as always.

When you saw your grades, you let out a gasp. “I passed!”

Jisung grinned, clapping you on the back. “See? I told you you could do it.”

You turned to him, your eyes shining. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Jisung. Seriously, thank you.”

He shrugged, but the smile on his face was genuine. “What are best friends for?”

And that was the moment you realized, once again, just how much he meant to you. He wasn’t just your partner in crime or your study buddy. He was your anchor, your constant, your safe place in the chaos of life.

----------------------------------------------------------

Next semester arrived before you knew it, sweeping you into a whirlwind of assignments, deadlines, and late-night cramming sessions. Somewhere amid the chaos of library study marathons and the steady comfort of early-morning pep talks, it hit you...you were falling for Han Jisung. It wasn’t the kind of love that blindsided you in a single moment, the way romance novels and movies often describe. No, this was different. It was a quiet realization, like the way dawn gradually paints the sky with soft, golden hues. Subtle, unassuming, but impossible to ignore once you noticed it.

You found yourself searching for his laugh in crowded rooms, a sound so infectious it felt like sunlight breaking through the darkest clouds. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled became something you looked forward to, a little beacon of joy in your long, exhausting days. Then there was the way he pushed his hair back when he was concentrating, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were trying to solve the mysteries of the universe. It was such a small thing, but it made your heart skip every time.

And it wasn’t just the way he made you feel; it was the way he cared for you, in a way no one else ever had. He had this way of noticing things about you...things you didn’t even realize you were doing. Like how he’d remind you to eat when you got too caught up in your work or how he’d send you a text late at night, a simple “You’ve got this” that somehow made everything feel a little more manageable. His care wasn’t loud or overbearing; it was steady and unshakable, like a constant undercurrent that you could always count on.

You didn’t know exactly when it started...when his presence began to mean more than just friendship. Maybe it was during one of those late-night library sessions when he stayed up with you until dawn, helping you with a paper even though he didn’t have to. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, his gaze soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name. Or maybe it was simply everything...every moment, every laugh, every small, thoughtful gesture adding up until your heart couldn’t hold it all anymore.

But falling for him was as terrifying as it was beautiful. Because as much as you wanted to believe there was something more between you, you couldn’t ignore the fear—the fear that acknowledging your feelings would change everything, that crossing that line might mean losing him entirely. So you kept it to yourself, letting your feelings grow quietly in the corners of your heart, where they were safe but painfully unspoken.

Instead of confessing, you did what you thought would save you from heartbreak: burying your feelings and making a choice that felt like the only escape at the time. You started dating someone else.

At first, it seemed like a solution, a distraction from the ache that tightened your chest every time Jisung’s warm smile was directed at you. Your new relationship kept you busy, giving you something else to focus on. But it didn’t take long for cracks to appear, tiny fractures that grew wider with every passing day. Your partner turned out to be toxic: controlling, dismissive, and quick to belittle you for things you couldn’t control. Every disagreement became a battle, every moment together felt like walking on eggshells.

And, of course, Jisung noticed. He always noticed.

“Y/N,” he said softly one evening, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence of your apartment. He was sitting beside you on the couch after you’d had yet another argument with your partner, your eyes red and tired from holding back tears. “You don’t have to put up with this.”

You shrugged, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands. “It’s not as bad as it seems.”

His hand reached out, brushing against yours as his voice took on a firmness that was rare for him. “It is that bad. You deserve better than this. So much better.”

You looked up at him then, his expression both gentle and resolute, and something in your chest cracked open. His words felt like a lifeline, a reminder of the person you used to be....the person you wanted to be again. Still, you didn’t act immediately. Breaking up was messy, painful, and terrifying. But Jisung’s unwavering support gave you strength.

When the breakup finally happened, it unraveled everything. The aftermath was raw, leaving you emotionally drained and questioning everything. You called Jisung in the middle of the night, your voice shaking as you choked out his name. And, like always, he showed up. No questions, no hesitation. He simply came.

He didn’t try to fix you or tell you to move on. He just sat with you, his arms wrapped around you as you cried, his presence grounding you in a way no one else’s could. His quiet reassurances weren’t grand declarations, but they were exactly what you needed: I’m here. You’re not alone.

And that was when you knew. You couldn’t keep pretending anymore. You couldn’t keep denying that he wasn’t just your best friend. That every time he laughed, your heart skipped. That he wasn’t the person you wanted beside you...not just in moments of crisis, but always.

It was terrifying to think about confessing. But the thought of losing him? That was even worse. So you made up your mind. You would tell him how you felt, even if it risked everything.

But reality always has other plans....

----------------------------------------------------------

“Earth to Y/N,” Jisung’s voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. His hand waved in front of your face, his tone laced with gentle teasing. “Are you okay?”

You blinked, your surroundings coming back into focus. His face was mere inches from yours, his brows furrowed with concern. He looked at you the way he always did, as though he could see every unspoken thought you were too afraid to share.

“Yeah,” you lied, your voice coming out shaky. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” His curiosity was genuine, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup, your heart hammering in your chest. What could you say? That you were thinking about how much you missed him? About how every moment with him only made it harder to keep your feelings hidden? About how terrifying it was to sit across from him, knowing your heart was an open wound he couldn’t see?

“Just... reminiscing,” you said finally, forcing a smile that you hoped hid the turmoil inside. “About how you’ve always had my back. You’ve saved me more times than I can count.”

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that never failed to make your stomach flip. “What can I say? Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”

You laughed, but it felt hollow, the weight of your unsaid confession pressing down on you. You couldn’t help but notice the way the evening light softened his features, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say what you really wanted to.

As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, you found yourself stealing glances at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every inflection of his voice. The thought that you might never be brave enough to tell him how you felt was unbearable.

And when he walked you home that night, his presence warm and steady beside you, you almost stopped him. Almost turned to him and let the words tumble out. But fear held you back...the fear of ruining what you already had, the fear that he didn’t feel the same.

As you stood outside your apartment building, Jisung smiled softly, his hands buried in his coat pockets. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered, watching him walk away.

You stayed there long after he was gone, the city’s lights blurring in your vision as tears pricked your eyes. Because no matter how much you told yourself it was better this way, your heart knew the truth.

You closed the door behind you, the sound of it slamming shut echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. Leaning against the door, you let out a breath, one you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. Your chest still felt tight, and your heart raced uncontrollably,not from the cold night air that still clung to you, but from everything that had just transpired.

Best friends

That’s all you were to him, and that’s all you’d ever be. The bitter thought made your stomach twist as you dropped your bag carelessly onto the floor.

With each step that led you to your bedroom, the weight of it all pressed down on you. You peeled off your jacket, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, not bothering to hang it up. The soft glow from the city lights filtered through your curtains, casting delicate, fleeting patterns on the walls. You climbed into bed, the comforter enveloping you like a fragile shield. But no amount of warmth could ease the ache that gnawed at your heart.

Your mind, however, had other plans. It dragged you back, back to that cold Valentine’s Day years ago, when you’d finally decided to take the plunge, to confess, to reveal the feelings you’d kept hidden for far too long.

----------------------------------------------------------

It had been one of those early February mornings, the kind where your breath hung in the air in little clouds of mist, and the campus pathways were slick from the melting frost. You’d spent weeks wrestling with the idea, turning it over in your mind like a stone you couldn’t get rid of. Every shared laugh, every teasing nudge from Jisung, every late-night text that made your heart flutter, each small moment had added weight to the growing realization that you couldn’t ignore your feelings anymore.

Today’s the day, you told yourself. The words echoed in your mind like a mantra, but they didn’t feel as comforting as they should have. You couldn’t keep pretending to be his best friend, not when your heart longed for something more.

You had prepared for this moment, rehearsing your confession in front of the mirror over and over. It wasn’t going to be grand or dramatic, just honest, just the truth of how much he meant to you. It was going to be simple: "Jisung, I need to tell you something. I think I’m in love with you."

But just as you’d gathered the courage to leave your dorm, your phone buzzed. A call from Nari, a friend of yours since freshman year.

"Hey, can we talk? Meet me at the campus café around noon. It’s important."

Your heart skipped a beat. What could Nari possibly want to talk about? You didn’t think much of it at first. Nari was the kind of person who always seemed to know when something was off, and she had a way of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it wasn’t. Maybe she’d guessed how you felt about Jisung and wanted to give you some advice—something to help ease the burden you’d carried for so long.

You agreed to meet her, nervous energy coursing through you. You picked out a small rose for Jisung, the perfect shade of red, and made your way to the café. When you arrived, Nari was already there, absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea. She looked up when she saw you, offering a smile, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Hey," she greeted, her voice light but hesitant. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Of course," you replied, trying to sound steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "What’s up?"

Nari hesitated, her gaze flickering to the rose in your hand before meeting your eyes again. She took a deep breath, and you could tell something was weighing heavily on her.

"I wanted to talk to you about something... something important," she said, her voice quieter now, more serious.

Your stomach tightened with unease. "Okay?"

She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, taking a moment before continuing. "I know how close you and Jisung are. And... I’ve noticed how you look at him."

Your cheeks flushed with heat, a wave of panic crashing over you. "W-What do you mean?" you stammered, unsure of what she was getting at.

"You like him, don’t you?" she asked gently, her voice almost apologetic, as if she already knew the answer.

You froze. There was no point denying it. Not when she’d already seen straight through you. The truth hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You nodded slowly, the grip on the rose tightening as you spoke. "Yeah. I do."

Nari bit her lip, her expression softening with sympathy. "I figured. That’s why I thought I should tell you before you... before you do anything." She trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. "What about you and Jisung?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Nari shifted in her seat, her eyes avoiding yours for a moment. Then, slowly, she met your gaze again, her expression filled with something that looked like guilt.

"We’ve been seeing each other," she said, her voice small but resolute. "For a little while now."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of you. You blinked, trying to process what she had just said. This couldn’t be real. Jisung hadn’t said anything...nothing about her, nothing about being with anyone.

"You’re... together?" you asked, barely able to form the words.

Nari nodded, her face etched with a kind of remorse. "It’s still new," she said quietly, "but I thought it was better to tell you now. I didn’t want you to find out in a way that would hurt more."

Hurt. The irony of her words felt like salt in the wound. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The rose in your hand suddenly felt like a cruel joke, its vibrant petals mocking you. The confession you’d been building up for so long, the one you’d been so certain of, had just become meaningless.

"I’m sorry," Nari said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. But... I really care about him."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to smile, even though it felt like it would tear you apart. "It’s fine," you said, though the words felt hollow. "Really."

But it wasn’t fine. Not at all.

The rest of the conversation blurred as she went on about how happy Jisung made her, about how she never expected this to happen, but how she had to be honest with you. Every word felt like a knife twisting deeper, but you held it together, nodding at the right times, forcing yourself to listen.

When you finally left the café, you didn’t even look back. The rose you’d clutched in your hand found its way into the nearest trash can, the delicate petals crushed under your trembling fingers, a symbol of everything you could never have.

---------------------------------------------------------

A few weeks after Valentine’s Day, life had settled into an uneasy rhythm. You buried your feelings deeper than ever, convincing yourself that it was better this way. You were still Jisung’s best friend, the one he turned to when he needed to laugh, vent, or just be himself. But each moment spent with him was a bittersweet reminder of what you could never have, an ache that lingered, stubborn and relentless.

Then, one evening, your phone buzzed with a call from him, Jisung.

“Hey, can we talk? There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach flipped, unease settling over you like a heavy weight. His tone was more serious than usual, sending a chill through your body. Was he about to bring up what you had been trying so hard to bury? You hesitated, but finally replied, your heart pounding.

“Of course. What’s up?”

“Let’s meet on the rooftop of campus. I’ll be there in 20.”

A knot tightened in your stomach as you agreed.

The rooftop -yours and his safe place. It was the space where you had shared confessions, secrets, things that shouldn’t be seen by the world. You both had always come here to escape, to be yourselves away from prying eyes.

You arrived early, anxiety crawling up your spine with every step. The campus was eerily quiet at night, and you slipped through the building’s doors, heading up to the rooftop. The familiar view of the city lights was comforting, but tonight, it couldn’t settle your nerves.

When Jisung arrived, he was different. His playful grin was absent, replaced by a serious expression. His eyes, usually filled with warmth and mischief, held a weight you hadn’t seen before. Your chest tightened at the sight.

“Hey,” you greeted, forcing a smile that felt like a mask, as you turned to face him.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice unusually soft. He didn’t meet your gaze immediately, instead fiddling nervously with the hem of his hoodie sleeves...a habit you knew well.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light, even though your heart felt like it was going to explode.

He took a deep breath before lifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes were steady, but there was something burdened in them, something he hadn’t said yet.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and... I didn’t know how to tell you. But I have to.”

Your heart sank, the weight of his words sinking in before you could even process them. What was ge about to tell you ? That he and Nari were becoming serious? That he didn’t want to stay friends anymore?

“I’m leaving Seoul,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. “What?”

“I got accepted into a music program in Busan,” he explained, his hands clenching into fists. “It’s an incredible opportunity, like a dream come true. But it means... I have to leave.”

Your mind went blank, your body feeling like it was trapped in quicksand. Jisung had always talked about his passion for music, about creating something that meant something. You were proud of him, truly, but the thought of him leaving, of him being so far away, was unbearable.

“When?” you managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“In a week,” he said, his eyes searching yours, looking for understanding. “I didn’t want to tell you until everything was finalized. I just... I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Your chest tightened as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You looked away, staring blankly at the city below. “A week? That’s... so soon.”

“I know,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “But it’s something I have to do. You understand that, right?”

You nodded, forcing the lump in your throat down, even though your heart was breaking. “Yeah, of course. It’s your dream. You’d be crazy not to go.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Jisung talked about the program, his excitement and nervousness spilling over as he shared every detail. You listened, offered words of encouragement, even joked with him to lighten the mood. But as soon as you were alone, everything you had been holding back came crashing down.

----------------------------------------------------------

The week passed in a blur, each day bringing you closer to the inevitable. And then, it was the day of his departure.

You met him at the train station, your chest heavy with the weight of goodbye. He was standing there, his suitcases at his feet, hoodie pulled up against the chill of the early morning. The finality of the moment was suffocating, the space between you growing with each passing second.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as you approached.

“Hey,” you replied, forcing a smile that felt like it might shatter any second.

Neither of you spoke right away, the sound of the bustling station drowning out the silence that hung between you. Neither of you could find the words that needed to be said.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said finally, his voice resolute, though there was a tremor of uncertainty in his eyes. “I’ll text you every day. I’ll call. We’ll stay in touch, okay?”

You nodded, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally escaping. “Yeah. We will.”

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer and pulling you into a hug. His arms were warm, steady, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to forget everything else. You breathed in deeply, memorizing the way he felt, the way his heartbeat synced with yours.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, his chin resting on top of your head. “I promise.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply clung to him, unwilling to let go, as though by holding on just a little longer, you could freeze this moment in time.

When the announcement for his train came over the speakers, he pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

He gave you one last smile: a small, sincere smile, before grabbing his bags and heading toward the platform. You watched him walk away, your heart breaking with every step, every inch between you and him.

As the train began to pull away, you told yourself it wasn’t the end. That you’d see him again. That things would go back to the way they were.

But deep down, you knew better. Something had changed, something unspoken, something that couldn’t be undone. And though you didn’t know what the future held, you knew one thing for sure,it could never be the same again....

---------------------------------------------------------

The sunlight poured through your window, bright and uninvited, cutting through the darkness of the room. You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow, desperate to escape the sharp ring of the alarm that sliced through the silence. The day ahead already felt heavy, as if the weight of the world had settled on your shoulders before it even began. The memories that had resurfaced the night before, memories you had buried for years...still clung to your mind, unrelenting and vivid. Jisung was back in your life, but the gap of eight years between you was an insurmountable distance...those unanswered questions, the unspoken truths, and the silent wishes hung between you like an invisible wall that neither of you could breach.

You dragged yourself out of bed, the grogginess still clinging to you like a second skin, your body protesting against the demands of the day. The kitchen greeted you with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the scent wrapping around you like a brief respite from the chaos swirling inside your mind. You leaned against the counter, staring blankly out the window, watching the familiar morning rush of Seoul. People hurried past, weaving in and out of the crowded streets with practiced precision, their steps as frantic as your thoughts. The city felt different now, with Jisung back in it. Or maybe it was you who felt different...changed by the weight of the years that had passed and the memories that refused to stay buried.

It had been weeks since that fateful café meeting....the first time you had seen him again after so many years of silence. Since then, you and Jisung had slipped into an almost familiar rhythm, as though time had somehow softened the sharp edges of the past. Late-night texts, spontaneous meetups, shared laughter, it all seemed to flow with ease, as though no time had passed at all. But beneath the surface of every smile, every joke, every touch, there was something deeper—a shadow of the past, a lingering ache, a question that neither of you dared to ask. The years apart, the buried feelings, and the uncertainty of where you stood now,all of it hovered between you, a constant presence neither of you could escape.

You had resolved, at least for the time being, to keep things light. To avoid venturing into territory that might reopen old wounds. After all, wasn't it better to just be his friend than risk losing him altogether? The logic made sense, the choice seemed rational. But your heart, stubborn as always, refused to follow any kind of logic. It ached for him in ways you couldn’t control, pulling you in directions you weren’t ready to go. No matter how hard you tried to push the feelings down, to suppress the memories that wanted to flood back to the surface, they remained, relentless, unyielding, impossible to ignore.

And so, you stood there, staring out at the city that felt both familiar and foreign, wondering if the past was something you could ever truly outrun...

----------------------------------------------------------

That afternoon, you found yourself standing in front of the same café where everything had started—where you’d seen Jisung for the first time in eight long years. But today, it wasn’t a chance encounter. This meeting had a purpose, planned and initiated by him.

Jisung’s call from the morning had been simple and vague, yet it had thrown you off balance:

“Let’s grab lunch? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

A surprise. With Jisung, that could mean anything...something small and silly, or something that could shift the ground beneath your feet. Either way, your heart had been racing ever since.

Pushing open the door to the café, the familiar chime of the bell above welcomed you. Your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him. He was already at your usual table by the window, waving at you with that familiar boyish grin. His hair was slightly messy, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up casually, and he looked so at ease, so natural, that it was almost enough to lull you into believing nothing had changed.

“Hey, you’re early,” you said as you slid into the seat across from him, feigning nonchalance to hide the way your pulse quickened at the sight of him.

“Rare moment of responsibility,” he quipped, setting his phone down on the table. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wasn’t planning to.”

As the waitress came to take your order, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him, trying to read the mood. There was a sparkle in his eyes, an almost childlike excitement, and you couldn’t help but feel curious and maybe a little nervous.

“So,” you started once the waitress left, “are you going to tell me what this surprise is, or are you just going to keep me guessing?”

Jisung leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “Patience. Let’s eat first.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but played along. Lunch passed in a blur of conversation and laughter. He told you about his time in Busan, the struggles of chasing his dreams, the doubts that crept in on sleepless nights, and the small moments of triumph that kept him going. You shared stories of Seoul, talking about everything from the daily grind to the little changes in the city he used to know so well.

There was something comforting about it all, like slipping into a well-worn rhythm. But beneath the surface of your laughter and casual conversation was the unspoken truth, the questions, the what-ifs, the emotions that threatened to rise to the surface with every shared glance.

As the meal drew to a close, your patience finally snapped.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, leaning forward, your curiosity getting the better of you. “What’s the big surprise?”

Jisung’s grin turned sheepish as he reached into his bag, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. He held it out to you with an almost nervous energy.

“It’s nothing huge,” he said, his voice softening. “But I saw this and thought of you.”

You blinked, staring at the package in his hands. “You didn’t have to....”

“Just open it,” he interrupted, his eyes alight with anticipation.

You hesitated only for a moment before carefully peeling away the wrapping. What you revealed made your breath catch. It was a leather-bound notebook, beautifully embossed with intricate designs. But it wasn’t just the notebook that made your heart stumble.

As you opened it, the first few pages revealed doodles, small, playful sketches that were unmistakably his. Interspersed with the doodles were notes, scribbled in his familiar handwriting, filled with inside jokes and tiny fragments of your shared past. Flipping further, you found photos tucked between pages, memories you had long forgotten brought back to life in vivid detail.

“Is this…?” you murmured, your voice trailing off as your fingers skimmed over the pages, taking in every detail.

“It’s kind of like a scrapbook,” Jisung explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “I found some of our old stuff while unpacking and thought... I don’t know, you might like it. I started putting it together, and… yeah.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you traced the edge of a photo - a candid shot of the two of you from college, your younger selves caught mid-laughter.

“Jisung, this is…” You looked up at him, your voice catching in your throat. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

He smiled, the shyness in his expression softening into something warmer. “I figured it’s about time we started filling in the gaps, you know? From all those years apart.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

But as you stared down at the notebook again, a bittersweet ache filled your chest. Every page, every sketch, every photo spoke of a connection you cherished. Yet they also served as a reminder of everything you couldn’t have. For all the love and care that had gone into this gift, for all the memories it brought back, there was one truth that hung in the air, unspoken and unchangeable.

Jisung didn’t feel the same way about you.

And no amount of shared nostalgia could rewrite that fact...

Later, as he walked you home, the air between you was filled with the kind of easy conversation that came naturally with him, light-hearted jokes, shared laughter, and fleeting glances that felt like secrets. It was almost as if the years apart hadn’t happened, as if the weight of the past had somehow dissolved in the rhythm of your steps. For a fleeting moment, it felt like old times.

His presence beside you was a quiet comfort, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d missed. The sound of his sneakers scuffing lightly against the pavement, the soft hum of the city around you, it all felt familiar, like slipping into a favorite old sweater that had been tucked away for too long.

“Thanks again for the notebook,” you said as you reached your building, clutching the gift tightly against your chest. “Seriously, it’s the best thing I’ve gotten in… well, years.”

He turned to you, his grin widening as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

There was something about the way he looked at you just then, a flicker in his eyes, warm and unguarded, that made your pulse stutter. The city lights reflected faintly in his gaze, and for one impossible second, you thought you saw something there. Something deeper. Something more.

But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual boyish charm. He smiled and took a playful step backward, rocking on his heels. “Goodnight, bestie.”

Your laugh came out soft and a little strained, the word bestie stinging in a way you hadn’t expected. It was a reminder of the line he had drawn between you, one he didn’t seem to realize you were desperate to cross.

“Goodnight, Jisung,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You stood there, watching as he walked away, his figure growing smaller with each step until he was just a shadow against the glow of the streetlights. Your chest felt heavy, the ache of unspoken words pressing against your ribs.

For a moment, the urge to stop him surged within you, stronger than ever. To call out his name, to tell him everything...

But you stopped yourself. And for the first time in years, you let yourself wonder: maybe it wasn’t about what you said or didn’t say. Maybe it was about what he felt or didn’t feel in return ?

---------------------------------------------------------

The days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, Jisung’s return to your life had started to take its toll. Spending time with him felt like walking a tightrope, balanced precariously between joy and heartache. Every laugh you shared, every inside joke that came rushing back, every moment spent together,it was everything you’d ever wanted. But it was also a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t have.

The little things were the hardest to bear. The way his laughter still made your heart skip, the way he instinctively remembered your favorite snacks or noticed the smallest changes in your mood. The way his voice softened when he said your name, as if it was a word meant to be spoken with care. Every interaction felt like it was pulling you deeper into an emotional quicksand. No matter how much you told yourself to keep things casual, to not overthink, the feelings you’d buried years ago rose to the surface, stronger and more relentless than ever.

It was exhausting. The constant battle within yourself...the longing to be close to him and the fear of being hurt again. The more time you spent with Jisung, the clearer it became: your heart wasn’t built to endure this. Not again.

So, you did the only thing you thought might save you. You started to pull away.

At first, it was subtle. A missed text here, a vague excuse there.

When he asked to hang out, you’d claim you were busy with work or that you weren’t feeling well. You convinced yourself it was temporary, that a little distance would give you the time and space you needed to get your emotions under control.

He didn’t question it at first. When you started skipping out on coffee dates or responding to his texts hours late with apologetic emojis and half-hearted excuses, Jisung didn’t push. He let it slide, brushing it off as you being busy or caught up with work. “It happens,” he’d say with a grin, his tone light and understanding. That was just who he was, always patient, always willing to give you the space you needed.

But as the days stretched into weeks, the excuses piled up, and the distance between you became impossible to ignore. Every invitation was met with, “Maybe next time,” or, “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” You stopped lingering over late-night texts, stopped sharing the small details of your day that you used to send him without a second thought.

And every time you turned him down, every time you chose silence over connection, you felt the guilt clawing at you. It was suffocating, that constant push and pull between wanting to protect yourself and not wanting to hurt him. But in your mind, this was the only way. Keeping your heart intact meant keeping your distance.

Except, it wasn’t working.

Avoiding Jisung didn’t dull your feelings, it only made them sharper. Every time you ignored his text, you’d find yourself staring at your phone minutes later, wondering if he was thinking of you. Every time you saw something that reminded you of him.... a song you both loved, a stupid meme he’d laugh at, you had to fight the urge to send it to him. The more you tried to pull away, the more you missed him.

And it didn’t take long for Jisung to notice.

At first, it was subtle, small, hesitant comments when you did see him. “You’ve been really busy lately, huh?” he’d say, his tone casual but his eyes searching. You’d nod and mumble something about work, trying to avoid the way his gaze lingered on you, as if he was trying to read between the lines.

But Jisung wasn’t the type to let things go for long. One day, after you’d bailed on plans for the third time that week, he called and said something that stopped you in your tracks....

“Did I do something wrong?”

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything you’d been trying to avoid.

“If I messed up, just tell me. I don’t want things to get weird between us.”

Weird. That’s what he thought this was, a misunderstanding, a bump in the road. He didn’t know how hard you were trying to keep your feelings buried, how every moment with him felt like walking a tightrope between happiness and heartbreak.

Your fingers hovered over the mute button, a dozen responses swirling in your mind. You wanted to tell him the truth, to spill everything you’d been holding back. But the thought of losing him, of ruining what you still had, froze you in place.

Finally, you answered back “It’s not you. I’ve just been overwhelmed with work. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

He replied almost instantly.

“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’m here.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but the relief was short-lived. Because as much as you wanted to believe that he’d buy your excuse, you could feel the doubt in his words.

And you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t keep this up forever....

----------------------------------------------------------

It had been over a month since you’d last seen him when Jisung finally confronted you. The day had been long, and you were heading home, headphones on, the city noise muffled by a soothing playlist. The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft hues of gold and pink, and you were thankful for the solitude. That was until your name cut through the air, sharp and unmistakable.

“Y/N!”

You froze, your heart sinking as you recognized his voice. Turning, you saw Jisung jogging toward you, his expression a mix of determination and something you couldn’t quite place,anger, maybe? Concern?

“Jisung,” you said, pulling out your headphones, your voice tinged with guilt.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, his tone firm but not unkind.

“What do you mean?” you replied, feigning confusion as you shifted your weight nervously.

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze piercing. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been avoiding me, Y/N. For weeks. And I want to know why."

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lied weakly, looking anywhere but at him.

“Really?” he said, crossing his arms. “Because it feels like I’ve been chasing a ghost. You barely respond to my texts, you cancel plans left and right and when I try to call, it goes straight to voicemail. So, tell me....what’s really going on?”

Your chest tightened, and you could feel your carefully constructed walls cracking. “I’ve been busy,” you mumbled, knowing how hollow the excuse sounded.

“Busy?” he repeated, his frustration evident. “Too busy to even say hi? Too busy to talk to someone you called your best friend?”

The word “best friend” stung, and you flinched visibly.

Jisung noticed. “What is it?” he asked, his tone softening. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you said quickly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “It’s not you. It’s...”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t say it’s you, because we both know that’s not true.”

You sighed deeply, your shoulders slumping. “Can we not do this here?”

He hesitated, then gestured toward a nearby bench under a line of cherry blossom trees that had already begun to bloom, their petals swirling gently in the breeze. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

The walk to the bench felt like an eternity, and when you finally sat down, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said at last, your voice trembling.

“Do what?” he asked, leaning closer, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Pretend,” you whispered. “Pretend like I’m okay just being your friend when I’m not.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “I’m saying I’ve been in love with you for years, Jisung. Since college. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But then Nari...”

“Nari?” he interrupted, his confusion stark.

“Yeah, Nari,” you said, bitterness creeping into your voice. “The girl you were dating. The one who told me you weren’t interested in me, that you only saw me as a friend.”

His face shifted from confusion to disbelief. “Y/N, I don’t know who Nari is.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean you don’t know her? She told me...”

“I don’t care what she told you,” he said, his voice firm. “It wasn’t true. I never said that. And for the record, I’ve never dated anyone named Nari.”

You stared at him, the ground beneath you seeming to shift. “But she…”

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but resolute, “if you’re talking about that random girl who used to hang out at our college meetups, she wasn’t even my type. She was just… there.”

Your mind reeled, the memory of Nari’s smug smile flashing in your mind. “She lied?”

“Looks like it,” he said, his tone laced with frustration. “But that’s not what matters right now.”

“What does?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“You,” he said simply. “And the fact that I’ve been in love with you since college, too.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt your heart stop. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning closer. “I thought I was being obvious back then. I always made excuses to be around you, to make you laugh, to sit next to you in every class. But you never seemed interested, so I… I let it go.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of years of misunderstandings crashing down on you. “I thought you didn’t care,” you said, your voice breaking.

And I thought you didn’t,” he replied, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “But I’m done assuming.”

He leaned closer, his gaze searching yours. “Tell me I’m not too late.”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as a laugh bubbled out of you. “You’re not too late.”

His smile was soft, tentative, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. And then, slowly, he leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips met yours.

The world seemed to still, the noise of the city fading into nothing. His kiss was gentle but sure, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him like he might disappear if you let go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a shaky breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You laughed softly, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Maybe I do.”

A loud meow broke the moment, and both of you turned to see a stray cat sitting by Jisung’s feet, its wide eyes fixed on him as if demanding attention.

Jisung groaned, though his smile never wavered. “Even the cats can’t leave me alone.”

You laughed, wiping at your tears. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“A sign of what?” he asked, his grin turning playful.

“That you’re stuck with me now,” you teased, squeezing his hand.

“Good,” he said, his voice warm and certain. “Because I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

As the two of you walked home hand in hand, the stray cat trailing behind like a self-appointed chaperone companion, you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right....

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whiteferraristurns · 3 months ago

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𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ⚠︎︎ none. no use y/n. fluff

𝐁𝐑𝐈ꨄ rapper chris!!👅

reblogs, likes and comments are heavily appreciated ᥫ᭡

Late Night in the Studio

The hum of the city faded into the background as you entered the studio, a small black bag clutched in your hand. The dim, moody lights cast a soft glow over the walls lined with platinum records, awards, and Chris's signature graffiti art—raw, messy, undeniably his. The faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla drifted from the candles flickering on the windowsill, the only soft contrast to the electric energy in the room. The space felt familiar, yet every time you entered, the charged energy made you feel like you were stepping into another world.

It was late—later than you would have preferred to be out on a Thursday night—but Chris had insisted, and you couldn’t deny the pull his voice held over you. You were used to the chaos that came with his life, the late-night calls and the constant tug-of-war between your schedules. But something about tonight felt different.

You leaned against the doorway watching how the pink lights lit up his features perfectly. “You look like you’re thinking hard over there,” Chris turned, adjusting his headphones before pulling them down to hang around his neck. He shot you that lazy grin that always made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

“Just wondering why you’ve got me out here at midnight,” you teased, your lips pulling up into a smile. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Chris shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets with that lazy, too-cool look he always wore. “Can’t sleep when I’ve got inspiration running through me. You should know that by now.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a seat on the leather couch that stretched against the wall. It was worn and cracked, but you’d spent enough time here that it almost felt like home. “So I’m here to be your muse?” You arched an eyebrow, teasing, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the warmth his words brought.

Chris didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers ran over the soundboard, tweaking a few settings as he let the beat play softly in the background. He shot you a glance over his shoulder, his eyes dark and serious. “Actually, yeah. This one’s got your name all over it.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and full of meaning. Your heart skipped, but you tried to play it cool, tilting your head with a small smile. “You really expect me to believe you wrote a whole song about me?”

He nodded, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “It’s wouldn't be the first one”

Your mouth went dry. You knew he poured his life into his music, but the idea that he’d written about you was something else. You glanced away, biting your lip to hide the mix of emotions swirling inside you. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured, leaning against the soundboard as he met your gaze. “Just… listen.” Chris hit play, and the room filled with a steady, soulful beat, layered with smooth guitar riffs that softened the intensity of the bassline. Then his voice cut through, raw and honest, each line hitting like a confession.

“She’s the pulse that keeps me steady, when the world’s too loud to bear. She’s the reason why I’m breathing, even when there’s smoke in the air.”

The lyrics rolled over you, each word hitting deeper than you’d expected. You breath caught as you heard the pain, the longing, the way he seemed to reach for you through every line. It wasn’t just a song. It was a part of him—a part of your bond. You listened, your hand messing the necklace he had gotten you for your birthday. As his voice continued, weaving a story of nights you’d spent together, of whispered words in dim rooms, of a connection that neither of you knew how to define.

“She’s the storm that keeps me grounded, the spark behind every verse,” he rapped, his voice deep and resonant, each word laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “When I’m lost in this world, she pulls me down to earth.”

The track finally faded into silence, you blinked, realizing your eyes were damp. You hadn’t even noticed the tears pooling, too wrapped up in the emotion of it all.

“Chris…” you started, but words failed you. How could you tell him that you felt it too, that every time he left for another city or hit the stage, you were there with him, a part of your heart stitched into every lyric?

He crossed the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. The air between you both was thick with things unsaid, but his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“It’s not easy, you know?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “Balancing all this. Sometimes, I don’t know how much longer I can keep pulling you into this world.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You’d always known that dating Chris meant sacrifice, meant that your time was often borrowed and fleeting. But the thought of letting him go was harder than you wanted to admit.

“You’re not pulling me anywhere, Chris,” you whispered back, your hand reaching out to brush his. “I’m here because I want to be.”

For a moment, he looked away, his jaw tight. You knew that look—he wore it when he was fighting back something deeper, something vulnerable. You reached out, your hand resting on his, grounding him. Slowly, he turned back to you, his fingers threading through yours.

“What if it’s too much?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse. “What if… I’m too much?”

You shook her head, squeezing his hand. “You could never be too much, Chris. You’re just… everything.”

Your words hung in the air, soft and steady, the truth of them lingering between you. And in that moment, you felt like you were finally laying your cards on the table, every piece of your heart exposed. You leaned forward, closing the gap between you two, your lips brushing his in a gentle, tender kiss that held everything you couldn’t put into words.

When you pulled away, he held you close, his forehead resting against yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you stayed like that, just breathing, just existing in the same space.

“I don’t know where this is going,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “but I want to figure it out with you.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in her heart. “We’ll figure it out, one verse at a time.”

And as you sat together in the dim studio, surrounded by his music, you knew that whatever happened, you’d face it together—through the highs, the lows, and everything in between. Because no matter what, you had each other, and that was enough.

𝐁𝐑𝐈ꨄ short n’ sweet. please tell how this was I lowk hate it😭

more fic’s will be out soon I just thought I’d post this one now since it’s been sitting in my drafts since the day after the video

TAGS ʚ♡ɞ

@sturniqloo @iillovechris @themotherofmattschildren @chrislilcumslvt @ghostlyplug @mattsfavginger @chrissturnioloenthusiastforlife @ncm9696 @starfuckoff @heartz4matt

#movieshots🎬#✩rapper!chris彡 #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fanfiction #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #Chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fandom #sturniolo triplets fluff #sturniolo oneshots

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sammyofold · 7 months ago

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Here are those fic recs I promised you @incesthemes ! I hope there's some in there that you'll really enjoy <3 I split up the recs into overarching tropes to group some together, but I'll start with those that don't fit into any of the groups.

The list got a bit long, so I decided to split it up into two parts.

(Part 1 | Part 2)

Courting Death by theproblematique.

Summary: Sam Winchester lived the first six months of his life in a happy family; the next twelve years as John Winchester's only son, and the last decade as an orphan. He's supposed to die at twenty-two trying to save the woman he loves from a fire, because he doesn't have a brother to pull him back. But the night Sam meets his Reaper he discovers that Death is overly fond of pop-culture references, too beautiful to be real, and reluctant to kill him.

Servant of Servants 'verse by klove0511.

This is a two-part series (though I think it might've been intended to have more fics, its ending doesn't leave you feeling snubbed), posing the question: "what if it had been Sam who'd been mortally wounded at the end of Season 1?"

love potion no. 9 by according2thelore.

Summary: Dean drinks a love potion. Sam is falling apart at the seams because he's been in love with his brother for more than a decade.

keep me in a daydream by according2thelore.

Summary: After an accidental kiss makes a hunt go suspiciously well, Sam and Dean decide to try it again. And again. And again. It's no different from wearing lucky socks, right? A 5 + 1.

for you and me (i got no alibi) by remy.

Summary: There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants.

Ben Has Two Dads by regala_electra.

Summary: When Ben turns thirteen and learns that Dean Winchester is his father, he runs away to join his father (and uncle). A tale where boys are boys, Vikings are Vikings, unicorns go to Candy Mountains, Dean and Sam are in big gay love, and Ben becomes a Winchester.

Last Temptation by merle_p.

Summary: Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

Five Times Dean Forgot and One Time He Remembered by elsi.

Summary: Rowena warned him the obliviate curse might have “aftershocks.” That Dean could relapse to his amnesiac state without warning—though only temporarily, she assured. But this? This goes beyond calling a lamp a “light stick.”

Whatever It Is by theproblematique.

Summary: Both Sam and Dean get sent to the year 2014.

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too) by TeacupUnicorn.

Summary: Sam and Dean get handcuffed together during a hunt. With a werewolf on their tail and a proximity to each other they haven’t had since they were kids, their unstable relationship is put to the test and their trust in each other is pushed to the limit. Set sometime after 5x16 and before 5x20.

Not Her Sam by Yuval25.

Summary: Future Dean goes back in time to change the future and saves Jess. Future Sam tags along unexpectedly. And Jess is okay. No, seriously. She's fine.

Mistaken For a Couple

101 - mythology by ani_coolgirl.

Summary: As Sam, Dean, and Kali flee Lucifer's slaughter, Kali makes an assumption. The boys try to clear up any misconceptions. They don't do a very good job.

I need you so much closer by cherryvanilla.

Summary: five times they're mistaken for a couple plus one time they actually are.

Domesticity

Paisley by samsexualdeancurious.

Summary: After his mind wall was broken and was healed, Sam knows he can’t be a hunter anymore, so he and Dean retire, and Sam ends up finding a homeless dog who was abused and together they heal.

The Chicago Verse by compo67.

This is a series spanning a whopping 169 fics. I've read only a few of them and I enjoyed Sam and Dean retiring in this town together. It's still updating, looks like, since the latest fic added was in May of this year.

a few things worth saying by hathfrozen.

Summary: “So this morning,” Dean ventures as they blast down the highway in pitch black night toward a probable werewolf case. Sam looks over at him, thin eyebrows raised, eyes clear and calm. He’s not even difficult about it, doesn’t ask what Dean is after, doesn’t deny what had happened. Instead he says, very simply, “I just figure, why lie?” Alright then.

All The Way In by hunters_retreat.

Summary: Sam never did know how exactly it happened. One day, he and Dean were run ragged, exhausted from yet another disaster of a hunt, no money and no gas, no prospects and no allies left alive to give them a hand. The next, they owned a store with a shooting range and Sam was a professor of religious studies at a local community college.

Pre-Series & Season 1

To Blow Against the Wind by dreamlittleyo.

Summary: After Oasis Plains, Sam and Dean can't. Stop. Touching each other.

Star-Crossed by Agent_Hellcat.

Summary: Before Sam departs for Stanford, he writes a letter to Dean, begging him to come to Palo Alto with him.

Birthday Suit by wincestation.

Summary: On the morning of Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Dad takes him to buy a suit. Sam is… interested.

house song by according2thelore.

Summary: “The werewolf.” Sam says, quick. Hushed. Scared. “I don’t know how. I was—He was standing above you and then he wasn’t. And I think I did that.” Dean keeps whispering stuff to Sam, banal reassurances that Sam soaks up like a sponge, but he feels sick. Sammy did something impossible. Sammy’s been doing impossible things. For years. Or: Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences

Outsider POV

What I've Done by Amoreanonyname.

Summary: He wasn’t going to say anything more about it. He could tell, Dean was happy to see him, but wasn’t going to humor this topic. Dean, young Dean would jump to obey John, to answer John’s questions, but this was an older Dean who was more loyal to someone else now. More loyal to his brother. John wasn’t the priority here, and he realized with another guilty jump in his stomach that he never should have been.

something you love and understand by monsterq.

Summary: In heaven, Mary makes an unwelcome discovery about her sons’ relationship.

a skeleton terribly restless by remy.

Summary: Mary knows she doesn't fit right in this strange new world she's woken up in, with these grown men masquerading as her sons, but she tries her best. She really does. She closes her eyes to all the things she does not want to see, and she lies to herself until she's convinced. Until she can't.

Flowers on the Window Sill by orphan_account.

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester's relationship as observed by the good people of Star's Hollow.

Soulmates

Fix You by non_tiembo_mala.

Summary: After their encounter with Famine, the boys are in dire straits. With Dean left shaken by the horseman's taunts - which rang truer than he'd like to admit - and Sam juiced up on demon blood again, Dean is at a loss. He has no idea how to move forward, or where they're meant to go from here. Then again, they’ve always had each other - perhaps their salvation isn't as far away as it seems.

All Too Familiar by sammichgirl.

Summary: Sam's new hobby has consequences they never saw coming. Turns out, that's OK with Dean after all.

What We Do by BleedingInk.

Summary: Castiel catches Sam and Dean in a compromising position.

since feeling is first by queenklu.

Summary: That he wants to think this is Dean yanking a leash should make his blood run cold, not aching hot. It should make him sick, angry, it should get his fucking hackles up and make him fight. He does want to fight. But there’s a skin-thin line between primal things, and fighting isn’t all he wants to do.

if the dam breaks open many years too soon by deirde_c.

Summary: Sam’s soul springs a leak, and Dean’s the one who can repair it.

In the beached margin of the sea by rivers_bend.

Summary: Sam and Dean black out on a hunt, and when they wake up, Dean's having visions and Sam can't get new, strange feelings out of his head. When John finds out about the side effects, he'll do anything to get rid of the "curse". But Sam and Dean don't want to go back to the way things were before.

I Don't Need A Symbol by amoreanonyname.

Summary: It hadn’t meant that much to Sam at first. A warm glow at being able to do something nice for Dean, to give him something for once, to make him as happy as he seemed when he put it on immediately. It was what it meant to Dean that made it mean something else to Sam.

#wincest #samdean #fic recs #rec list #part 1 #og post #so here it is!!#this took me way too long 💀 sorry about that #tumblr also been giving me sooo much trouble formatting this ugh #if anything doesnt work or looks wonky lmk and i'll try to fix it!#hope you enjoy the fics!!<3

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 8 days ago

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𓅨 How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: Chapter Five

How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: After saving a strange man from a fishbowl cage, you earn yourself a favor. When you cash in said favor, you don’t realize that you and the man aren’t on the same page on what you need from him.

Warnings: Misunderstanding.

To Note: Morpheus x Afab!Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

While you are helping your mom wash dishes, your dad shows Morpheus his garden. Your mom finally doubled down.

"Did you pay that handsome man to be your husband?" your mom asks, hands submerged in soapy water. Her eyes narrow slightly, a mix of suspicion and concern etched across her face.

You nearly drop the plate you’re rinsing. "Mom, what kind of question is that?"

"Well, he's too perfect," she replies, not missing a beat. "And you’ve never mentioned him before."

You sigh, trying to gather your thoughts. "Morpheus is real. We met… unexpectedly. Things moved fast.”

Your mom turns off the faucet and wipes her hands on a dish towel. "Unexpectedly? What does that even mean?"

"It means," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady, "that sometimes life surprises you. And sometimes those surprises are good." That technically isn't a lie. She finally huffs in resignation.

"I just want you to be happy, but I also want my grand babies."

You swallow hard, the pressure of your mother's expectations pressing down on you. The clinking of dishes in the sink becomes a background symphony to the thoughts racing through your mind. "Mom, we're happy. That's what matters, right?"

She eyes you carefully, as if weighing your words. "I suppose," she says slowly. "But I still don't understand why you never mentioned him before."

You force a smile, trying to appear nonchalant. "We wanted to keep things private for a while. Morpheus has a very demanding job as a sleep doctor. The fact that we even met is still mind boggling to me. We come from different worlds." Literally.

The back door creaks open and your dad steps in with Morpheus trailing behind. Their conversation, a low murmur, fades as they enter the kitchen. Your dad beams, patting Morpheus on the back.

"Y/N's husband is quite the gardener," your dad says, pride evident in his voice. He is? That was news to you.

Morpheus nods, his expression serene. "Your father's garden is a reflection of dedication and care."

You give him a grateful smile. "Glad you two hit it off."

Your mom snorts softly but says nothing, resuming her task at the sink. Morpheus moves to stand beside you, his presence both comforting and disconcerting. He picks up a dish towel and starts drying the dishes you pass to him.

"How was the garden?" you ask, trying to keep things light.

"Enchanting," Morpheus replies, eyes meeting yours. "It reminds me of the Dreaming in its own way."

You feel a twinge of warmth at his words. "I'm glad you liked it."

Your dad grabs a chair and sits down, looking more relaxed than he has all evening. "So, Morpheus, what do you do when you're not working or being married to my daughter?"

Your dad's question hangs in the air, and you feel a moment of panic. Morpheus isn't exactly versed in mundane small talk.

Morpheus pauses, considering his answer. "I enjoy the creation of artistic expression through my sand."

You watch your dad’s eyes widen, trying to make sense of Morpheus's cryptic reply.

“Sand, huh? Like those fancy sand sculptures?” he asks, scratching his head.

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. "In a manner of speaking. It’s more… ethereal."

You interject quickly, sensing the need to steer the conversation. "Morpheus has an artistic soul. It's one of the things I love about him."

Your mom gives you a sidelong glance, but your dad seems intrigued. "Artistic, eh? Maybe you can help me design the new flowerbed."

Morpheus inclines his head graciously. "I would be honored." There is a little more small talk as the dishes are finished and you finally decide to retire from your mom's scrutiny for the night.

"I think I am gonna head up to my room for the night." You speak up. "It's been a long day. For both of us."

"Shall we turn in then, beloved?" Morpheus questions, stepping up to you and softly taking your elbow.

Your mom's eyes narrow slightly at Morpheus's gesture, but she says nothing. You nod and start heading up the stairs, Morpheus’s presence close behind you. The air feels thick with unspoken words as you ascend, each step echoing in the silence.

When you reach your room, you push the door open and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room looks the same as always—comfortingly familiar. You glance at Morpheus, who stands just inside the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Well," you say, trying to break the tension. "That was... intense."

Morpheus steps closer, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "Your parents care deeply for you. It is... admirable."

You flop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, well, they have a funny way of showing it sometimes. I really don't need my mother breathing down my neck about grandchildren."

Morpheus sits on the edge of the bed, his presence both grounding and otherworldly. He looks at you with those endless eyes, a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Do such matters weigh heavily upon you?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "It's just... a lot. My mom has these expectations, and I feel like I can never measure up."

He reaches out, almost hesitantly, and takes your hand in his. "You are more than enough," he says with quiet conviction.

Your heart skips a beat at his words. "Morpheus, you really don't have to—"

"I do," he interrupts gently but firmly. "You are my wife. Your burdens are mine as well."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. You sit up, turning to face him fully. "This is a lot harder than I thought, pretending in front of her," you speak absentmindedly.

"Then do not pretend," Morpheus says as if it is the simplest thing in the world. "Be yourself, for that is the one whom I married."

His words fly right over your head as mental fatigue plagues your mind.

You lie back on the bed once more, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything. Morpheus's words echo in your mind, but the exhaustion makes it hard to focus.

"Do you think my mom will ever stop questioning us?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Morpheus looks at you with an intensity that feels like it's piercing through your soul. "She will see the truth in time," he says simply.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting Morpheus's words wash over you. The fatigue is almost overwhelming, but there's a strange comfort in his presence.

"I hope you're right," you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Morpheus doesn't reply immediately. Instead, he stands up and walks to the window, looking out into the night. His silhouette is bathed in moonlight, making him seem even more otherworldly. He really is handsome, isn't he…

"Your world is so different from mine," he muses softly. "Yet, it holds its own kind of beauty."

You turn your head to look at him. "The Dreaming is incredible."

"It is," he agrees, still gazing out the window. "But it can also be... lonely."

The admission catches you off guard. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, feeling lonely? It's a concept that seems almost impossible.

"Morpheus," you say gently, sitting up on the bed. "You're not alone anymore."

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "Nor are you."

The room falls into a comfortable silence. You both sit there, sharing a moment that feels both surreal and incredibly real.

The night stretches on, and you find yourself unable to sleep. The weight of Morpheus's presence beside you makes it impossible to relax. He's lying on his back, staring off into space, eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the window.

You shift slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. "Do you ever sleep?" you ask quietly, breaking the silence.

Morpheus turns his head to look at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "I do not require sleep as mortals do. My realm is the domain of dreams, not slumber."

You let out a soft sigh, staring at the ceiling. "It must be nice, not having to worry about sleepless nights."

"It has its advantages," he admits, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet room.

The minutes tick by slowly. You can hear the soft hum of crickets outside and the distant rustle of leaves in the night breeze. Morpheus's presence is both calming and disconcerting, an enigma you still struggle to understand.

"Morpheus," you say after a while, your voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever feel... restless?"

He considers your question for a moment before replying. "In my own way, yes. There are times when even dreams cannot provide solace."

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow. "What do you do then?"

"I wander," he says simply. "Through dreams and realms, seeking understanding and purpose."

His answer leaves you with more questions than it answers. You lie back down, staring at the ceiling once more.

"I guess we both have our issues,” you murmur.

"Indeed," Morpheus replies softly. "But burdens are lighter when shared."

You close your eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in. The night feels endless, each second stretching into eternity.

"Do you miss the Dreaming?" you ask suddenly, opening your eyes to look at him.

Morpheus turns his head slightly to meet your gaze. "It is my home," he says simply. "But being here with you has its own unique beauty."

Quiet stretches between you for a few moments and you toss and turn, unable to quiet your mind. Each shift in position only seems to amplify your restlessness. Beside you, Morpheus watches with an unreadable expression.

"You're struggling to find sleep," he observes, his voice a gentle whisper in the dark.

You let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, it's just... everything. I can't shut it off. Plus, I've never slept next to someone before."

Morpheus reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your forehead. "Would you allow me to help?"

You hesitate for a moment, the idea of letting him into your mind both comforting and unsettling. But the exhaustion wins out, and you nod slowly.

"Okay," you whisper. "Please."

Morpheus's touch grows firmer, and you feel a strange warmth spreading from his fingertips. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

"Close your eyes," he instructs softly.

You close your eyes, trusting Morpheus as his touch sends a soothing warmth through you. His fingers linger on your forehead, a gentle caress that feels like the promise of a peaceful night.

"Sleep," he murmurs, his voice a soft command. You feel the weight of his presence deepen, the air around you shimmering with an almost tangible energy. A gentle dusting of sand blows over face, the grains drifting down like tiny stars, each one glowing faintly as it touches your skin.

Morpheus's voice reaches you again, barely more than a whisper now. "Sleep, beloved."

Your body relaxes, sinking into the mattress as if it’s made of clouds. The tension in your muscles melts away, and your racing thoughts quiet to a gentle hum. It's as though the world itself is lulling you into sleep.

You find yourself standing in the heart of The Dreaming, the familiar yet ever-changing landscape unfolding around you. The air shimmers with a soft, ethereal glow, and the distant murmur of dreams creates a symphony that feels both comforting and surreal.

"Wow that was fast," You comment to yourself, blinking rapidly. Had it not been only moments ago that you were speaking with Morpheus in your bed?Lucienne is cataloging books nearby. She looks up as you approach, her eyes warm and curious. Matthew the Raven perches on a nearby shelf, preening his feathers.

"Hey, kid," Matthew greets you with a casual flap of his wings. "How's it going? How'd the ol' meet'in the in-laws go?"

"My mother wants Morpheus and I to start making babies, immediately," You say in a dry tone. "But Morpheus has charmed my father so that's a plus…"

Lucienne's eyes widen behind her glasses, her usually composed demeanor faltering for a moment. "Your mother said that?" she asks, clearly taken aback.

Matthew, on the other hand, bursts into laughter so hard that he loses his balance and falls off the shelf, flapping his wings frantically as he tries to regain his footing. "Oh man, that's rich! Babies! Immediately!" He caws, his voice full of mirth. "Your mom doesn't waste any time, does she?"

"That would be a firm no," you respond dryly.

Lucienne adjusts her glasses and gives you a sympathetic look. "That is quite the demand," she says softly. "But I'm sure Lord Morpheus will handle it with his usual... grace."

Matthew snickers again, still perched awkwardly on the edge of the shelf. "Grace? More like he's probably planning a whole dream nursery as we speak!"

Lucienne shoots him a disapproving look, but there's a hint of amusement in her eyes as well. "Matthew, be serious."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Matthew replies, flapping his wings and finally managing to get back onto the shelf properly. "The guy's got a thing for creating worlds. A nursery wouldn't be that far off. Besides, have you seen the way he looks at Y/N? They'd make cute babies, I'm sure of it."

"Matthew!" You exclaim as heat blisters its way up your neck and all the way to your ears. The raven is unperturbed and cackles louder, his wings flapping in excitement.

Lucienne shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Matthew, you're incorrigible."

You rub your temples, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You two are going to be the death of me."

Matthew hops closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hey, if you can't laugh about it, what's the point? Besides, you've got Morpheus wrapped around your little finger. He'd do anything for you."

"Um, please remember that this is supposed to be temporary," You reminded the raven.

"Yeah try telling the boss that," Matthew mutters. You chuckle, shaking your head at Matthew's antics. The raven’s sense of humor is infectious, even if it does hit a little too close to home.

"Well, let's hope my mom eases up a bit," you say, glancing around the Dreaming's library. The shelves stretch endlessly, filled with books that you can only dream of reading. "I don't need any more baby talk. It's embarrassing and mortifying."

"What is mortifying?" You jump at the sound of Morpheus' words and whip around in place, hand over your heart. Your heart races at the sudden appearance of Morpheus, his presence commanding even in the familiar setting of The Dreaming. "What's mortifying?" he repeats, his tone neutral yet inquisitive.

You take a moment to compose yourself, trying to ignore the way Matthew snickers from his perch. "Just... my mom's expectations," you manage to say, meeting Morpheus's gaze. "She's got some pretty outdated ideas about marriage and family."

Morpheus considers this, his expression unreadable. "Your mother's views are not uncommon among mortals," he remarks. "The desire to see one's lineage continue is deeply rooted."

You nod, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "Yeah, I get that. It's just..." You pause, searching for the right words. "Babies…"

"Indeed," Morpheus says, his voice devoid of the amusement that bubbles up inside you. "But let us not dwell on such matters now."

Matthew flutters down, landing with a slight hop beside you. "If I were you, I'd start thinking of baby names," he teases with a wink.

You shoot him a glare. "Don't even joke about that."

But Morpheus tilts his head, considering Matthew's words. "Names hold power," he muses aloud. "It would be wise to choose carefully."

You freeze, your eyes widening as you realize the potential misunderstanding. "Wait, Morpheus, no," you say quickly, trying to ward off any ideas forming in his head. "We're not actually naming children here. It's just Matthew being... Matthew."

Morpheus nods slowly, though you're not entirely sure he grasps the sarcasm. "Of course," he says. But then his gaze drifts away, contemplative, and you have the sinking feeling that he's still pondering baby names.

Matthew bursts into raucous laughter again, nearly toppling over from the force of it. "This is too good!"

Lucienne steps forward, her expression one of gentle reprimand aimed at both Matthew and Morpheus. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she chides softly. You need to get out of there.

"I'm gonna go get some air," You blurt out, turning on your heel and darting away before the conversation can turn you into a ripe tomato.

Date Published: 2/8/25

Last Edit: 2/8/25

Previous | Masterlist | Next

#morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream the endless #sandman x reader #the sandman

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writingforstraykids · 1 month ago

Text

Lucky

Pairing: Minsung

Word Count: 1138

Summary: Minho can't help but marvel at Jisung sometimes and realize how lucky he is to have the younger by his side.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, minho's a lovesick fool, minho centered

A/N: I wish you a rather belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I can't promise my brain will get its shit together with everything that's been going on lately but I'll try my best to be more present again🖤I hope you enjoy this little piece🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho shifted on the floor, the smooth wood cool against the back of his thighs as he perched near the edge of the stage. The crowd’s energy buzzed around him, a living, breathing entity all its own. Thousands of faces blurred into one collective glow of adoration and excitement, their voices rising in a crescendo that never failed to send a ripple of something akin to awe through his chest. He tilted his mic up slightly, catching his breath as he surveyed the sea of lightsticks swaying like stars in rhythm to the beat of the song.

He could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his bangs clinging to his forehead. The harsh stage lights framed the world in sharp contrast - the blinding white and neon blues above versus the endless expanse of shadows beneath. Yet, despite the intensity, there was something grounding about being here.

This was home, in a way few things were.

He adjusted the mic, steadying it just as the instrumental swelled. The familiar chord progression cued the next part of the song. Minho’s head turned slightly, just enough to catch the soft inhale Jisung always took before his verse.

And then, like clockwork, Jisung’s voice poured into the space, rich and resonant, weaving through the air with a distinct kind of magic only he possessed.

Minho’s gaze lifted almost instinctively toward the massive screen towering above the stage. There Jisung was, caught in breathtaking clarity - every nuance of his expression laid bare for the crowd. His eyes glimmered, filled with a depth that made every word feel like it was meant for someone specific.

Minho’s chest tightened.

He watched the way Jisung leaned into his performance, head tilting slightly as he let the music carry him. It was mesmerizing—the way the younger could lose himself so completely, like nothing else in the world mattered.

And Minho thought, not for the first time, how incredibly lucky he was.

The thought hit him with surprising force, though it wasn’t new. It had been there for years now, tucked into quiet moments backstage or whispered in the late-night silence of their dorms. Jisung had always been a constant, a gravitational pull that Minho had never fully understood but had come to rely on.

There was a time when Minho wouldn’t have let himself feel this - when the idea of depending on anyone felt like handing them a weapon with which they could hurt him. But Jisung had a way of slipping past defenses, not by force but by simply being himself.

Minho’s lips quirked upward faintly, his usual mask melting for a brief moment as he continued to watch. Jisung didn’t just sing; he communicated. His voice reached out, grabbing hold of every person in the audience and pulling them into the story.

And Minho wasn’t immune.

He barely noticed the way his own grip on the mic slackened, his posture softening as his gaze lingered. He didn’t register the way his foot tapped lightly in time with the beat or the way his head tilted, almost imperceptibly, as if drawn closer by an invisible thread.

All he could think about was Jisung - the way he made the impossible seem effortless.

The realization settled somewhere deep inside him, warm and steady. He’d always been thankful for the team, for the bond they’d built through years of shared dreams and struggles. But Jisung? Jisung was different.

There was a time when Minho thought he’d lose him. Arguments and misunderstandings had threatened to drive a wedge between them more than once. But Jisung had stayed. Even when Minho had pushed, Jisung had refused to budge, his stubbornness matched only by his unwavering belief in their connection.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” Jisung had once asked him, exasperation evident in his tone.

And Minho had shrugged, unable to put into words the fear he carried - the fear of being left behind.

But Jisung had seen through him, as he always did. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot,” he’d said, his voice softer but no less firm.

Minho hadn’t believed him then, not fully. But he did now.

The crowd roared as Jisung’s voice reached the peak of his verse, his tone climbing effortlessly before dipping back into a soft, almost conversational cadence. The moment should have brought Minho back to the present, but it didn’t.

Instead, he found himself thinking about all the times Jisung had been there for him - in the quiet, unseen ways that mattered most. The way he always knew when Minho needed space and when he needed someone to drag him out of his own head. The way he’d sit with him in silence, no words necessary, just a steady presence that reminded Minho he wasn’t alone.

Jisung was his safety net, the one person Minho trusted to catch him when he fell.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the way Jisung was looking at him.

Up on the screen, Jisung’s gaze shifted, his eyes finding Minho with an ease that spoke of familiarity and something unspoken. His lips moved fluidly, shaping each word with practiced precision, but there was something in his expression - something softer, more deliberate.

He was singing to the crowd, yes. But in that moment, it was as if he were singing to Minho alone.

The intensity of Jisung’s gaze should have been obvious, even startling. But Minho didn’t see it, too caught up in his own thoughts to realize he was the center of someone else’s focus.

If he had looked, he might have noticed the way Jisung’s voice softened ever so slightly, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners like they always did when he was holding back a smile.

But Minho didn’t look.

Instead, he let his own expression soften further, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a smile that wasn’t meant for anyone else to see.

For all his sharp edges and guarded walls, Minho knew this to be true: He was incredibly, undeniably lucky.

Lucky to be here. Lucky to have this.

Lucky to have Jisung.

The song ended, the final notes ringing out as the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The moment passed, fleeting but no less significant, like so many others they’d shared.

Minho finally blinked, his focus shifting back to the present as he straightened on the floor. Jisung crouched next to him, a playful grin spreading across his face as he said something that was undoubtedly teasing.

Minho rolled his eyes, shoving at Jisung’s shoulder with just enough force to elicit a dramatic stumble.

“Stop being annoying,” Minho muttered, though the fondness in his tone betrayed him.

Jisung only laughed, the sound bright and full of life.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

And Minho thought, not for the last time, how lucky he was.

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9

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soothinglee · 5 months ago

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| shitty 808s - kim jongseob x gn! reader - 1.2k wc✔︎

my notes⎯ sorry for not writing in a bit- I got hit by a scooter and lost hearing in my left eye. anyway- enjoy! (ilovejongseobsm). also the reader is younger than jongseob- so they're the maknae! warnings⎯ lowercase intended, cursing, not really proofread, I don't know jackshit about making music- I do make it just for fun but I don't know it on a professional level. songs⎯ "take you there x no bs" | dj short and "trillions" | alicia keys

“dude this sounds like shit.”

“it’s literally only 808s. it’s not going to sound good.”

“tell that to carti.”

jongseob groans and relaxes his body into the creaky studio chair. from where he's at; body slouches and neck bent, he feebly grabs for the mouse, each time he reaches he just barely misses it- giving a pitiful grunt every time.

you slap his hand away playfully, scooting your chair over in his place to play with the track. in the 30 minutes you've been in the studio you only managed the 808s. ass, in your opinion but something to start the song off as a base.

"what are you doing?" he mutters, looking towards the desktop screen. the black background of the software lights up every time you move around tracks. the purple and blue sections reflect off his glasses, "stop pressing stuff, you're gonna mess it up."

a scoff leaves your lips absentmindedly, choosing to replace the pre-made 808s with a original. you play it back for a spilt second- nodding to yourself feeling content in your work.

"you should be thankful I'm helping you," you start, adding a few high hats some measures into the song, "today is my off day and youngji just came out with a new episode."

he rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab his water bottle, he uncaps it and throws the lid on your lap. you make no effort to move it, "you would've had to come in eventually. jiung needed you today to record your verse."

you reach over to twitch your hand infront of his bottle, as if faking him out. he jerks his body away from you quickly, the water shakes in his hand- some even coming from the top and onto his sweater.

"bro." it comes out weak and quiet, a frown forming on his lips but you're quick to talk over him;

"for him, I wouldn't have complained. it's different when I have to do it because it's scheduled then come in to help someone work on his song." you spilt the back ground voices you added from files and slip in theo's guitar solo along with a 4 bar bass drum.

at this point you haven't listened to what has been added, jongseob still hogging the headphones. though you have enough confidence in yourself, and as one of the main producers, to know that the song will be somewhat decent- and way better than whatever he had before.

"what even is your inspo?"

"'bambi', baekhyun."

he makes a face, "sexy, no?"

you shrug, clicking around on the application to add some reverb, "piece will love it, fnc will tolerate it, intak will be happy. what more is there?"

he doesn't respond.

the difference between the software when jongseob had it compared to it in your hands is insane. infront of you the screen decorated with rainbows of colors, the static lines tracking the sound range from lengths and size. it's beautiful.

you feel a heavy weight on your left arm and look down to see jongseob leaning on you, he lets out a tired breath, and reaches up to fiddle with the loose string on your sleeve.

"are you almost done yet? you're hogging my equipment and I have other stuff I need to do."

"is all you do is complain?" you ask, titling the song with a random phrase and saving it, "because if that's the case I'll just get keeho."

his grip on your sleeve tightens as he tenses. for some reason jongseob is afraid of keeho- the latter always picking on him and fighting him. you would ask why and how it started but in all honesty, you couldn't really care.

"no no no, it's okay. you can keep working."

a proud smirk graces your lips as you reach over to slip the headphones off his head. he lets you, reaching forward to give you better access, smiling when he feels your hands pat down the mess they left.

you bend down slightly, apologizing when his head falls from your shoulder, and blindly reach for the tower to unplug the cord from its socket. "alright," you mess with the setting once more, turning the volume up enough so it can be heard. "you ready?"

jongseob yawns, "about time." you smack him upside the head.

the song is only about 3 minutes long, but in that three minutes it sounded wonderful. even though you were on playing around with it, something to keep jongseob satisfied until he could figure out what he really wanted to do with it, you think it could actually be the final product.

as the song plays you would take a look at his face to gauge his opinion. he seemed to like it; bobbing his head with the melody, a soft smile on his lips. it made you feel somewhat better about missing youngjis' show.

"okay, what do you think?" you ask as the beat fades out, you pause it so it doesn't play again and turn your body towards him, knees knocking each other.

he doesn't say anything for a minute, staring at the poster on the wall behind your head. his face is back to neutral. you think about snapping your fingers infront of his face to wake him up.

after a while he takes in a breath and says, “buns, actual buns.”

“you’re only saying that because it’s not jiung working on the song.”

he doesn't say anything but nods in agreement. there's a cheeky smirk on his face. "if that's the case, I'll just delete the song." you move the mouse to press erase before a hand catches you before you do.

"don't." he says, a mild glint in his eye as he pries your fingers from the mouse. he gently places your hand back in your lap while maintaining eye contact, moving the device to his side of the table.

"so it's not 'buns'?" you ask, the smirk back on your face.

he hesitates and then says, "no it's still ass, but why would I delete it just to start over, waste of time."

you laugh and go to answer but your phone vibrating catches you off guard. you use your face to open it to read the message;

멘토르 (mentor) come to floor 4 pls, we're ready for you :)

"uh oh," the chair beneath you slides backward as you stand up to collect your belonging. the bottle cap falls from your lap as you hand jongseob his headphones, "duty calls, i'll be gone for about an hour or two, if you need me, don't. I'll be busy."

he laughs, watching as you put on your shoes. you places a kiss on his head as you retreat for the door. you hear the clicking of a mouse and muffled music from behind you.

as soon as you reach for the door knob a voice calls out. "yeah?"

jongseob, hood pulled back so that you can see the bangs of his brown hair, his glasses that reflect the sparkle in his eyes, and the big smile on his face says, "I know I give you shit but thank you. you saved me a lot of trouble."

you smile back at your elder, a content look matching his own, "hey, anytime."

you close the door and head towards the elevator.

⎯if you want to be apart of my taglist let me know!

→ thank you for reading!

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yanderecrazysie · 12 days ago

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The Thunder Rolls (Yandere Oikawa)

Thank you for the commission!! Let me know if you want any changes, I wasn’t sure which direction to go with this >3< If you want something completely different I understand and can rewrite with more specifics.

Also, this song is one of my all-time favs and definitely inspired this oneshot. Highly recommend a listen, especially the third verse version.

Title: The Thunder Rolls

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x F! Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, cheating/infidelity, swearing, a bit of angst

“Another love grows cold on a sleepless night

As the storm blows on, out of control

Deep in her heart

The thunder rolls”

From “The Thunder Rolls” a Garth Brooks Tribute by State of Mine

Dinner is ready on the table, a delicious scent in the air. There are two glasses of wine on either side. You probably took an hour to cook it.

It’s cold. It’s been 5 and a half hours since you made it- the evening having turned to early, early morning. You were exhausted, but there was no way you were going to sleep without your husband.

Rain leaves tear tracks on your windows and you shudder as a clap of thunder makes you jump. The storm outside is really picking up and that gives you a little bit of hope. Maybe the weather is what’s keeping him so long.

You check your phone for what must have been the hundredth time this hour.

Staying late at practice, be home soon. <3

He’s stayed late at practice every day this week, despite you dropping hints that you’d like to see more of him.

You’re not stupid. You know he’s probably cheating, but you hold on desperately to the fact that there’s no evidence. Whenever you try to talk to him about the time he spends with his fans, he tells you that you’re being jealous for no reason. Don’t you trust him?

You married him knowing he had a large fanbase, and that many of the fans want to be with your husband despite him wearing that gold band on his finger. It never seemed like a problem.

You look out the window and watch as lightning lights up the sky. The wind is blowing the trees sideways and, after another crack of lightning, followed closely by the clap of thunder, the power goes out.

Maybe he really is being held up by the storm. You start to picture his car in a ditch, skidded off the road from all the rain, or maybe totaled from a crash with another vehicle… What if he’s dying or dead and you’re here, betraying him by wondering if he’s been cheating.

Tears prick your eyes as true worry seeps through your concerns. If Oikawa died, you didn’t know what you’d do without him.

Headlights shatter the darkness as a car drives down your street. You literally cross your fingers, begging whatever god will hear you that it’s your husband. Thankfully, the car rolls into your driveway and comes to a stop in front of your house.

You fling open the front door and run to the car. Oikawa leaves the front seat and holds out his arms wide for you to run into, a smile on his face. You’re so grateful that he’s home, that he’s alive and safe and well and-

When you ran into his arms, the wind was blowing towards you. On the wind, you can smell a strange perfume. Definitely not cologne- it’s flowery and expensive-smelling and it’s not yours.

You take a step back and look up at his face. His smile freezes at the sight of your blank face and slowly disappears as his own face goes pale. He knows that you know now, and it’s clear that he’s weighing his options.

You spin on your heels and storm into your home. Oikawa follows, still not saying a word. You grab the wine glass and throw it at him. He dodges it and it hits the wall, exploding into a shower of glass and red wine. There’s no doubts that you know and Oikawa goes straight into panic mode.

“Sweetie? Let’s talk about this!” Oikawa tries. You ignore him and head towards the bedroom and begin pulling your clothes out of the dresser and closet. Tears roll down your cheeks even as you remain silent.

He’s really starting to panic now, “It’s not what it seems, baby!”

A suitcase is pulled from the closet and slammed onto the bed, the clothes being the first objects to go inside. You’re doing your best to ignore him, but he’s not stopping.

“Baby, please, you’re the only one for me!” Oikawa’s practically begging you to respond, but you refuse and continue packing.

“It’s really not what you think,” Oikawa pleads. You pull your wedding ring from your finger and throw it at him with as much force as you can muster. That shuts him up- his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Oikawa chants, “You don’t mean it.”

You zip up the suitcase, finally finished packing. You’ll come back for the rest of your stuff, but for now, this is all you need.

“I love you,” Oikawa’s voice cracks, “I swear, she meant nothing. It was just a mistake- a stupid-”

“Then why do it?” you scream, “Why do it?”

His eyes widen at the volume and intensity of your voice, “It was a moment of weakness, I didn’t-”

“I don’t even care,” you laughed sardonically, “Fuck you.”

Oikawa follows you, pleading for your forgiveness, even as you close the car door in his face and drive away, leaving his soaked, pathetic form in your rearview mirror.

Your phone starts to receive notifications. Just a couple at first, then constant messages and calls. You turn it off completely and wipe your tears away so you can see where you’re driving.

—-----------------------

I need you.

Please come back.

Where are you?

I know you’re seeing these messages. Please respond.

You stare blankly at your phone until your mother snatches it away, saying, “It’s not good to look at his messages, it’ll just make you feel worse.”

You nod in agreement. She’s right. She’s always been right: about Oikawa and his flirtatious nature. She’d never trusted him, but she has the decency not to remind you.

It’s not long until your mother goes back to bed- it’s the crack of dawn now. You hear a knock at the door and freeze. There’s a camera on her tablet that shows the front porch. Unsurprisingly, Oikawa is standing there, knocking insistently.

“Go away,” you say to the tablet, which plays the sound on the front porch. Oikawa jumps on camera, then turns to the doorbell camera and begins his speech.

“Tell me what to do, (Y/n), sweetie, I’ll do anything. Anything to get you back.”

“Cut off your dick,” you said coldly.

Oikawa chuckles, “You’re so silly. But honestly?” he moves closer to the camera, “I’d do it, if you’d come back to me… Please, just come outside so we can talk face-to-face.”

“No.”

“What do you want me to do?” he wails, tears forming in his eyes, “You want me to never talk to another girl again? I’ll do it. Quit volleyball? Kill her? I’ll fucking do it.”

A shiver runs down your spine. Is he serious?

“Get lost. I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

“Tell me in person, then. Not just over this stupid doorbell.”

Against your better judgement, you open the front door just a crack, “Go away.”

He’s sobbing now, wiping at the stream of tears and snot running down his face. His big brown eyes are glassy and his bottom lip can’t stop trembling. He looks pathetic and you hate that a part of you feels bad.

“I messed up,” Oikawa whimpers, “I know I messed up big time. But please- we can go to marriage counseling! I’ll never even look at another girl again. I’ll quit volleyball, just please…”

He lets out a sob that turns into a hiccup midway, “I- I love you!”

You step outside and put a hand on his shoulder, “Look, maybe we could-” You’re cut off as Oikawa slams a cloth over your mouth. You gasp in shock and immediately feel the effects of whatever drug he’s put on it.

“It’s okay, we’ll move past this together,” Oikawa says, still sniffling a little, “I’ll be the best husband ever from now on. Cross my heart and hope to die!”

#yandere #yandere one shot #yandere x reader #one shot #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!!#yandere oikawa #oikawa tooru

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ladykailitha · 1 year ago

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If I were to do a A/B/O story with Steddie this is how I would do it (I've never done omega-verse for any of my fandoms, but damn there is something about Steddie that just screams it, you know?)

Steve was sold to a place that uses infertile omegas as sex toys. Rut servicing, gang bangs, orgies, or even just pretty arm candy for special events. The point is that the Harringtons sold him when they found out he couldn't be sold to the wealthiest, most influential alphas as a broodmare.

They are pretty much indentured and have to pay off the debt of how much the company paid for them. Steve pays off his debt and stays. Most omegas leave, but he loves what he does. He really loves rut servicing. It's his favorite because he has all the control during the three to four days the alpha is sex crazed. He also loves that he can take care of them without them thinking he's in for the bond bite.

Steve's at some gala or event or whatever on the arm of an older alpha, probably a senator or someone important like that when he meets Eddie Munson, frontman for Corroded Coffin.

They're introduced and they hit off, until Steve mentions offhand that he's infertile. Because that angers Eddie for some reason.

Eddie sets up Steve to be his rut servicer and demands that Steve be placed on some kind of birth control. It's a strange request, but it's granted.

When Steve arrives, Eddie tells him under no uncertain terms that either of them are going to be barebacking. Condoms are required.

This pisses Steve off. He's infertile and these demands are just ridiculous. He can't get pregnant.

Eddie scoffs. If he was infertile it would reflect in his scent. It would be sickly sweet, like overripe fruit. Cloying almost. But Steve doesn't smell like that. He smells darker, woodier, more like spices then fruity.

Steve frowns, he hadn't heard that about omegas, but it made sense, his other co-workers did have that sweet smell, but never really thought about it being different than his own.

But before they could talk it out, Eddie goes into his rut hard. Harder then it's ever been and Steve is pretty much scrambling to keep up with the sex.

At the end of the five days, Steve is worn out and ready to pass out for the next week, but he needs to know what Eddie was talking about.

Eddie tells him that he's not infertile, he's an ultra-fertile omega. So rare that they present in only 1% of the human population as a whole. Red-heads are more common they are.

Basically they are only fertile during their heats, but instead of having only a 1 in 5 chance of getting pregnant like omegas do in heat (1 in 8 out of heat), they can get pregnant 4 in 5 chance of getting pregnant. In fact, they are so revered that they can have their pick of the best alphas in their country. Some of them even go so far as casting their net over the whole fucking world.

Steve isn't sure he believes him, but his parents never tested for it because it was too rare. So it's possible that he could be, it's not like he can test it now. The test needs to be done at the time he presented. The only way to know for sure is if he shared a heat with an alpha (he's not allowed to as service omega to spend it with anything but toys) and he doesn't know of any alpha willing to take the chance that he might be some golden omega.

Only Eddie is totally willing. Willing to even bond Steve, with or without the ultra-fertility.

Steve is shocked. He's even more shocked when he goes into heat just from being so close to Eddie. Because he's on blockers, that's not supposed to happen.

While Steve is still cognizant he consents to Eddie helping him through the heat, suddenly grateful for the condom and birth control stipulation is suddenly very welcome.

It's only a light one that lasts a couple of days, but it's the best he's ever had. The first he's ever shared with an alpha. And he loved it.

He found out that in order to share Steve's heat, Eddie had to pay a lot of money for the privilege so he just bought Steve's contract as a whole. The one he made because he brought in so much money to the company.

They talk about bonding and sharing Steve real heat. The reason Eddie was so insistent on the contraception measures is that his scent had been known to break blockers in the past.

Which makes sense, some alphas just have that strong a scent. It's not a thing like an ultra-omega, but just something that could happen. The company tended to screen those types of alphas and made sure that the omega would be safely whisked away. It just never happened to Steve before.

Eddie courts Steve properly and they bond. And sure enough Eddie was right Steve gets pregnant, and suddenly Steve's parents are banging on the door demanding they be compensated for the fact that he's an ultra-omega and could have been sold for lots, lots more money then the company gave them.

But Steve tells them to fuck off and slams the door in their faces. And Steve and Eddie live happily ever after with their growing family.

First chapter of the full story here.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #a/b/o verse #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #sex worker steve #rockstar eddie munson

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year ago

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Also don't think anyone has said this (thats a joke) but like, art styles aside:

The animation, expressions, movement, everything of ATSV is IMPECCABLE.

Like insanely, ridiculously, almost mind bogglingly good.

[This is a MEDIUM length post]

The main strength is the Emotion -

In terms of animation, the range of emotions Miguel is capable of expressing is like... crazy good. Gwen's emotions ARE UNSPEAKABLY IMPRESSIVE.

LIKE...ANIMATING HER FUCKING BREATHING???? AND BLINKS!! AS AN EMOTIONAL CUE. HELLO???!!

And the movie hinges on this - almost every scene has an emotional cue that HAS to hit. Whether is Jess's looks of hesitation or Peter B.'s looks of horror.

And this may seem like the most ridiculous comparison ever made but like...

The Bee Movie and Across the Spider-Verse came out FIFTEEN YEARS APART.

THE BEE MOVIE...THIS MONSTRASITY that has plagued humankind - was made less than two decades from THIS:

The fact that we progressed that far as a society (pun intended) in that short of a time will never not baffle me.

I genuinely cannot name any other animated movie that:

Has multiple styles throughout the duration

Can seamlessly change styles without the viewer immediately noticing (like Gwen returning to her universe)

Show two or more animation styles on screen at the same time (and no, Roger Rabbit and Space Jam don't count - that's half live action lol)

Just off the top of my head - ATSV shows up to three styles in one scene: I'm mainly thinking of the scene that shows Hobie (customized - style 1), Peter B. (standard - style 2), and Miguel (a light stylized - style 3).

It can be brought to four if you want to count Miles/Gwen, though their style isn't visible.

I can think of a couple scenes that genuinely blew me away in terms of animation -

One being Rio's 'What-EVER?!' because of the little stance correction and head bob she does, because it's such a natural thing to do. And it adds so much to an already perfect line.

It's something someone would genuinely do IRL without even noticing.

Another I LOVE is Pavitr and Hobie roughhousing.

Like, I can't yell about these five seconds of animation more.

It's SO fluid it looks like Motion-Capture and I left the theatre googling is any Mo-Cap was used in the movie (and from what I can tell - no, it's all original animation).

The way Pavitr falls to the side and bumps them - This not only being a natural reaction to Hobie and his weight, but it also LOOKS natural. So much so you can see it affect Hobie's model too. The movement has kinetic energy on both models -

Which is AMAZING CONSIDERING THEY'RE ANIMATED ON LIKE FOUR DIFFERENT TIMES.

In this shot alone, there's the guitar, vest, AND Hobie, all of which have their own animation rules. Plus the outline on his guitar AND him. And then there PAVI too, who's running at a higher frame rate, touching and interacting with Hobie.

So much so that Hobie's model nearly wraps himself around Pavi. Pavi's hair is moving, Hobie's guitar is moving, there's movement in the background - and it looks GREAT.

PLUS THE CAMERA IS MOVING AND GOSTLING. IT'S NOT A STATIC SHOT. The models and camera are moving AS IF THEY'RE REAL when they're not.

That's - My..I CAN EVEN COMPUTE THAT.

But by far, I think the range of expression used on Miguel is like... Chef's kiss.

(of course I was gonna trick you into reading another post about Miguel. Uh-huh that's what's about to happen)

Like... are you kidding me?

NAH DEADASS ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????

The whole later half of the movie hinges on Miguel looking buckwild crazy insane and they NAIL that. And like-

Oh my god what the actual fuck

?????????????????????????? I........ I have nothing to add. After that picture......Nah... LMAOOO

(left: actual photo of Moche watching this happen)

But Anyway chile, This movie is like.. genuinely a modern marvel.

If Marvel gave Tim Gunn 4 billion dollars and five years, whatever live-action rendition he would have made would not even compare to ATSV on any conceivable level - that's how good it is so jot that down.

And like...don't even get me started on Hobie..his design..his representation...girl I will start crying in this Arby's do not play with me

I just felt that needed to be said.

you get what I'm saying yall know what I mean iight coo

Here's a picture of Hobie to cleanse your palette.

Bye.

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spirkme915 · 1 year ago

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spirk fics i've read in the last two-ish months and loved

I will have you (if you let me) by ros3bud009 @roseymoseyberry (TOS) - starting out this list with a ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ fic. i loved everything about this fic - the premise (k&s know they're t'hy'la from the second they meet), the yearning, the journey, the love. i could live in this fic

Spock 🖖 by vaksur, WerewolvesAreReal (TOS) - need a laugh? this one is it. spock decides to use emojis in his comms. shenanigans ensue

A Friend Like You by kierawrites (TAS, yes you read that right an animated series fic!) - pre-slash, a glimpse into their lives after the episode "mudd's passion." this one is short and yet is packed with *them*

A Different Perspective by Maeko (AOS, SNW) - transporter malfunction fic, and this time it brings AOS Spirk to SNW verse. loved this one for the AOS Spirk dynamics, but mostly the SNW Spock and AOS Spock interactions and Maeko's perspective of Vulcan telepathy. it's a fascinating character study!

in the dying of the light by scar_a_mouche (zanni_scaramouche) @zanniscaramouche (AOS) - i'm not sure how to categorize this one, other than to say that i had this *ache* in my chest through every sentence and it just felt so AOS Spirk that i wanted to drown in it. one of my faves over the last few months

Personal Personnel Protocol by dothedeux (TOS) - another comedy entry for the list. this time it's not just the bridge crew that knows what's up, it's the computer. such a fun read and so sweet too

Professor Kirk by TonightNoPoetryWillServe (AOS) - cadet spock, professor kirk, and all kinds of fluff with only a touch of angst. perfect bedtime reading

Let Forever Be by gunstreet @gunstreet (TOS) - listen. i need everyone to drop what they're doing and read this fic. it's a city on the edge of forever fic that is mostly a jim character study but pulls in queer history. it breathes compassion and humanity, and is stocked with OCs you'll fall in love with. another ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ read

Shall We? by Jenna Hilary Sinclair (JennaHilary) (TOS) - yet another comedy entry? what has the world come to? i love my angst just as much as the next spirk truther, but when comedic spirk is done right it hits perfectly and this one is definitely done right

And When the Bond Breaks by LadyRa (TOS) - finishing this spirk list with a final ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ read. this became easily one of my favorite TOS fics of all time. it's from 2003 and deserves WAY MORE hits, kudos, and comments than it has!

for the non-spirk entries this time around:

StarDate.org by Exxact (TOS/AOS fusion) - christine/t'pring and online dating. fluff and friendship. perfect

The Time of Neither by gunstreet (SNW) - spoimler nation rise! your definitive fic has arrived!

My World Is No Longer Hollow by existentialcrisistime @existentialcrisistime (TOS) - a mcspirk fic about finding where you belong. so beautiful

and two recs for WIPs for you to read and subscribe to:

Place Your Hand In Mine by remylebae @twinkboimler (AOS) - a super sweet mckirk fic about leonard having a secret admirer (who could it possibly be??)

It's Not An Illusion by Borealisblue @thetimetostrikeislater (AOS) - gorgeous story about healing and gorgeous artwork? i'm sold!

please do send me recs, and don't be afraid to self-promo! you can find all my recs here

#spirk #k/s #spirk fanfic #spirk fanfiction #k/s fanfic #spirk fic recs #jim kirk #spock #star trek fanfiction

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kathlare · 1 month ago

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things i wish you said

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie faces an emotionally charged moment during her concert in Florida.

Wordcount: 1.3 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 16th, 2023 - Hollywood, FL

The bright lights of the stage blurred into a haze as Amelie stood at the edge, her heart pounding in her chest. She had already performed several songs during the first night of the Emails I Can't Send tour in Florida, but this one—this song—was different. This was the one that meant everything and nothing all at once.

Tonight, she was going to sing "things i tish you said." For the first time, the crowd would hear it live. It had been her most personal and raw creation, written in the wake of her fractured relationship with Lando. The song had come to life during those sleepless nights in London, and each lyric had been a release, a catharsis. But now, as she stood on stage with only Alex playing guitar beside her, the emotions felt too heavy to bear.

Her hand shook slightly as she adjusted the mic stand. She could hear the faint hum of the crowd, their voices distant yet ever-present. They didn't know the story behind the song. They didn't know how it had been inspired by someone who, once upon a time, had meant everything to her—someone who was no longer in her life.

Amelie took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The spotlights warmed her skin, but they also felt like they were closing in on her. It was surreal—performing in front of thousands, but still feeling so incredibly alone in this moment. The song she was about to sing was hers, yes, but it was also Lando’s. A part of her could still see him—the way he laughed, the way he touched her with a tenderness that only existed between them. But that was a lifetime ago, and now, all she had was this song to try to make sense of what went wrong.

—Alright,— she said softly into the mic, trying to hold back the tremor in her voice. —This next one is… a little personal. It’s for anyone who’s ever had words left unsaid. Or maybe, wished for someone to say things they never did. I think we’ve all been there.—

A gentle murmur of understanding rippled through the crowd, and Amelie couldn't help but look down at her feet. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she focused on the sound of Alex’s guitar as he began to play the familiar chords. The melody felt heavier tonight—filled with all the rawness she had kept locked inside for so long.

The first verse came naturally, her voice steady and controlled, though there was a weight to the lyrics that she hadn't anticipated.

But as she sang, the emotions started to creep in, the ones she had buried under the surface for so long. When she hit the line, —“Baby, sorry, I left you in the dark,”— the words felt too close to home. Her throat tightened, and she faltered for a moment, the weight of her own heartbreak choking her. She swallowed hard, forcing the next line out, —“I always reach for your leg over there on your side of the car.”—

Her mind raced—flashes of memories that she couldn’t outrun. The late-night drives in his car, his hand resting so comfortably on hers, the way he would lean over to steal a kiss when the silence stretched too long. Fuck, how she missed him.

The crowd’s energy was palpable, but all Amelie could focus on was the overwhelming ache in her chest. It felt as if every note she sang was pulling at something deep inside of her, something she hadn’t let herself feel in far too long. The ache of lost love, the regrets, the things left unsaid, and the gnawing emptiness that had settled in since she and Lando had drifted apart. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the tears that were threatening to escape.

As Alex played, his guitar soft but steady, she pressed on, even though her heart was no longer in the song—at least not the version of it that she had written months ago. The song she had written had been about trying to heal from the mess of their past, but now, standing on stage with the whole world watching, it felt like a raw wound that would never truly close.

—“Baby, everything reminds me of you,”— she sang, the words slipping from her lips like a confession, a plea for release. She could almost feel him beside her, the warmth of his body, his presence that had once felt like home. But now, there was only a vast and cold distance between them.

Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. The crowd seemed to know that something was off, that this was more than just a song. They started to sing along with her, their voices blending with hers in an unexpected harmony. It should have been comforting, but all it did was amplify the aching emptiness inside her.

—“Nobody gets my jokes, everyone here thinks I'm fucking rude,”— she continued, the line coming out with a bitterness she hadn’t meant to inject into it. It was like a punch to the gut. She had always joked about how no one really understood her sense of humor, how she felt so out of place in so many circles, but with Lando, it was different. He had gotten her. She had thought they were in sync, but she was wrong. The realization hit harder than she had expected, and her voice wavered as the tears started to sting at the corners of her eyes.

She felt Alex’s gaze shift from the guitar strings to her, his support unspoken but clear. She gave him a small nod, trying to keep herself composed, but she couldn’t fight the wave of emotion crashing over her.

—“When I saw you cry, I didn’t handle it well,”— she sang, barely able to keep the words steady. Her breath hitched, the memory of that night in Bahrain replaying in her mind. The fight with Lando had been brutal, the kind of conversation that shattered everything between them. He had looked at her with such disappointment, with anger, and she had seen it in his eyes—the moment he realized she wasn’t going to fight for them anymore. That moment had killed a part of her.

The crowd kept singing, their voices lifting her, but all Amelie could hear was the hollow echo of her own thoughts. The weight of their last conversation, the finality of their words, it haunted her even now. And now, standing here, singing this song, she felt it all over again.

The tears started to spill then, against her will. She couldn’t hold them back. They ran down her cheeks, blending with the makeup she had so carefully applied before the show. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, trying to regain her composure, but it was useless. The song was too real.

—“Without you here, I don’t know what to do with myself,”— she croaked through the verse, her voice thick with emotion. She couldn't help it. The words were true, every last one of them. Without Lando, she felt like she was drifting. The tour, the fans, the lights—it all felt so empty without him there. They had been so close, so tangled up in each other’s lives, that the silence now felt deafening.

Alex kept playing, his guitar filling in the gaps where her voice faltered. He was the only one who could see just how much this song was wrecking her, how much it was breaking her heart all over again. He shot her a reassuring look, his fingers never missing a beat.

Amelie tried to steady her breath, but when she sang the next line— —“I think about these things at night before I fall asleep, things I wish you said to me,”— the floodgates opened. She had written this song for herself, but now it felt like it was for everyone else who had ever been left with unsaid words. She could feel the weight of every person in the crowd, their love and empathy pouring toward her as she let herself feel it all.

And as she sang, her mind flashed back to Lando. To the nights they had spent talking, laughing, kissing, and to the way he had made her feel. She remembered the way his eyes had softened when he looked at her, how he would reach out for her when they were together. But all of that was gone now—replaced by the aching void that was left in his absence.

—“Sorry, that I pulled the 'It’s not you, it’s me,’”— she sang, and the words felt like they were meant for her, more than for him. She had pushed him away so many times, pretending it wasn’t affecting her when it was tearing her apart inside.

Her voice quivered as she finished the chorus, and she let the crowd’s voices carry the weight of the final line. She wasn’t sure if they noticed the way she stumbled, the way she faltered. They kept singing, but she felt exposed, vulnerable, as though she were standing naked in front of them.

—“I waste my time, I waste my life on idiotic things, like things you never said… things you’ll never say to me.”—

By the time the song ended, the tears had stopped falling, though the ache in her chest had only deepened. The crowd cheered, their applause filling the space between her and the reality of her broken heart. She managed a small smile, wiping the last of the tears away, but inside, she felt completely undone.

Her heart was still with Lando in ways she hadn’t fully realized. It wasn’t just the words left unsaid that haunted her—it was everything she had allowed herself to lose.

As Alex finished the last note of the song, the crowd’s applause roared around them, but Amelie couldn’t bring herself to soak it all in. She was lost in the memory of a past she couldn’t escape, a love that had slipped through her fingers like sand.

And as she turned to leave the stage, she felt an undeniable truth burn deep inside her: some things—some people—were simply never meant to stay.

-------------

liked by ameliemyqueen, eicsupdates, and others

amelieupdates: 😭💔 Amelie broke down singing "things i wish you said" tonight in Florida. Her emotions were so raw, it hit DIFFERENT. We feel you, Ames, we really do. 💙

View all 1,384 comments

ameliesupporter: That song just hits different when you see her emotional like that. 💖

laneliefoeverr: I swear Amelie’s heart is too big for this world. I felt that pain. 💔😭 → ameliefanforever: @laneliefoeverr Omg same, like I was ready to be a sobbing mess with her. 😩

dayman_loverrr: If Amelie cries, we cry. It’s that simple. 😩 → amorbyamelie: @dayman_loverr Literally me right now! I’m not okay after hearing her voice break. 😭💖

rodrigowho: Honestly, if they broke up, Lando should be making his move now!! 😤�� → landonarmy: @rodrigowho Don’t even get me started. I feel like Amelie and Lando were THE vibe, they lowkey need to get back together 😂

landosfanpageee: THE WAY AMELIE WAS CRYING 😭 like, girl, we all know it’s about someone and that someone is probably Lando... → amelieforever_: @landosfanpageee If it’s not about Lando, I’ll eat my shoe. 🤡

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spotsandsocks · 1 year ago

Note

Vampire!Buck munching on cardboard because it feels kinda good

Eddie: Wtf are you doing Buck?

😆😆😆

Well that had just put a big smile on my face thank you - and now beloved anon I hope you read this and enjoy (based in same universe as my recent vamp! Buck fic.

“Can I have this?”

Eddie looks over his shoulder to see Buck holding up the box that Christopher’s new trainers got delivered in.

It’s an innocent enough request Buck must need to post something, so he says yes. Why wouldn’t he, it’s good to recycle after all.

It’s odd though because he spots it the next time he’s at Buck’s loft in the recycling bin. It’s definitely the same one because it has the same logo on it. Except it now has several dozen little puncture marks along the edges. Odd but not anything particularly worrying.

Except he finds the same puncture marks on not one but two boxes in the storage closet at the station the following week and then again in a cereal box in his own recycling bin. That one’s been shoved down to the bottom but the wind caught him as he was carrying it all out to the bins so he ended up collecting cardboard and paper from his front yard and staring at the now familiar marks in his own cereal box that he knew he hadn’t put there. It can’t be mice, the bite marks are too big, and that’s what they are bite marks. It looks like a cat has been chewing along the edge, he doesn’t have a cat though. What he does have is a vampire for a boyfriend. A theory starts to form along with a plan to get to the bottom of this little mystery.

He starts leaving out more boxes at home and at Buck’s, also at work to test the theory.

It’s not untill he’s letting himself into Buck’s loft that he gets to the bottom of it. As he walks in he catches sight of Buck behind his kitchen island, the door opening has his boyfriend jumping half way into the sky and spinning so his back is to the door. He had something in his hand. Eddie just catches the sound of something firm but not heavy hitting the ground as Buck turns back around, the perfect picture of guilt.

Trying not to sound too amused he asks his boyfriend casually“what ya doing?”

“Nothing.”

Eddie is well versed in “Buck” and that nothing was definitely a something.

He wanders over until he’s on the same side of the island and he’s looking down at their feet while Buck is looking anywhere but.

On the floor between them is a cardboard box. Eddie stares at his competition.

“Well I can’t say I’d expected to be replaced by the recycling.”

Buck pushes his shoulder with a roll of his eyes and a quiet “shut up” He’s a delightful shade of pink so he must have fed recently.

“Is this another stupid diet?”

Eddie manages to keep a straight face and is rewarded with the reaction he’d hoped for.

“Fuck off! That was a food plan!”

Eddie gives into the grin. “Sure thing baby, and the cardboard is???”

“I just like it ok. It feels good, fun. I like punching the little holes”

Eddie almost loses it when Buck makes a little biting gesture to demonstrate.

“Do you now?”

“Yeah.” Buck shrugs half a smile on his face, “I like making patterns. “

Eddie nods with an amused pout as he starts to unpack the shopping he’d brought over so they could cook, “ok then, don’t let me stop you, nibble away Picasso. ”

Buck scoops to pick up the box and toses it towards the recycling. “You’re hilarious- really”

“At least I know what to get you for Christmas this year.” Eddie smirks at the response.

“Don’t you dare!”

He does dare and gets his ridiculous adorable vampire boyfriend a range of cardboard boxes of various sizes, types and construction for Christmas. Buck pulls a face and throws a pillow at him when he opens his gift but his eyes light up anyway and he starts a range of experiments that keep him happy for hours as he works through the different textures to find out which ones are his favourite.

Eddie watches with a fond and indulgent smile. Chris shakes his head in despair and Buck with a delighted grin finally declares that a medium weight corrugated cardboard provides the superior biting experience by far; at least in terms of cardboard.

He makes it perfectly clear later that his top favourite thing to bite is still Eddie.

#look 3 posts down for the inspiration #at least I assume so #heck of a coincidence if not #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #vampire #vampire!buck #evan buck buckely

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michaelsfavgirl · 1 year ago

Text

not like the movies

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: it's a cliché love story isn't it? The global superstar and a die hard fan who manages to catch her idol's attention during a concert. it's that simple, right?....right?

Warning: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: I changed the req a bit, put a little twist on this trope to make it more interesting. I hope you like it. :)

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

“Is the mic working tonight?" Michael asks Frank DiLeo, his manager. his eyes sparkle with mischief as they walk towards the wings, closer to the stage.

Frank chuckles, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "God, Mike, You'll never let us live that down, will you?"

Michael throws his head back in laughter, recalling a not-so-distant memory when the crew accidentally messed with the tech. “You guys cut off my mic during she’s out of my life! I had to fake cry to trick the fans into thinking all that was a part of the show.”

Frank, shaking his head in slight embarrassment, adds, "We learned our lesson that night. It won't happen again."

"Of course, it won't. Or else, I’ll cut your check in half.” Michael says with a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. As much as Frank likes to have some form of authority over Michael as his manager he’s still not the one who calls the shots.

Frank's expression shifts from amusement to a momentary flicker of concern. "You wouldn't..." he says as his voice trembles.

Michael bursts into laughter, the carefree sound echoing through the backstage corridors. "Just kidding, Frank. Can't you take a joke?"

Relieved, Frank lets out a chuckle, feigning a scowl. "You know, you give me a heart attack every time you say something like that."

Michael, still grinning, pats Frank on the back. "Come on, you know I wouldn't mess with your money."

As he sees his manager’s face relax Michael can’t help but tease him again. "Or would I?" he says as he leans down slightly to Frank’s height, watching Frank's face momentarily shift from relief to uncertainty again. Before he can respond, Michael strides onto the stage, leaving Frank bemused, with his jaw on the floor.

As Michael smoothly transitions between his iconic songs, the energy in the stadium is electric. The sea of fans undulates with excitement, but amid the frenzy, his attention is inexplicably drawn to a girl in the front row.

The second his eyes land on her he feels like he’s in a trance of some sort. There's an allure about her, something that tugs at the edges of Michael's consciousness. It's not just the way she sways to the beat or how her eyes light up with each note; it's an inexplicable connection that he can't shake off. Lost in the spell of her presence, he fumbles the lyrics of a verse, drawing giggles from the audience.

Michael Jackson, the perfectionist, is momentarily thrown off, a rare slip in his otherwise flawless performance.

Shaking his head to clear the distraction, he attempts to refocus. Yet, as the music continues, his gaze involuntarily drifts back to her. It's a puzzle, a mystery that unravels with each passing song. Why does she captivate him so? Why does she stand out in a crowd that's usually a sea of screaming adoration?

The realization dawns on him—she's different. Amidst the fervor of fans who've camped out for days, who've screamed themselves hoarse, in contrast she remains remarkably composed. She’s not crying, screaming, or fainting. Her demeanor is an enigma. It's not that she's unaffected; on the contrary, she radiates genuine enjoyment, but there's a serenity to her reactions that sets her apart.

Michael can't help but wonder. He knows the type of fans who are usually in the front row. They tend to be the wildest, most infatuated with him, having created an imaginary world in their heads where they’re in a romantic relationship with him.

But her? She doesn't seem like that at all.

How strange.

As he moves from one hit to another, the questions linger in his mind. His eyes continue to find her in the crowd, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. There's an intrigue. He thought he knew his fans inside out—their dedication, their unbridled passion. Yet, she challenges his assumptions.

Midway through his performance, Michael decides to playfully engage with the mysterious woman in the front row. He winks at her, not once but a few times, expecting a typical fan reaction—screams, swoons, or at the very least, a blush. To his surprise, all he receives in return is a serene smile. Just a smile.

The bewilderment creeps into Michael's expression. What's going on here? Is she immune to his legendary charm or something? Huh, he’d never in a million years admit it, but he feels his ego deflate a little.

Refusing to be discouraged, he takes it up a notch. He points directly at her, a playful challenge in his eyes. Surely, this will elicit a different response right? But no, she remains composed, smiling and silently mouthing the lyrics. This is unheard of for Michael, and he can't shake off the perplexity.

Jesus, what is she doing to him?

Unable to wait any longer, during a break where the band continues to play to give Michael a moment to breathe, he rushes backstage to his manager, Frank. He grabs onto Frank's shoulders tightly which surprises him.

“Look, you see that girl over there? No, not her, on the left, her. Bring her to me after the show, okay?” The urgency in his voice is palpable as he hastily says, instructing Frank to bring the mysterious woman to his dressing room after the show. Frank, usually the composed one, is taken aback by his client's sudden insistence.

"What's gotten into you, Michael?" Frank asks, trying to make sense of the unusual request.

Michael, in no mood for delays, shakes Frank's shoulders, emphasizing the urgency. "Just get her here, Frank. It's important. You got that?"

Frank, still a bit shocked by the unexpected outburst, manages to nod in agreement. He watches as Michael walks away, leaving him to process what’s just happened.

The final notes of the last song resonate through the stadium as Michael wraps up his performance. The crowd roars with applause, and Michael, still riding the high of the show, takes a moment to thank his fans. "Thank you, I love you all," he declares, his eyes scanning the audience one last time.

In that fleeting moment, his gaze lingers on the mysterious woman in the front row. Without giving it another thought, Michael dashes backstage, not even sparing a moment for his manager, Frank Dileo. He quickly instructs Frank to bring the woman to his dressing room and disappears, leaving Frank with his jaw on the floor.

After a refreshing shower, Michael reenters his dressing room, his mind buzzing with anticipation, heart beating unbelievably fast. And there she is, the enchanting woman who has captured his attention. Her back is turned to him as she admires the tour costumes on the rack, gently tracing the metal pieces with her fingers. Before Michael can utter a word, she turns around, her eyes meeting his.

With the most angelic smile, she introduces herself shyly, “oh, uh, hello, i’m y/n. Someone told me to come to your dressing room, I swear I'm not a crazy fan.” As her sweet, slightly trembling voice fills the room, Michael feels a sensation akin to his legs turning into jelly.

“I know don’t worry” he reassures her with a gentle smile, trying to keep his excitement in check.

“I asked them to bring you here”

“Oh…do you often bring your fans here?” she asks with a little smile on her face, teasing him.

Michael's eyes widen slightly, realizing how his previous statement sounded. “No, no, I’m not like that.” He defends himself.

“Please y/n take a seat.” he gestures to the cozy couch. Her name feels familiar on his tongue, unfortunately, he cannot remember from where so he lets the thought go.

Casual banter flows initially, words revolving around music, the pulsating rhythm of the crowd, and the enchanting atmosphere that wraps around every live performance. Michael can't help but be drawn to the woman's composure, a serenity that stands out amid the usual fervor of his adoring fans.

As the conversation meanders through the afterglow of the show, the woman pivots with a sudden turn, shifting gears towards more personal territory. "How do you deal with all the relentless media during the tour?" Her question hangs in the air, curiosity etched in her eyes.

A contemplative sigh escapes Michael's lips, the weight of the question temporarily lifting from his shoulders. "It can be daunting," he begins, "But the music, the fans, that's what keeps me going."

Her eyes linger on his face, searching for something more profound beneath the surface. Unsatisfied with his somewhat evasive response, she persists, "But what specifically bothers you? There must be something that digs deeper."

Michael hesitates, a brief moment of vulnerability flickering in his eyes before he decides to share, "The…the rumors about me bleaching my skin. It's hurtful, and it affects me more than people realize."

“Do you though?”

His eyes furrow, a mix of annoyance and anger flickering across his face. The probing nature of her questions stirs a cautious wariness within him.

She notices this and leans in, "You're so misunderstood, I just want to know the real you."

Silence hangs between them for a moment. Michael, caught in the whirlwind of emotions, contemplates the woman before him. Is she just a genuine fan seeking connection, or does she harbor ulterior motives beneath her calm exterior?

Gazing into her eyes, his hungry desire to be vulnerable and open his heart to some outweighs his concern. "No," he responds firmly, the word resonating with a quiet strength. "I don't bleach my skin. The rumors are just that—rumors."

Nodding in compassion she gently lays her warm palm on top of his in a soothing manner, this makes michaels senses spike.

"I hope I haven't crossed any boundaries," she offers apologetically, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern for a split second.

He looks at her with a hint of confusion, not quite grasping what she means. "No, no it’s…fine." he says.

Taking a moment to choose her words carefully, she ventures into more personal territory. "I mean, after what happened... Do you feel lonely on tour?" The cryptic nature of her question leaves Michael momentarily puzzled.

"What do you mean, 'after what happened'?" he inquires, eyebrows furrowing inquisitively.

She takes a deep breath, her gaze steady. "In the media, you know the whole Brooke Shields turning down your proposal. It must be difficult for you."

Michael's sigh echoes through the room as he dispels the misconception. "Brooke never never said no because I never proposed," he states, a touch of exasperation in his voice. "That was just a story she made up to get attention for her new movie."

As Michael clarifies the misinformation, the woman subtly slips her hand into her handbag, a movement that goes unnoticed by him. Maintaining an air of compassion, she continues, "It must be tough for you, dealing with the constant scrutiny."

"Yeah, it gets hard sometimes," he admits, a weight apparent in his words. "She’s been leeching off me, leading me on since we met." he says and feels guilt creeping up on him, but he’s been bottling up his emotions for so long he can’t help but vent.

Her expression remains composed, her eyes attentive. "I’m sorry you have to go through that Michael," she commiserates, though the glint in her eyes suggests a hidden agenda.

Michael, relieved to share his burden, continues, "I just want someone who's genuine, can’t you understand that girl? Someone who understands me for me, not for the image they've built in their mind."

As the admission hangs in the air, the woman's hand tightens around an object in her bag, a subtle signal of her concealed intentions.

After a conversation, well, more like Michael opening his heart while she nodded, the peculiar woman stands up abruptly and straightens the creases on her clothes. She grabs the doorknob and turns to face him.

“I hope you won’t be too surprised when you see yourself in the papers tomorrow morning Mr. Jackson” she says with one foot out the door.

Michael cocks his head to the side and hums in confusion, why is she speaking so formally all of a sudden. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you read that article about Princess Diana?”

Before Michael can open his mouth she’s already left the room and shut the door behind her.

Panicking slightly he rushes to the coffee table and gets a hold of the newspaper from last week. He swiftly flips through the pages until he stumbles upon the tabloid junk he’d read on a plane half asleep. The title reads:

“IS PRINCESS DIANA A MASTER MANIPULATOR?”

— By y/n y/l

Fuck, she’s a journalist. He should’ve guessed from the get go. She was a little odd but he brushed it off as her being shy and awkward, and now look at what he’s gotten himself into.

Taglist: @heartss444mj @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @youronlyonenini

#kate's writing #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson x fem!reader #michael jackson #fanfiction #fanfic #michael jackson imagine #x reader

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